killer, gbd (EDITING)

16

People have told me that I have my mothers heart. That my readiness to travel and escape to new places was something that my mother was notorious for.

I loved that people saw her through me, even more so when it was something that I was proud of. Not being held down by anything is so freeing. Without anything material to return to, I had no true home, just rooms that were offered to me.

I love not having to be consistent, I can be whoever I want in this new location, I just have to complete my mission, do my job.

This is the first time I've ever feared the idea of never returning. I am bound by a tether that has intertwined with my heart. Something, rather someone holds me to this earth now, I have a home to return to. But it's a scary thing to think that maybe your home doesn't want you to return.

But sitting with him now, I feel no doubt that he feel just as tied to me as I feel to him. Comfortable silence is not an uncommon occurrence between us, I find peace in it. But today is different, I feel as if there are things that I have left unsaid.

Grayson sits restlessly beside me on the porch, rubbing the stress from his scarred knuckles. At least once during each minute, he lifts his head to look at me, but as I look back at him, he looses his courage to speak and looks back to his hands.

"I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me," I knock his shoulder with mine, a smile softens the line that had formed between his brows.

His head shakes and with it his hair flops onto his forehead lazily. Looking up, he pushes a hand into his hair and sighs. "I already miss you," His words are sweet, but he can't look at me as he says them, and the line between his brows carved into two.

"Well, I'm still here," I rest a hand over his and stop him from picking any further into his cuticle.

Red now, his cuticles were fine before this morning. As I packed a bag of comfortable travel clothing, he sat on the bed watching me. Every so often his hand would go to his mouth and he would bite at his nail, which were already short. Now, the only time he is not picking at his fingers is when he is smoking.

This is not the same Grayson I had yesterday. We had helped Susan with her garden, Grayson was eager to help, sampling her stock as we collected ingredients for dinner. Yesterday's Grayson smiled and laughed, and held my hand. Today's Grayson has a bloody index finger and an 11 between his lowered brows.

Distraught, I open my mouth to say something assuring, something to lighten his spirit, but Susan comes out onto the porch. She smiles, but it's not her usual ear-to-ear grin. With her, she brings two steaming mugs. She sits beside me and hands me one mug, and the other goes to Grayson.

"It's tea," She answers before we can ask. "It's my special mix, it helps with stress and you two clearly need it." I laugh through my nose and lift the mug to my lips. We both her a soft thanks after taking a sip.

"This is really good Susan," I say, taking another drink from it. The warmth radiates down my throat and into my stomach, where is seeps into my tense muscles.

"I can give you a few packs for the trip," She offers, glancing to me with turned up lips. "I was thinking, maybe when you come back I can make you some sort of nice desert. I was thinking cheesecake, Ken has been craving it." She laughs.

I smile at her and nod, wrapping both hands around my mug. "That would be really nice, Susan. Thank you," I stare down the snake of a driveway and accept the inevitability of today's happenings. "What time are they supposed to be getting here?" I ask, drinking more of the tea.

"Soon, dear," She speaks softly.

It is silent for a while, but the tea as it was supposed to. "Thank you for all of your help and hospitality. I truly appreciate it." I smile at Susan and she returns it, patting my shoulder.