Sinner's Prayer

If Only For Now

There's a fog in the headlights as Jack drives, vision disturbed by the sheen over his eyes. He sniffs against the sharp smell of metal, holding the wheel with one hand while the other runs over his brow. There's no clear destination in mind, Jack simply drives down the curves of the road, cutting through the dark with two weak beams of light.

The night's on a painful loop behind his eyes, something he does his best to swallow past the lump in his throat. He tries instead to listen to the hum of the engine, the bumps in the road. Ears trained, searching for something to distract from the gaping hole in his chest.

It's not something he thought he'd be so broken up about. Leaving was something he'd dreamed about as a child. Sitting alone in his bedroom, sulking on the bathroom floor after a beating. The sweet taste of freedom was something he'd been parched for. It's not something he would have expected to be so devastating. While he's off in the wind, there's no real direction. There's nothing aside from the ache in his chest and the knowledge of being unable to go back.

Would they even come looking for him?

No, Jack thinks. There's nothing here for him anymore, there's no one. Not even-

Jack slows around a familiar bend, not even realizing the direction he'd taken until he catches sight of terrain in the darkness. Flashes behind the beams of his headlights to show crumbling dirt road and a driveway he's come to know just as his own.

He slows, suddenly in a state of distress. What was even doing at this point? What part of nothing and no one did he not understand?

Yet, like a moth to the fame, his truck stills. Jack shuts off his headlights to remain undetected and saddened eyes peer up in the distance where dark breaks in the shape of tall windows, set aglow by lights still on inside.

The house sits quietly. Jack wonders what's transpiring behind those weathered walls. Perhaps they were cleaning up after dinner under Jeanie's playful direction. Maybe K.E. was getting ready for bed, he worked long enough hours to warrant an early night.

And Ennis-

Jack drops his head, shooting pain down to his stomach where it turns.

He shouldn't be here, but he finds it impossible to move once he's settled, despite the rumble of his truck and the emotions that brew beneath his skin.

He turns the key, shutting off the engine and slumping back against his seat. Wetness plays at the brim of his eyes, memories burning in the back of his skull, twisting the knife in his gut further.

Maybe he's just thinking, maybe that's all this is. The peace of night, singing crickets and the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. Something soothing to calm his hurt, eyes set upon something familiar to keep him grounded.

It's funny, because he never imagined himself to have roots in Lightning Flat so deeply embedded to hold him there. Instead he thought of spindly vines that coiled around his limbs and dug into his skin to keep him planted firmly in place. Thorny tendrils that he'd tear away with every inch of distance he could put between himself and this dwindling town.

But, he is rooted in a way. Something unfinished evidently holds him like the last hanging thread before the snap of a branch that falls away.

Jack wonders if Sam ever felt this way. When he had nothing left.

Nothing except a farewell and the vague promise of another time.

Jack wipes his cheek with his sleeve. He'll regret it if he doesn't face Ennis at least one last time, so he decides. He'll sit until the windows are dark and the moon's above his head before he makes any attempt, to keep his disturbances at a minimum.