Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 18 - Leaving

    After a few stressful seconds, you feel his grip around you lighten as if the sound of his name woke him up. Finally. You take a deep breath but he still doesn't let go. You carefully ease into the embrace, listening to the breathing from inside his mask and wonder once again if you'll ever get to see the face behind it. It feels deeply strange to be held by someone this intimately, intensely and not even know what he actually looks like. Who he really is.
He holds you like someone who's been starved of physical contact all his life, never held or been held. Someone who doesn't know how to, only that he needs to.
His heartbeat calms down over the minutes, and his body relaxes against yours.
You don't really have any idea of how long you've been sitting like this, when suddenly the doorbell rings and echoes through the house, startling you. The driver is here.
You look up at Brahms, squirming out of his arms. He releases you, hesitantly.
"I promise you I'll be back." You reassure him, even though you feel a sting of doubt inside. "You'll only be by yourself for a while. And when I'm back you'll take me for a walk, okay?"
He looks down at you with a kind of defeat in his eyes and nods. You stand up from the sofa and peek out the window. That's the taxi out in the driveway. You pick up your bag before you head to the foyer, and put your jacket on. You look into the study the moment before you open the front door, but Brahms is gone like he was never even there. Vanished.
You push the big wooden door open, breathe in the fresh air and greet the same driver that took you to this house when you first came here. If he only knew the things that had happened since. If he had any idea...
The driver holds the backseat door open for you and you sit down in the car. You feel sore after Brahms violent embrace, and wonder again if it even occurred to him that he might hurt you.
"Where to, miss?" the driver asks as he sits himself down in the front.
"Well... Do you know any shoe stores?" you say. You figure it sounds to him like you're in the mood for a shopping spree.
"Plenty of them in town." He starts up the car and rolls down the gravelly driveway. You look out the window at the house before you take off down the road.
A strange new feeling takes hold of you. You haven't been away from the Heelshire home in so long, that you almost feel nervous about leaving and going into a city to be among normal people. As if you've become estranged, foreign. Strangers with normal lives and routines who don't know you, where you're from or that you witnessed a murder not long ago. You realize you never found out what Brahms did with the body afterwards. It was just gone, to your relief. You only hope he's gotten rid of it well enough it'll never be found.

You drive along a beautiful country road, like out of a post card; bordered by colorful autumn trees and wide fields. And eventually, occasional houses and gardens. And more fields. You feel free, exhilarated in a way you haven't felt for long.
You pick up your phone from your bag, that you almost haven't been able to use because of the bad reception. It's starting to get signal, and texts from your closest friends and family start dropping in one by one. It makes you smile a little to yourself. You let all of them know that you're okay. You tell the most important ones that you miss them too. But you don't go into detail, since you haven't come up with a good story yet. The truth is out of the question. 

It takes almost half an hour until you've reached the popular main streets of the nearest city called Norwich. The driver points out some stores for you along the street, you pay him and agree to meet again in an hour. A sense of titillating freedom and excitement nearly overwhelms you as you step out of the car and watch it drive away. You're on your own. It's been so long since you saw people, and regular things like coffee shops, bars, restaurants and shops. You suppose absence does make the heart grow fonder, in a way.
You head on into the nearest shoe store, a rather old fashioned but large place. It feels like a typical original local store that has always been around, that everyone knows about.
A worker greets you as you walk by, and you stroll around the store at your own pace, looking at everything. Overhearing conversations and watching mostly girls and ladies try on different shoes makes you feel at home, just another customer with no reputation, no story.
You stop at the men's department and browse the shelves; there's much to choose from. You want to get something that'll go with the rest of Brahms style; supposing he consciously has got one, that is. You remember him trying on that black coat earlier and might consider some type of wingtip boots to go with it.
Looking around you find a dark brown pair that you think would be just right.  You ask a worker nearby for a pair, a size larger than the tens Brahms tried on at home. They should definitely work. You pay the cashier, happy with your choice, and walk out the store with time left to kill before the driver gets back. You stroll down the street, and decide to get something to drink at a café up ahead.
You step in through the door, leaving the cold behind as it closes. A cozy murmur from the guest's conversations fills up the room along with scents of coffee, cinnamon and fresh baked pastries. You've actually missed things like this, being around people – not necessarily socializing but simply seeing and listening to them. Being one of them.
You wonder if Brahms ever feels that way, or if he's been isolated for too long... If it's too late for him. You remember the Heelshire's describing him as very shy and timid, although that might not have been the entire truth. There's so much you still have no idea about.
You walk up to the counter and order a hot drink for yourself. While you wait for time to pass and the driver to arrive, you sit down by a window and take a sip from your steaming cup. You look out at people passing by in the street, observe their faces.
Could Brahms look like any of those men? What kind of face does the body have, more than a pair of green brown eyes?
You think about the few things you know about him so far. The unsettling things, the things that should make you rightfully never want to return. You saw him kill Cole right in front of you, with a shard of porcelain to the throat. He didn't even hesitate. He attacked like a beast, going straight for the kill without second thought. And the little girl, Emily Cribbs... What ever happened to her? Deep inside you have a feeling that you already know. But why, and how? How could a child, an eight-year-old, take the life of another...?
You must be crazy for even considering going back to him, now that you are finally free and out of the house. Your logic tells you that, but your feelings say something else. You are too curious, too involved. And just maybe, there's something about Brahms that you can't put your finger on right now. Something that makes you care, makes you want to get to know him. For better or worse.
You think about him bringing you breakfast in bed, and the moment in the basement when he showed you his European bee eater.
Was it all tricks to lure you in to a false sense of safety?
And then the way he suddenly grabbed and held you so tight you could barely breathe. Was that the possessive way to hold on to property, or simply being passionate about someone you care for?

You check your phone and find replies from your dear ones back home that you answer to while you can. An hour has almost gone by, and you leave the warm coffee shop to go wait for the taxi by the shoe store.
The driver is right on time, and even if you don't know him at all it's somehow nice to see a familiar face. You sit down in the backseat once again, and the car takes off down the street and on its way out to the countryside.
You admire the autumn view that zooms by outside the windows. Halloween is just around the corner.