Sativa.

37. Recoil

After receiving blood money from Hooter, Blaine hoped visiting her brother would bring clarity. Instead she's even more disturbed. Her skin crawls and she's restless. Nearly a year ago now, back when Tina first returned to town, Clark had been in one of his moods and said some things that troubled Blaine deeply.

What he said then wasn't mentioned again. Until today. When she arrived he was rocking back and forth huddled up in the corner next to his cot. He hadn't recognized her and kept mumbling to himself like someone gone mad. Used to Clark's sometimes erratic behavior, she sat on the floor across from him to wait for his shaking to stop.

Before seeing him like this had upset her. No one wants to witness their family so broken by something they can't control. Now she's sick for entirely different reasons because, one day soon, she could end up exactly like Clark. Blaine kept her visit short but the conversation haunts her back at the hotel.

Despite visiting Clark twice since the attack on their house she never once mentioned the shooting. How would he know? Unable to calm down after the eerie omen, Blaine paces back and forth across her room. She hates it here. A hotel with neutral colors, uncomfortable furniture, and mundane posters displaying waterfalls is not a home.

What Blaine simply desires is a home and a family. It's all she's ever wanted.

Focused, she marches across the hall knocking urgently and rapidly on his door. It's early afternoon so she's somewhat surprised when he answers. A part of her thought he may still be at work. Seeing Travis disarms her.

"I was just about to call you." He says warmly. "I ordered take-out for dinner tonight."

It's tempting to slip back into a routine ease of faking it but that's what has gotten her into so much trouble. Blaine can't ignore all the uncertainty that gnaws at her insides like acid. If she does it might literally kill her.

With lips pursed she eventually manages to whisper, "We need to talk." She doesn't clarify about what because she's still uncertain about that part.

A pang of remorse tightens her chest when he's willing. Simply opening the door wider as a silent invitation to enter. She slips past him and immediately crumples on the single bed to prevent any possibility of collapsing beneath the weight of her responsibility. After shutting the door, Travis sits beside her the mattress dipping with his added weight.

Not wanting, or knowing, how to tell him about the cash she reveals what else she's been thinking about all day. "Do you remember Christmas last year?"

"Yeah."

Now that she's gotten past the door, sitting next to him, she's a little more comfortable. Even turning to face him, with her legs crossed in front of her, Blaine says, "I still have the knife you gave me somewhere."

"Looking back that kinda was a shitty gift to give your wife."

She tries not to grimace at his calling her that. Right now he has every right to. Regardless if they never officially walked down the isle. He gave her a sense of family and freedom she always wanted. But Blaine realizes maybe they were never made for each other.

"It's the thought that counts." She says, genuine.

A heavy silence blankets the room unforgivingly as she recalls the camouflage jacket she gifted him. When his hands were cut, his blood marred it to the point of never being wearable again. Somehow their relationship became just as ruined by stains.

How does one say goodbye to the person they've given nearly two years dedication to? Severing ties to Travis is akin to willingly cutting off one of her own limbs. There isn't an anesthetic strong enough for that.