08-13-2019, 05:37 PM
His hand wrapped hers and pulled, and with it the tug of another strange memory plucked the edges of her tired mind, quickly dispelled when all her energy funneled into keeping her feet.
She was quiet in the truck, purely exhausted as much as anything else, but small talk was rarely her custom at the best of times. Words now were utterly trite; condolences, sympathies, apologies, comfort: all too meagre a salve to offer for such a gaping wound. Jay focused on the road, caged behind the new scars on his skin. Eventually she assumed he would want to know how they had come to be at the facility; of the days following his capture, of her failure to drag Cayli out of the country and into the relative safety of the Custody, despite her promise. By now the sanctuary Marcus provided was probably finalised, their flights arranged, asylum assured. All too late.
And all because she had refused to leave Jay behind.
Hindsight twisted like a knife, offering a litany of mistakes and blame, and yet it was a decision she could not regret. Nor one she expected to be forgiven for once he understood how she had stalled.
So for now she was content with silence.
She unwound the passenger side window to baking heat, one more discomfort atop a mountain of them, but all of it unimportant. Smoke still clung like a fine miasma, clogging up her lungs, itching at her skin. Strange that the dark stain of a stranger’s blood soaked into her jeans bothered her less than the memories conjured by that smell. Beyond the scenery blurred, and she watched it numbly. The drown of the engine lulled, but she fought sleep like her fingers clawed at the lip of hell. Her mind ticked slowly instead, tallying the facts and burying the emotions alongside.
By the time they came to a halt, she had no answers.
Ahead gaudy lights flashed the seediest of titillation, sparking some grim amusement for the blackest of juxtapositions. But it was the promise of oblivion, curling like the beckon of a tempting finger, that captured her attention. Forgetting seemed a perfect remedy about then, but it hadn’t exactly ended well last time. She hooked her elbows over the open window to watch Jay pump the gas, assessing the colour of his mood. Their lives never seemed to run through simple channels, but the last few days made even Africa’s scars seem pale in comparison.
She was quiet in the truck, purely exhausted as much as anything else, but small talk was rarely her custom at the best of times. Words now were utterly trite; condolences, sympathies, apologies, comfort: all too meagre a salve to offer for such a gaping wound. Jay focused on the road, caged behind the new scars on his skin. Eventually she assumed he would want to know how they had come to be at the facility; of the days following his capture, of her failure to drag Cayli out of the country and into the relative safety of the Custody, despite her promise. By now the sanctuary Marcus provided was probably finalised, their flights arranged, asylum assured. All too late.
And all because she had refused to leave Jay behind.
Hindsight twisted like a knife, offering a litany of mistakes and blame, and yet it was a decision she could not regret. Nor one she expected to be forgiven for once he understood how she had stalled.
So for now she was content with silence.
She unwound the passenger side window to baking heat, one more discomfort atop a mountain of them, but all of it unimportant. Smoke still clung like a fine miasma, clogging up her lungs, itching at her skin. Strange that the dark stain of a stranger’s blood soaked into her jeans bothered her less than the memories conjured by that smell. Beyond the scenery blurred, and she watched it numbly. The drown of the engine lulled, but she fought sleep like her fingers clawed at the lip of hell. Her mind ticked slowly instead, tallying the facts and burying the emotions alongside.
By the time they came to a halt, she had no answers.
Ahead gaudy lights flashed the seediest of titillation, sparking some grim amusement for the blackest of juxtapositions. But it was the promise of oblivion, curling like the beckon of a tempting finger, that captured her attention. Forgetting seemed a perfect remedy about then, but it hadn’t exactly ended well last time. She hooked her elbows over the open window to watch Jay pump the gas, assessing the colour of his mood. Their lives never seemed to run through simple channels, but the last few days made even Africa’s scars seem pale in comparison.