Kind and quiet Adrian - but so much more.
Her first true love, or at least, the first love that felt true. The boy with star-blessed eyes and hands worth holding at every second - in the car, in the bed, in the grocery store, when her mom died, at his sister's wedding, when they're mad at each other; when they're tearing apart at the seams. It was him, with his warm embrace (made up of shoulders just broad enough to squeeze her her form between them, and of arms that perfectly encircle her waist), that her heart attached itself to.
A poor choice, though it'll hear no such thing. Hearts are funny that way.
Funny, too, that even though the words better off without him have forced themselves to the surface of her conscious, she has never genuinely thought them herself. Not once. Even when she peaks up from her crumpled position to glimpse her lover with his head bent and his eyes furrowed, a flinch barely concealed in the movement of his upper body - even then, through the tears, the only thought is of how vastly she loves him. It's not a healthy thought. But it is true.
She tenses at his approach (gentle, kind Adrian, with fingers that shatter the steel they only brush), but when his lips meet her head it's like he's pressed a button. Without any hesitation Cinzia is leaning into his touch, praying to the gods that he would never stop petting her like this, easing the hair from her wet mouth and pale cheeks. It's not what one normally looks for as a foundation for a relationship. But she would look anywhere, even the darkest places, if it meant keeping him around. If it meant that he, would be hers.
He's speaking then, more softly then when he asked about the pills - she hadn't the courage to answer, not brave enough to fight the recurring nightmare. Her stomach turns, unsettled at her most recent dosage. But that's not important now. He's kissing her, shyly, as if they haven't been together for months, years, whatever it may be.
A cool, blue-shaded hand reaches out as he pulls away, about to say I love you. She's pulling him back in for another kiss, more passionate this time, except it's not that kind of passion - it's a dying passion, the passion that possesses someone when all else has failed and the thrill of desperation takes hold. It's a dying passion, and they have been dying for a long, long time.
He says it, then. I'm hurting you.
"No." It's quieter than before, but its the only word she can choke out before her face is screwed up and the sheets are clutched to her mouth and her breathing has stopped because of the sobs. But before he can retreat back to their hardwood floor she stops herself, remembers that she will lose him if she shows too much pain, remembers that the pain of losing him would be far worse.
She's still crying, but it's softer now. The kind she knows he can handle - that inspires more pets, more softly spoken words.
They're holding hands again.
"No, Adrian, this isn't your fault either." Cinzia unravels her knotted legs, makes room for the beautiful boy, pulling him to her chest even though the angle is awkward, half of him hanging off the bed while the rest of him finds her delicate figure. "You are my boy and I could never blame you for this." A snivel. "Maybe I need some new meds.. The doctor said that some people need different prescriptions."
Her face is screwing up again, the daunting reality of their situation all too blatantly fucking obvious, fuck, she's sobbing again and she doesn't want to let go of him, doesn't want this to be the last time he holds her, doesn't want to say goodbye, doesn't want to lose the only person who ever made her not want to die.
"There's got to be a way around this. I won't - can't - I'm not losing you."
Cinzia
cobalt skies like midnight lies
warm hellos and cold goodbyes