This random snippet has been rattling around my head here and there for a couple months. Finally got around to putting it down to paper.
The last few steps to her front door felt like miles, her skull pounding dully behind her eyes. At least the headache hadn’t kicked in until she was most of the way home from the hospital, a trip that had felt far too long for her liking either way. She’d hated to leave, but Connor had been right—hanging around wasn’t changing anything going on, so it was better for her to come home and get some actual, decent sleep rather than dozing on the couch in a borrowed office.
At least, she’d let him convince her it was better to do that. Everything was too weird, too much. Maybe with sleep, she’d be able to make sense of some of what she’d gleaned from her friend’s rambling murmurs. Of course, that assumed there was any sense to make of them one way or another. They might’ve been a side effect of whatever had hit him on that last run.
Someone tried to kill him. Someone tried to kill all of them and took Daze in the process. What the hell is that all about?
Another mystery to unravel, just when she’d been beginning to worry that maybe she’d run out of them.
That’s not true. You weren’t worried that you’d run out. You were worried that you’d run out of things to distract you from dealing with shit you don’t want to deal with. You were worried that you’d run out of other people’s problems to solve so you’d have to wrestle with your own.
But did it really matter?
Her keys jangled as she reached up to unlock the bolt. As soon as she started to twist the key in the lock, she knew something was wrong.
I didn’t forget to lock it this morning, did I?
Bile soured the back of her throat and she swallowed hard. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?
As quietly as she could, she put her keys away. Breathe, she told herself. Steady. Just breathe. Her fingers closed around the grip of her pistol, the textured metal colder than her hand.
Breathe and focus.
The pounding in her head took on the same cadence as her racing heart. All she could hear was the thunder of blood in her ears.
Don’t make something out of nothing. It could be nothing.
She barely heard the creak of a floorboard beyond the door, but she knew it wasn’t her imagination. There was someone in her apartment.
If there’s someone in there and they want to do something bad to me, I’m as good as dead already.
There was cold comfort in the thought, though it did little to calm her.
Show’s not over yet.
She twisted the knob and shoved the door inward, bringing her sidearm up as she boiled through the entry, eyes scanning her living room for intruders. “Move and I will put a bullet in you before you move a step closer.”
His back was to her—a figure in jeans and a baggy sweater with a hood, tousled hair almost too long to be called short, his jeans dark and the sweater a shade that wasn’t pink but wasn’t quite red, either. Her heart climbed into her throat and lodged there. She knew that sweater. She knew what it would feel like beneath her fingertips, knew the smell of it—dryer sheets and his cologne.
She lowered the gun slowly. Her hands were shaking. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard something happened to T. You shouldn’t be trying to deal with that alone.”
“I thought you were with GreySoft. How did you—wait. Dr. Grey, or the other one?”
“The other one. Don’t act so surprised. It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Long enough.”
“Not for them. Or us.” There was a pause. She knew it was because he’d swallowed. “Can I turn around now or are you going to shoot me if I do?”
“I’m not going to shoot you.” She set the gun on the side table, next to the basket where she usually left her keys, then closed the door and set the bolt. “How did you get in?”
“You never asked for the key back.”
Her stomach felt hollow. She didn’t remember that, but it sounded likely. She’d wondered more than once if watching him leave had been a mistake, but her life was here and the job at GreySoft had been too good to pass up.
Wisconsin wasn’t her speed. At least, that had been her excuse. Sometimes in the months since, she’d wondered whether or not it was actually a lie.
“I guess I didn’t,” she whispered, staring at the worn rug over scuffed wood beneath her feet. “When did you get here?”
“A few hours ago.” His voice was closer. She didn’t dare look up. She wasn’t sure she could face him, wasn’t sure that she could take whatever expression was on his face. The plan had been to come home to an empty apartment, maybe have a shower, and try to sleep off her worry so she could be prepared for another round tomorrow. Dealing with anyone other than her own inner demons wasn’t something she was mentally or emotionally prepared for.
And yet, she didn’t want him to go.
“I wasn’t sure what hospital,” he continued, his voice quiet, gentle—not quite soothing. It was too firm for that, too firm and yet somehow too uncertain. “So I figured I’d just wait here. You’d have to come home eventually, right?”
“I almost didn’t,” she said. There was a tremor in her voice that she couldn’t have hidden if she’d tried, one born of worry and fatigue and emotions beyond naming. “I almost stayed there. I did last night. Connor—his doctor sent me home tonight. Told me to get some sleep.”
“That was probably best.”
He was close enough to touch. She could see the toes of his scuffed sneakers, the style of Converse he’d worn for as long as she’d known him. Something about that made the lump in her throat lodge tighter, swell larger.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Glory?”
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. Why am I crying? I shouldn’t be crying. I can’t be crying. I can’t. What is there to—
His hands closed gently around her shoulders. That was all it took.
She fell into his touch and buried her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and hanging on for dear life as she sobbed her fear and worry out into the soft cotton of his sweater, the sweater she’d given him two Christmases ago when they were first falling in love.
No words were murmured into her hair as he held her, but she could feel the warmth of his breath, hear the beat of his heart, and for just a moment, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.
Somehow, everything would be all right.
