Trouble

|Chapter Twenty-Two| Coltsfoot

[Coltsfoot]: Justice shall be done

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Mia 11, Connor 13

He crossed the seemingly endless garden in the back of her house like a current, the cold wind in his hair, his breathing heavy, and probably with red cheeks.

His heart was nearly jumping out of his chest, but it had nothing to do with running, but everything to do with her. He was going to see her right now after being away for exactly 58 days. He'd been counting, although he was ashamed to admit it first.

He couldn't bear the fact that he hadn't said goodbye to her before he left... again.

He never said goodbye to her before leaving.

The thing was, his mother never warned him where or when they'd be leaving. There were no signs or time intervals to guess from. She'd just burst into his room at a random time and tell him to pack the most necessary things and be down the stairs in 10 minutes. The last time, almost two months ago, she had picked him up from school on their way to the airport.

He hated it. Hated her for pushing him around all the time, for using him as a tool against his father, for his father not really caring about him but for only keeping him around as a trophy.

Someday, he thought, when I am stronger, when I am taller, smarter, and older, someday I'm going to fight them. I am going to leave them, so they can never use me again.

Someday, no one is going to use me.

I am going to leave for somewhere where no one will be able to find me. I'm going to have something constant, someone that will make me want to stay. Someone, that's my Little Monster.

He could only hope she'd want the same with him; he prayed she would.

Just like she always understood why he could never say goodbye before leaving, he hoped this time she'd understand too.

Once their plane had landed, he counted the seconds and miles until he could see her again. And once his mother dropped him at home and drove away, he left his backpack at the door, even though he knew his father hated it, and broke into a run. He had to see her as soon as possible to give her the small tulip pin he'd got her from Amsterdam; he had to be wrapped in her warmth that felt like sunlight, and he knew exactly where he could find her.

But this time, he was wrong; even before he could reach their tree house, his feet came to a stop, as if on their own. Right there, just a few feet away, he saw her lying on her back next to the small pond. She had one arm bent, fingers dipped inside the water, playing with it, as she hummed under her breath.

The trees shielded her from the sun that was gradually setting, the chipping of the birds the only sound echoing in the peaceful air around them.