Hell Bound

Twenty-Three

My house was a boring place. When I was on my own, I just watched a lot of TV and took naps in the middle of the day. Now I had two guests to entertain, and I didn't have the slightest idea about how to keep them busy. Thankfully, Graham seemed capable of keeping himself occupied. He ended up spending half the morning mowing the yard, even though I insisted that he didn't need to. But Bucky wasn't as easy. Mostly because he couldn't sit still for very long. He followed me into the kitchen when I started on breakfast, and I had to give him a long lecture about ripped stitches just to make him sulk back to the couch. He looked miserable.

Then I remembered the conversation the night before. He asked about Russell's book. So while he was silently sulking on the couch, I went to the bookshelf to find it. It was the first one Graham picked up when he got there, and he'd shoved it back into place and abandoned it in favor of something else. I located it and tossed it onto the couch beside Bucky. Then minutes later, he asked for a pen and busied himself by reading and scribbling in a notebook for the rest of the day.

I didn't ask him what he was up to. I never even cracked the book open. I didn't even know what it was about or why he found it so interesting that he had to take notes. If that's what he was doing. Whenever Graham or I walked into the living room, he'd casually move the notebook out of sight and barely acknowledge us beyond brief eye contact or a nod. Or, in my case, a partial smile that seemed oddly suggestive for a man who said he couldn't remember me.

After we finished dinner, I tried to get them to watch another movie with me. But Graham had gotten into whichever book he'd decided to read, and Bucky was busy with the one Russell gave me. So I sat on the couch beside him until it was late enough to attempt to sleep.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," I said.

"Eh," Graham replied in acknowledgement. Bucky looked up like he'd lost track of time. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs again. He glanced between me, the book, and Graham.

"I need to talk to you," he told me. "Alone."

"We can talk later," I assured him. Because he knew as well as I did that I'd be back before the night was over.

"Where's that MP3 player again?" Graham quietly muttered from the chair. He was stretched across it with his feet within Bucky's reach. He was either very trusting or not very bright. I shot him a glare even though he hadn't bothered to look up. He turned a page, and I wanted to chuck another pillow at his head.

"On the desk in your room," I grumbled. Then I turned to head up the stairs.

"Thank you," he called after me in a singsong voice.

"Bite me."

"I've never actually been into that."

"Oh, for the love of..."

"Ouch!" he yelped from below. "What was that for?"

"Show some respect," Bucky warned. Then I smiled to myself. Graham definitely learned his lesson about keeping his feet so close to Bucky's arm.

"Alright. Alright. Sorry, it was a joke."

"Disrespect her again and I'll break your other kneecap."

"Alright, I get it. I'm sorry."

Once I was back in my room, I realized I didn't want to be there. At least not alone. I didn't want to talk about whatever Bucky wanted to discuss with me. But I still wanted to talk to him. I spent half the year wondering where he was and if he was okay. Now he was downstairs on my couch, and I was in my room alone. I didn't want to invite him there either. But only because I knew Graham would say something about it.