08-05-2024, 03:52 AM
Connor- it was how he thought of himself. He didn't think he'd ever get used to Josh- buried himself in packing. He started with the essentials- clothes for both of them for various types of environs along with toiletries and other necessary things. They had a go bag with ids and cash along with gold and silver coins- all Ayden's doing. He wasn't the one with the hook ups when it came to fake identification and such.
Into another bag when his memory. Things that he could not leave behind. Pictures, letters, a blanket, a soft Bluey doll, things that belonged to his mom, his dad. Yeah, a lot was backed up in the cloud. And he had drives as well with copies for the stuff that had been digitized like videos. But the smell on the blanket or doll...you couldn't back that stuff up. It was all he had left of his son. At least physically.
He purposefully lost himself in the packing because worry and fear kept gnawing at him, attention whores, desperate to get him to feed them. He refused to engage, though it was a struggle. Ayden could take care of herself. She'd tell him if she was in danger.
That was what he told himself. Two cases packed and their go bag ready, he stopped, staring at their room. Their home. It felt like something was tearing from him. After coming back to the US, after setting up their home, with a new baby on the way....well, it had felt like they were home. He'd made a few friends at the gym. Nothing deep, but it was a start. Ayden coming home from work, him with dinner on the stove or grill. They'd finish together and then relax- a glass of wine maybe and sit on the porch and talk, or read or watch TV. Sometimes they'd go for a walk.
A routine had settled in and he had allowed himself to relax, to feel safe and at peace. And now, someone had fucked it up. Someone had come along and was going to blow up their world.
The rage- that burning anger that he'd unleashed once before, the one and only time he'd ever killed a man, had been tightly reined- now rumbled and grumbled and he felt his arms and hands itching to do something. Hungering for violence.
He faught it down slowly, but it wasn't easy. Deep breathes. Focus. Meditation. Listening to his heart beat, to his breathing.
And he was still just standing there when he heard her behind him, felt her arms around him, her lips on his neck. Whatever had been of his rage melted away. She was home and safe. That's all that mattered. All the rest....it was nothing. They could make a life anywhere. Home was her and the baby. That was all.
He turned and nfolded her in his arms, felt the warmth and strength of her body against his. She was solid. This. This was life. The house, the routine, those didn't matter. He kissed her and then sat down, listening. He took the letter, but didn't read it.
He didn't like the idea of her killing people. It was a morally questionable thing to do. Amd yet he did trust her. If it was a bad thing, she'd say no.
Except that this time, it wasnt a typical contract. It was blackmail. Which meant that the target could be someone inmocent. He looked at the letter and then at her. Quietly, he said "So what is the job?" It sounded easier than "who is the person you have to kill?"
He had questions. Lots of them. But he was emotional and the only way to be controlled was to let her tell him what was going on. To proceed this in small pieces. Well, he did need to know. "Is this going to be dangerous?" The knot had formed again, but he tried to just let her talk.
Into another bag when his memory. Things that he could not leave behind. Pictures, letters, a blanket, a soft Bluey doll, things that belonged to his mom, his dad. Yeah, a lot was backed up in the cloud. And he had drives as well with copies for the stuff that had been digitized like videos. But the smell on the blanket or doll...you couldn't back that stuff up. It was all he had left of his son. At least physically.
He purposefully lost himself in the packing because worry and fear kept gnawing at him, attention whores, desperate to get him to feed them. He refused to engage, though it was a struggle. Ayden could take care of herself. She'd tell him if she was in danger.
That was what he told himself. Two cases packed and their go bag ready, he stopped, staring at their room. Their home. It felt like something was tearing from him. After coming back to the US, after setting up their home, with a new baby on the way....well, it had felt like they were home. He'd made a few friends at the gym. Nothing deep, but it was a start. Ayden coming home from work, him with dinner on the stove or grill. They'd finish together and then relax- a glass of wine maybe and sit on the porch and talk, or read or watch TV. Sometimes they'd go for a walk.
A routine had settled in and he had allowed himself to relax, to feel safe and at peace. And now, someone had fucked it up. Someone had come along and was going to blow up their world.
The rage- that burning anger that he'd unleashed once before, the one and only time he'd ever killed a man, had been tightly reined- now rumbled and grumbled and he felt his arms and hands itching to do something. Hungering for violence.
He faught it down slowly, but it wasn't easy. Deep breathes. Focus. Meditation. Listening to his heart beat, to his breathing.
And he was still just standing there when he heard her behind him, felt her arms around him, her lips on his neck. Whatever had been of his rage melted away. She was home and safe. That's all that mattered. All the rest....it was nothing. They could make a life anywhere. Home was her and the baby. That was all.
He turned and nfolded her in his arms, felt the warmth and strength of her body against his. She was solid. This. This was life. The house, the routine, those didn't matter. He kissed her and then sat down, listening. He took the letter, but didn't read it.
He didn't like the idea of her killing people. It was a morally questionable thing to do. Amd yet he did trust her. If it was a bad thing, she'd say no.
Except that this time, it wasnt a typical contract. It was blackmail. Which meant that the target could be someone inmocent. He looked at the letter and then at her. Quietly, he said "So what is the job?" It sounded easier than "who is the person you have to kill?"
He had questions. Lots of them. But he was emotional and the only way to be controlled was to let her tell him what was going on. To proceed this in small pieces. Well, he did need to know. "Is this going to be dangerous?" The knot had formed again, but he tried to just let her talk.