𝓣𝓸𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓴 - 4

Tell Me - 𝐀.𝐑

𝐀/𝐍 - All credit goes to the writer silkscream on Tumblr

https://silkscream.tumblr.com/post/692874033278189568/for-the-3k-celebration-sangria-the-first

Parings → Arvin Russell x Reader

Warnings → angst

Summary → Arvin and the reader gets into an argument because he doesn't want to open up to her.

        ✧･ﾟ: *✧≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫✧･ﾟ: *✧

“Why can’t you just talk to me?”

“It’s complicated,” Arvin strains, huffing his cigarette and trying to keep the vexation inside his body instead of taking it out on you.

“There’s something you won’t tell me, Arvin,” you try earnestly. You brush him on the shoulder with your hand but he jerks away. The sight makes your stomach drop.

Arvin would never talk to you about the nightmares, the 4 a.m.’s when he would wake up in a cold sweat shaking. You would have your arms around him immediately, but he’d never let you know what was going on inside his head. There were always the same excuses — childhood boogeymen, stories of demonic entities that would scare him straight through Catholic school — but you never believed them. But he was difficult to talk to, always retreating to the front porch to smoke his cigarette quietly and hollowing out his cheeks to the cold air around him. Arvin Russell was fucking tired.

“I don’t gotta tell you everything on my goddamn mind,” he says bitterly, barely looking at you. He can’t. He knows that you’re about to cry. He can hear it in the quiver of your voice.

“You don’t tell me fucking anything that’s on your mind!” you spit. “This stoic bullshit has to stop, Arvin. I’m here for you every goddamn day, I cook and clean for you and I hold you when you get those nightmares and you— you won’t even let me in!”

He’s silent. All you hear it the light rain and the slow burn of his cigarette. Without thinking, you snatch it from him, throwing it as far into the yard as you can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“You know what that was for.”

“’M not in the fuckin’ mood, Y/N,” Arvin growls. His jaw clenches tightly. “You better not keep prying before I do something I regret.”

Your face falls.

“Was that a fucking threat?” His eyes widen once he looks at you, actually looks at you for once, and fear replaces the anger in your eyes.

“Baby, I don’t wanna fi—” He grabs your arm and you wince.

“Don’t touch me.”

Your nails dig into your palms as the rain gets heavier, flowing into the direction of the porch. Without another word, you walk back into the house with a slam to the front door.

Arvin’s anger is often quiet, but he’s never threatened you before. He’s never even indicated that he could harm you in any way, even if he is pissed off. But then the vitriol in his cutting stare was enough to maim you. Enough for you to have tears streaking down your face while you clutched the fabric of your dress.

The rain has transgressed into thunder and lightning, so you almost don’t notice the light raps on your door.

“Sweetheart, open the door,” Arvin rasps.

“’S not locked.”

He opens the door slowly and joins you on the bed as you stare out the window, face unwavering.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He clears his throat and tries to put his hand on your thigh, but you wince in response. Seeing you in this state, all curled up into yourself, makes him want to punish himself. He thinks he ought to go to hell for ever making you cry.

“I’ve done some bad things,” he whispers. “I just don’t want you to look at me different.”

Silence.

“I don’t talk about Lenora because it brings me back to a bad place. She—she was pregnant when she hung herself. Pregnant by the preacher.”

You look at him with wide eyes. He sniffles, rubbing his reddish eyes.

“Shot him at the church. I was so angry, so fucking angry about what he did to my Lenora that I thought—I thought that was justice. I’ve been runnin’ this whole time until I met you. You’re the only thing that’s made me want to stay anymore. You’re the only thing that makes me feel sane.”

A lump catches in his throat as you press your forehead to his, turning him by the jaw to get close to you as you both share labored breaths.

“But you’re too damn good for me, ya know that? Too fucking good. Like an angel on earth. I don’t— I don’t deserve you.”

“Arvin…”

“I’m so sorry for not tellin’ you. I didn’t want you to know, I didn’t wanna.. break what we have. But I don’t think I’m safe for you to be around.”

“Arvin, don’t.”

“Christ, haven’t even told you the whole thing,” he croaks, running both his hands across his face.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” you whisper, mouth on his cheek murmuring softly.

“Keep thinkin’ that no matter how hard I try to be good, ‘m just not.”

“You are, you are, you are,” comes in a succession of hushed tones with kisses all over his face.

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