Sativa.

18. The Martyr

Blaine needs coffee.

Usually she's a sound sleeper, barely stirring when Travis leaves for work at five a.m, but for the past week she's woke with him. Before she'd have his lunch ready for him by evening. Now she prepares as he gets ready for the day.

When she staggers tiredly into the kitchen Thursday morning she's disappointed. Remnants of yesterday's coffee turn to dark sludge in the bottom of the pot. She groans then wanders to the front of the house with a wide yawn.

It's dark. The only source of light flicker blue from the Tv. Every morning the weather channel is humming on low volume. Travis still hasn't noticed her and she lingers behind the couch, casually observing.

His feet are propped on the coffee table. He glances between the weather broadcast and his pipe. Pressing a bud between his thumb and index finger he crushes it down before packing it into the bowl. After one drag he sets the pipe aside then starts smoking off the cigarette he'd left in the ashtray.

A twist of melancholy flips Blaine's stomach. She's seen the toll this past week has taken on him. He smokes more and laughs less.

Since Serenity moved to a new home he's home later, helping her after the construction calls of the day. By the time he returns to Blaine he's so worn out he goes straight to bed.

Questions plague her but an opportunity to ask them hasn't presented itself. There isn't an offhanded way to wonder about drugs without causing him more stress. It's the most restraint she's ever had. Curiosity gets the best of her in most situations but not now. Not with him. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

"Morning." Blaine says, bouncing back up a little when she flops down heavily on the cushion. "Not a very good one though. We're out of coffee."

Travis grins and takes a final pull before putting out the cigarette. "You've been drinking it like it's water."

"To me, it is!"

"Well shit and you wonder why it's gone."

She's not a morning person but it's difficult to stay cranky in his company. After taking a light from the pipe she leans against his chest then tucks her legs underneath her.

Oppressive silence. It would be easy to ask him now. Even easier to fall back asleep. Listening to the steady beating of Travis's heart against her ear she lets her eyes flutter shut.

Is Hooter more than a family friend? Do you know about the meth he keeps stashed in his center console? Don't bother trying to lie, he told me that you needed it. Why do you need drugs, Travis? Oh and, by the way, happen to know someone named Rita? He sure seems to think she's important. All these questions have looped for the past week but she's bottled it. Blaine doesn't function under such pressure.

"How's Serenity?" Whenever she's had the chance to express her concerns that's all she's managed to say. At least it's normal and passive.

"Doing good."

"But not better?"

"Not better," he confirms. "I told her to stay the hell away from Hooter."

She bites her lip. Fully aware he's just opened a door and she'd be a fool not to step through. "What about him? I mean, he says he's known you since you were little."

Suddenly the thrumming of his heartbeat isn't so comforting, she can feel his muscles tensing as he stiffens. "He knew my mom. He caused problems for her and my dad. I don't trust him and haven't talked to him for years."

"He acted like you were friends."

"We were." He forces her to sit up when he leans forward. "Just a different time. A different life. I didn't want you to have to meet him."