hush hush ♛ district four ♛ done

I'm nothing but sparks.

Restless, trembling bits and pieces crawling up my skin, slithering underneath my clothes. I lift the hem of my over-sized t-shirt in an attempt to scratch them off, but he grabs my hand firmly.

"You know it's not real."

"Of course I do! I'm not stupid." I snap.

"Never said you were."

He smiles and loosens his grip on my hand, holding it sweetly. And then I feel it; dirt speckled across my fingertips.

And then I feel the germs.

I close my eyes tightly as they crawl up my arm, sucking away on my sanity like leeches, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Hush? Hush?"

I shriek loudly and pull my arm away, rubbing at my skin like a madman.

"Get them off! Get them off!"

He rushes by my side, grabs me by the waist and tries to cease my thrashing movements.

"It's gone. They're gone. It's alright, baby. I've got you."

Just like that, the ticks disappear.

And now I'm a heaving, sweating mess with my head resting heavily against his shoulder. I crane my neck so that I'm facing him.

"Thank you."

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don't really get quiet moments. Even in bed, you're occupied with thoughts like,

Did I wash my hands? Yes.

Did I lock the doors? Yes.

Did I turn off all the lights? Yes.

Did I wash my hands? Yes.

But when I saw him, all I could think about was the sharpness of his jaw line, the curve of his lips, the shadow of his lash resting across his left cheek, the shadow of his lash resting across his right cheek.

His smile was so asymmetrical, it hurt.

I loved every bit of it.

I was merely thirteen at the time, baby-faced as I am now. Chubby cheeks, rabbit teeth, a round upturned nose that I still raise indignantly in the air to show dominance at times. My hair is soft, shoulder-length, wavy and carries a rich shade of brown that compliments the coffee shade of my eyes. I'm thin, short and plain.

And he's everything I could never be.

When we first met, I had to ask him about ten times if we could have lunch together. He, of course, already said 'yes' after the third time, but I felt like I didn't ask him properly, so I did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

It didn't bother him.

He told me loved me.

He told me that he loved every time he got late when he walked me back home because there were so many cracks on the side-walk.

He told me he loved that I had to kiss him six, twelve, eighteen times before it felt like I had really kissed him right.

He told me that he loved the aura of security he felt with me, because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.

He told me he loved that I had to switch the lights on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

on and off,

before I finally felt that the 'tick!' sound was prominent enough.

But then he told me that he had to leave.

"I have to go, Hush. I need to feed my family, don't I? There's nobody to take care of them now that dad's gone."

"Do something else."

"I can't -"

"Dammit. You can't become a peace-keeper!'

He's silent.

He's being all calm with me.

I hate it.

I turn to look at him with tear-filled eyes.

"You won't come back, I know it. Nobody who joins them ever does. You enter that building, you're Capitol Property. They'll turn you into one of them."

"I won't bec-"

"Don't go."

He looks pained, but I know he's already made his decision. I count to ten, then to a hundred. The silence is ear-splitting. There are bugs everywhere. My head is starting to spin.

He gathers me into his arms, presses a kiss against the center of my forehead.

And then one to my right eyelid.

His lips tremble at my left.

Seconds or maybe hours pass as we stay like this, sobbing into each other's shoulders, trying to keep ourselves from falling apart, salvaging whatever remains between us.

His lips meet mine in a bitter-sweet farewell.

And then he's gone.

Just like that.

He told me to move on.

{Where do I go?}

When I obsess over things, I usually feel smothered, like I'm suffocating under a large weight, like I'm Atlas carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Like I'm stuck with no where to go.

He was the most beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.

Everyday, I want to wake up counting the piercings in his ear, his lips. I want to spend every moment thinking about the way he holds a pen between his fingers or how he turns a door knob like he's opening a safe. How he always smiled when we were together.

We.

Us.

I want him back.

I want him back so bad,

I leave the lights on.

I leave the door unlocked.