Running Through Red Lights
Disclaimer: Don't own anything…Lyrics by Foo Fighters.
Rating: M
Spoiler: Red Badge, Black Gold and Red Blood.
A/N: I am really sorry about the delay. School's been insanely hectic. Special thanks to Heather, my new beta, who is incredibly helpful, encouraging, and generally awesome. Also, thank you for everyone who waited patiently for this chapter and to all my new readers. You have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to review. I really hope you like this chapter; it's definitely dedicated to all of you. Thanks!
***
Part XX: Red Grenades
"The page is out of print
we are not permanent
we're temporary, temporary
same old story…"
She hears her brother's voice, understands what he's saying, even manages to respond occasionally, but she's definitely not present in the conversation.
Her mind is simply elsewhere, floating around in a different dimension as she tries to stay focused. However, it seems damn near impossible for her to concentrate on anything. Everything is still in a beautiful spin, a mess, a complete and utter disarray of thought and emotion.
The day is bright and a ray of sunshine hits her squarely in the face, even though she tries to evade it. There's not a hint of rain, no chill, nothing to suggest that it's the day before Christmas Eve. The only possible indications are the lackluster decorations on the window of the convenience store adjacent to the gas station.
The "Merry Christmas" spray painted in blues, reds, and whites across the glass is lopsided and there is a pathetic looking Christmas tree drawn right beneath it. Luke keeps talking, switching the subject from the dreaded Christmas dinner with his in-laws to the presents she sent for him and his wife.
She's happy he's excited about them, but she can't find it in herself to respond with equal fervor. Instead her eyes fall upon the side mirror; what she finds there makes her shiver and press her thighs together, a secret smile spreading over her lips as Jane grins back at her, blue eyes never wavering from hers as he pumps gas into his beloved blue car.
Despite the fact that they're about to go see this Evans kid and that whatever information they find may threaten the perfect Christmas she has envisioned in her head, one look from Jane is all it takes for Lisbon's mind to completely drift away.
While her brother tries to guess what gift she bought him, Lisbon's thoughts fixate on something else entirely and she can't contain the blush that rises on her cheeks, spreading heat from her throat up.
She couldn't sleep last night. After leaving her office and gorging on stacks of blueberry and banana pancakes, they curled up on her couch, intent on watching a movie, anything to take the edge off, maybe return a few things to normalcy. However, it didn't work.
Sometime after the opening credits, Lisbon could no longer fight the exhaustion seeping deep into her bones, returning full force thanks to the food sitting contentedly in her stomach. She fell asleep only to wake up in her bed a few hours later with no memory of how she got there.
Jane was dozing beside her, but woke up the second she slid out of bed. He gave her a warm, sleepy smile, and she couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss him. He responded eagerly, and it felt like forever since they'd kissed. Warmth blossomed in her belly, growing, making her toes curl, and in a sudden flash of desperation, Lisbon wished she could stay like this forever.
His soft lips contrasted nicely with the hardness of his body as Jane held her close, making her wish that he would never let go. Still, it never escalated. Eventually, Jane pulled back and Lisbon settled herself without comment atop his chest, legs and arms draped over his body, holding him tight.
They didn't speak all day. Aside from some banter over breakfast, they tried so hard to stay away from discussing their impending trip, that the rest of their conversation seemed stilted and uncomfortable.
Lisbon didn't want it that way, but figured it couldn't possibly be otherwise, not after the argument they had. Most people went to cool off, took time away from each other, but not them. No, instead in all their dysfunction, they clung to each other, fighting silently against the unease each felt.
It was only when they lay in her bed that Lisbon could finally let herself relax, pushing thoughts of everything else away. That was the influence Jane's touch had on her. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever need to actively hypnotize her again, when it seemed like just the safety and comfort of his arms caused all the anxiety to slip from her body.
Later, they made dinner, working side-by-side in companionable silence. It reminded her of Thanksgiving, leaving her with a sense of calm she hadn't felt since before Jane had spilled his news to her. They'd split a bottle of wine and finished the movie they'd neglected earlier. However, despite the constant yawns and the drowsy tug of the alcohol, sleep seemed as elusive as ever when they'd slid into bed, the next day's plans weighing heavily on their minds.
As soon as the dark of night settled, the realization of what they were about to do crept up on Lisbon, jolting her entire system, keeping her alert for hours on end. Jane lay dutifully beside her, never saying a word as she tossed and turned, perhaps aware that there wasn't really much he could say to quell her fears at the moment.
Lisbon could sense his apprehension, knew in the back of her head that as self-assured and calm as he usually was, Jane wasn't oblivious to the implications of what they were about to face. Though he stayed quiet, his arm never left its position around her waist. Although the gentle soothing motion of his palm against her hip as they spooned didn't bring sleep, it allowed her a few precious hours of solace, holding the tension only slightly at bay.
Eventually however, the room proved to be too stifling and her mouth was suddenly parched. Jane's breathing had evened out considerably at some point, so she managed to slip out of bed without disturbing him, belting her housecoat before escaping downstairs.
The kitchen was shrouded in darkness and the floor felt refreshingly cold against her bare feet. She shivered for a moment as she watched the water streaming from the faucet fill up her glass. She didn't have a chance to take the sip of the much needed refreshment, however, because a pair of very familiar arms encircled her from behind, the length of his warm, strong frame barely pressing against her, but it was enough.
It was enough to let her know what he wanted, what he needed, maybe what both of them needed to make it through the next day; the reassurance both physical and emotional that their bond could transcend any obstacle, any hurdle that was yet to come.
She didn't say anything, didn't move; instead concentrated on the path of his fingers as they slid down her front, applying slight pressure that sent a familiar wave of anticipation all the way down to her toes and back up again.
Lisbon expected him to untie her robe, slide his hands inside, yearned for his touch on her bare skin, but instead Jane did something unexpected, something that quite possibly made her love him even more. Resting an arm around her waist, he pulled her back against him, moved the hair away from her neck, and whispered in her ear,
"I don't want to lose this with you."
He pressed his lips against her shoulder and even though it was just a faint brush against her skin, almost imperceptible, it still ignited a spark, one that quickly burst into a flame with the first words he'd spoken in hours. She spun around in their embrace, pulling his mouth to hers with an urgency unlike she'd ever felt before.
His words breached the dam, releasing all the doubt and anxiety that she tried to suppress, to swirl with his own unvoiced concerns, building into a frightening maelstrom.
So in an effort to tuck this overwhelming feeling away somewhere it couldn't touch her, Lisbon tried to clear her mind. Drawing on her dogged determination, she forced herself to focus only on this moment, regardless of what would happen tomorrow. She pulled back from the kiss only momentarily, just long enough for them to lock eyes, silent understanding passing between them as Jane hoisted her onto the counter. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.
Together, they tumbled into a welcoming cloud of skin and heat. All she could see, smell, and touch was Jane. Every stroke of his fingers, every brush of his mouth against her skin as his hands slipped beneath her nightgown, washing away the nagging tension in both her muscles and her heart.
Her hands waved their way into his curls, fingers threading through them, shivering as he pressed himself against her. His hand slipped between them, pushing her closer and closer to the brink of sanity as she fought to support herself against the counter, heedless of the clatter of her water glass tumbling into the sink.
Not even the crack of glass or the edge of the cupboard digging into her shoulder could distract Lisbon from the burning inside her, that indescribable sensation that threatened to overtake her all too soon.
She wanted to feel him badly, wanted to wrap her entire body around him. She was almost embarrassed by the instantaneous reaction of her every nerve whenever he was close to her.
However, Jane was in his own world, spreading feverish kisses over her neck and shoulders, cheeks and nose, before finally settling on her lips. His hands never stopped moving, fingers slipping underneath her clothes, molding perfectly to her breast, the flick of his thumb drawing out a moan and an accompanying dig of her heels into his lower back.
Lisbon tugged him even closer, trying to alleviate the delicious ache consuming her, but he only taunted her with the promise of more while leaving her helplessly on the edge.
It was what she loved most about Jane as a lover. He took his time, even in the most urgent of circumstances, even when she wanted raw, mindless, and frantic, he always delivered it with a twinge of patience, indication of underlying strength and composure.
She'd only seen him truly come apart once, the first time they'd been together. It had been such a build up, such an accumulation of tension, and untapped emotions. Exhausted of running, of hiding from these feelings between them, of sublimating the passion that couldn't be contained even after years of mastering the art of restraint, he'd given in.
And somehow despite the disarming pleasure she enjoyed at the time, Lisbon felt a far deeper ache now. She wanted to see him let go, needed him to stop hiding completely, so when his mouth finally resettled on hers, tongue tracing her lower lip, always coaxing, never demanding, she pulled back, capturing his face between her hands.
She didn't need words, green eyes sliding over his features, communicating everything silently. She feared that she would ruin the moment with unnecessary speech, and as soon as the line of confusion etched into Jane's forehead dissolved, Lisbon slid her heels down his back, hooking her toes into the waist band of his pants and pushing them to the floor.
Drawing her legs back up, she shuddered as his skin glided against hers. It felt like velvet and silk interlacing, warmth everywhere, staving off the chill of the kitchen air as Jane pulled her nightgown over her head, fingers delicately tracing her spine as they traveled to her hips.
He seemed to be handling her with such care, such vigilance, that she didn't anticipate him grasping her thighs and roughly pressing himself flush against her. She gasped when she felt him, but then the tightness in her stomach and the intensity of his dark cobalt gaze instilled in her a sense of confidence only this kind of intimacy could bring. This time it was Jane who groaned against her shoulder as she ran her fingers down his torso, over the smooth planes of his stomach, before going lower still, teasing him with her touch, reveling in the way he seemed to shudder, almost tremble against her.
She'd almost forgotten that his hands and lips were still on her, until a jolt of pleasure shot through her entire system as he began to move his hand in unison with hers. The other buried itself wrist deep in her hair as he pulled her into a kiss, mouth hot and heavy against hers. Her control threatened to snap as he explored her mouth, teeth scraping gently against her lips, tongue teasing, at first languid, and then urgent, zealous, driving her to pull him even closer, until there was no space left between their bodies, no room to breathe.
She could feel his heart beat against her breast and she knew that if they didn't move apart soon, there'd be an imprint of her mother's cross on Jane's chest.
Lisbon didn't care. She could concentrate on nothing else except the man in front of her, who was now staring back at her, seeking silent confirmation. She eased herself closer still, and despite the counter's edge digging painfully into her thighs, didn't stop until she felt him inside her.
No matter how many times they did this, Lisbon couldn't quite shake a hint of disbelief, a quiet marvel inside of her whenever she felt him this close, enveloped in his heat, in his scent, in his warmth. This time, however, was different. Regardless of what the future held, looking into Jane's eyes, Lisbon felt a connection that hadn't been there before, like the sharing of a well-kept secret, one that had been kept under lock and key.
It was electrifying.
They remained still for a moment, reveling in the feel of each other, the strength, courage, perhaps even love, that bridged the gap between them. However, the tide pleasure that swelled beneath the surface threatened to rise and before Lisbon could catch up with the moment, Jane began moving.
They became a heady blur of skin gliding, ragged breaths, and frantic kisses. Jane kept his mouth on hers the whole time, absorbing the shallow gasps that escaped her throat. His hands were everywhere, her breasts, her legs, her neck, cheeks, ribcage.
When she finally managed to open eyes that she couldn't remember closing, shuddering in his arms, her breath caught in her throat as the tight rope of self-control she'd been treading finally snapped, the intensity of his gaze only hastened her release.
The heat completely undid her, fluid elation coursing through her veins as every nerve ending, every pore in her skin seemed to be reacting, reeling, aching from complete abandon. Still, she was very much aware of the sounds being drawn from Jane as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, his whole body moving against her, tightening inside her. Fighting the lassitude that threatened to overtake her, Lisbon wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking the damp hair at the base of his neck, her lips grazing his ear, whispering his name…before pulling him into a soft kiss.
She wanted so desperately to watch him let go, to memorize his face in that moment of ultimate unwinding, but she couldn't bear to pull away from his lips, taking secret pleasure in the guttural sounds escaping him as his body moved to an unknown rhythm that was pulling her along, reminding her that he could make her fall apart all over again without even trying.
The delicious torture peaked unexpectedly as Jane shuddered against her for a final time, bringing her down with him, a cocoon of bliss and exhaustion enveloping them as they pulled back from the kiss, foreheads resting against each other, eyes still closed, shallow breaths circulating as heartbeats began to slow to a normal pace.
They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, though it was likely only several minutes, but something uncanny happened in those few silent moments.
There'd been plenty of intense exchanges between them before, both romantic and angry, both clothed and naked, but as she opened her eyes, searching out his distinctive blues in the light of early dawn, Lisbon realized she'd never felt closer to anyone than she did right that second, and she knew Jane felt it too.
Suddenly, she couldn't stop herself, couldn't hold back all the questions that plagued her mind, the ones she'd wondered about for months but never managed to find a way to raise.
She couldn't guess what tomorrow would bring and she was done putting it off.
So she asked.
She asked everything and he answered her. They didn't move from the counter; they didn't bother with covering themselves up or pulling away.
All that mattered were the words coming out of Jane's mouth, the explanations to everything she'd been wondering about for what seemed like an eternity.
He told her about putting his old house on the market, about how he'd had to get his realtor to pack away his furniture, because he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He told her about his shame knowing that all his daughter's things and his wife's beautiful piano were now gathering dust in some storage locker while his realtor shamelessly used his sordid past as a selling feature.
That guilt also kept him away from the beach front property he'd bought shortly after. Still he considered it a small victory that he was able to move on at least a little bit, that he managed to stop spending nights beneath the faded remnants of his family's demise. With a soft smile, he admitted that a lot of that had to do with her and the feelings he'd been denying for months.
He told her how that night on her porch after he'd helped clear her name had made him realize a lot of things, had forced him to acknowledge that while his mind wanted to dwell on the past, obsess about vengeance, his heart was moving on and he was powerless to stop it.
Lisbon wasn't sure how to react to that, she still couldn't really wrap her mind around the fact that she played a significant part in Jane's first step to making peace, but she couldn't help the swell of elation that welled up within her at the knowledge.
Even now, as she looks at the piece of paper in her lap, Rob Evans' address printed neatly in Jane's handwriting, she can't stop smiling as she thinks back on everything Jane had shared with her just a few hours ago.
She hadn't said anything special, just thanked him for his honesty, for sharing something so intimate with her, and the disarming smile he'd given her before suggesting a joint shower had been enough to dissolve her fears, at least temporarily.
They'd made love again after that. Under the incessant pelt of hot water, their movements became slow and languid, kisses were no longer frenzied but luxurious leaving her body humming even now as she shuts her eyes, picturing the naked lust reflected in Jane's gaze as he'd hoisted her up against the shower wall.
Her brother has long since hung up, promising to call the next day, but Lisbon doesn't even remember saying goodbye; instead her mind is still fresh with memories and revelations.
She doesn't regret her questions, feels like it brought them somehow closer together, something she thinks they desperately need right now.
She knows he needs her support, needs her quiet strength in all of this, and she's willing to give it to him now more than ever, because whether he meant to or not, he opened up a part of himself last night that had been a complete mystery to her.
It was a dark part that she hadn't wanted to probe, but now that she has scratched the surface she feels vindicated in her beliefs, in her decision to stand by him. Lisbon now knows that even before they got together, he'd already contemplated moving on, not from his path of vengeance but at least from the self-imposed torment he'd lived in for years.
Learning that she had unknowingly contributed to that makes Lisbon smile to herself, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she hopes the blush on her cheeks has subsided.
Apparently it hasn't, because as soon as Jane slides into the driver's seat, his eye is suspiciously trained on her, blatantly sizing her up.
"What?" she asks, raising her eyebrow defensively in hopes of distracting him from the teasing that will undoubtedly ensue.
"Nothing," Jane replies, but the look in his eye a little too innocent, enough to signal mischief as his lip curves into a half smile and he buckles his seatbelt.
"If you don't want to share," He begins and Lisbon can't help the eye roll. Whoever said women were the only ones who were ever passive aggressive was seriously misguided.
She lets out a sigh as his voice trails off, mock hurt thinly disguising his teasing tone. She wants to be playful, doesn't want the mood to be quite so serious, but she can't help the tightness in her chest, or the uncontained delight she feels at knowing he trusts her so implicitly.
Instead of teasing him right back, Lisbon moves her hand over the stick shift and rests it on his before Jane can turn the car on.
"I was just thinking about last night." Lisbon says vaguely and Jane looks at her with surprise and then with a devilish glint.
"Uh, well then I understand the smile and the faint blush on your cheeks. You my dear, embarrass far too easily."
For good measure, he reaches over and runs his thumb across the apple of her cheek, even hotter to the touch now that he's pointed out her condition.
Lisbon has the urge to swat his hand away, childishly cross her arms, and glare out the window for the rest of the short ride to the Evans residence; but a part of her wants to prove to him that concealing how he feels behind endless jokes and deflected conversation does not have to be a full-time job.
She knows that even after how candid he had been with her last night and all the ones prior, Jane still struggles with being honest, open, with letting her see that part of him that he fears she'll hate, so instead of perpetuating the levity, she merely squeezes his hand in response and smiles back serenely.
"Thank you for answering all my questions, for not pushing me away."
Jane seems startled by her honesty, by her straightforwardness, but it quickly subsides, replaced by understanding, gratitude and a twinge of acceptance. She doesn't want him to say anything, no explanations, no afterthoughts, nothing.
She wants to leave his secrets wrapped inside her mind, wants to leave all talk of the night before behind. Their exchange was sacred, personal, intimate in a way she's never experienced before, and it runs deeper than any connection she's had with anyone in her life. She feels like any more talk, any more allusions to it may tarnish the significance and the singularity of everything Jane has shared with her.
She also kind of likes having the last word.
So before Jane can say anything, though he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to respond, Lisbon reaches up and runs her fingers through his curls one more time. It's a loving gesture, one that's rare for someone who doesn't like public displays of affection.
"Ready?" Lisbon asks, the paper in her lap now feeling like a ton of bricks as she reminds herself of the task they've set out to do.
Jane nods, taking the hand resting on his shoulder and kissing her knuckles.
"As long as you're with me."
And for a moment, she thinks she can face anything.
***
He's sitting by the window, eyes watching the empty street. The sun pouring into the room hits him squarely in the face and in his effort to avoid it, he runs the back of his hand across his forehead. The dampness on his knuckles reminds him of the sweat dripping from his hairline, and suddenly the peaceful denial he's in evaporates.
He becomes keenly aware of the way his leg won't stop shaking, realizes that the cold beer in his hand doesn't take the edge off. His eyes frantically survey the room for the umpteenth time, but he already knows there's nothing here that's of any worth.
He's pawned everything.
The mattress in the corner and the various other personal belongings scattered around the bare room are of no value. With no hope of relief, he tries desperately to quell the desire inside him, the all-consuming focus on one thing and one thing only.
He shuts his eyes, tries to fight the craving, supplanting one drug for the other by taking a hefty pull from the bottle, but it's no use. There's no substitute for what he needs, what he desires, what he craves.
His eyes glaze over as he remembers his last hit and if he tries hard enough, in the quietude of his surroundings, he can almost imagine he's gotten a taste of what he so urgently wants. If he tries hard enough, he can already feel the intense euphoria and indestructibility that only comes with his trusted friend.
The fantasy feels so incredibly real, he thinks nothing can tear him away, but the distant sound of a car door slamming shut breaks the illusion, reminding him of the frailty of his imaginings. He opens his eyes, gazing out the window and spots a couple across the street. At first, he doesn't think much of them, averting his gaze elsewhere, even though it's clearly obvious that there's an air of authority about the petite brunette that is hard to ignore, and that the man beside her looks strikingly out of place in a light gray three piece suit.
That's about all the observation he can muster until the inside of his elbow begins to itch again and his fingers wrap tighter around the beer bottle in an effort not to scratch. It's painful to refrain but he manages somehow, reminding himself with a brief glance to the puncture mark on his skin that it could likely be infected by now.
He grimaces at the wound, then looks away, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus on getting as much pleasure from the alcohol slowly making its way through his empty system as possible. Still, his attention invariably travels to the window again, and when he notices the couple cross the street with matching determination and approach the entrance to his rundown duplex, he knows he should be worried.
However, his eyes lock onto something else entirely. The woman is dressed conservatively, hiding what is likely to be a softly curved figure, but his mind doesn't catalogue that bit of information. Instead he feels a tightening in his belly, the feeling of anticipatory elation in his heart disguises the danger of his thoughts.
The sunlight shines down on her and he quickly detects something sparkling, golden, hanging around the woman's neck. He can't figure out what it is, but it doesn't matter.
He's certain that it's valuable. Nothing cheap shines like that in natural daylight, and without much thought accompanying his actions, he drops the bottle of beer onto the floor, amber liquid staining the carpet as he makes his way to the front door, making sure his army knife is still in his pocket. After all, he didn't miss the look of focus in the woman's eye; she may not make it easy on him.
He opens the door before the taller, blond man has a chance to knock, but his guests don't appear startled. In fact, he feels the other man sizing him up, while the woman steps closer to him, extending her hand.
"Are you Robert Evans?" she asks, and he nods, eyes never leaving the chain around her neck.
It's a cross, generic looking, but it'll do.
He takes a step towards her, but feels the blond's gaze on him, boring into him, body partially blocking his path.
Rob looks to his left, brow furrowed as he looks the man up and down.
"What do you want?" he asks, barely restraining his frustration. He doesn't really care what they're here for, could care less what their intentions are, all he wants is the chain around the woman's neck.
He focuses on the necklace again. His hand slides imperceptibly into his pocket, as the woman takes a tentative step towards him. She uses a calm tone, but he's blinded by desire.
"We just want to ask you a few questions, Rob. That's all."
His hand closes around the knife, thumb tracing over the metal, as he nods his understanding, but it's almost like he doesn't feel himself doing it. He just wants the damn fucking chain and then he'll answer any questions they want.
They stand like that for what seems like hours, until he realizes that he hasn't taken his eyes off her neck, and the look the woman sends to the man standing behind him indicates that she recognizes his fixation. He hears her coaxing suggestions, asking him if they can come in or would he'd prefer to take a walk instead, but he can't concentrate.
His vision tunnels and his mind is made up. Without warning, he lunges towards the brunette. Her eyes grow wide and he realizes she must see the knife in his hand, but he can't stop himself. He zones in on his prize, hand twitching at his side to rip it off and find his way to the nearest pawn shop.
Fear has edged into her eyes but she is otherwise composed and it only encourages him on.
"Lisbon," he hears the man behind him caution, followed by a rough hold on his shoulder, pulling him back. He's not used to physical violence, but he hasn't had a hit in days. His withdrawal symptoms have made him so delirious, throwing him off kilter both mentally and physically. Therefore, even though the man in his expensive suit probably has 50 pounds on him, the blond is no match for the surge of force that ripples through his body, as he pushes the larger man back. To his surprise, he hears the loud thud as the man's head connects with something hard.
"Jane!"
The woman's eyes grow wide with fear that morphs quickly into anger as she sprints forward, but he doesn't let her go far. His hands move before he can even register the thought.
When she tries to push past him, he blocks her path, grabbing her around the shoulders with the hand holding the knife. Despite the proximity of the blade, she tries to break his hold, putting up more of a fight than he'd expected. However, the adrenaline is still driving him and he's not going to give up. His free hand yanks at the chain, ripping it apart. Clutching it tightly in his palm, he shoves her and tries to run.
He doesn't gain much ground before she's tackling him from behind, trying to wrestle the chain from his fist, but he refuses to let go. Before his brain can catch up with his hands, the color drains from the woman's face as his knife slices straight through her thigh, vertical cut from hip to knee.
His eyes only momentarily register the crimson staining her dark pants, but it's the sight of the silver blade of his army knife stained in dark red blood that actually jolts him awake, makes him acknowledge what he's done.
He staggers back, doesn't even realize that as the woman struggles to stay up, biting her lip against the pain and applying pressure to the wound, his left fist falls open and the necklace, his whole purpose for the last few inconceivable moments, falls to the ground. This time it's not adrenaline, not strength that guides him, but fear, and still clutching the knife in his hand, he takes off running down the street.
He runs as fast as he can until his lungs burn from lack of oxygen, his mind trying to erase the image of the bleeding woman. He looks over his shoulder only once, just long enough to realize that she actually had it in her to chase after him, but ultimately collapsed; her body on the empty sidewalk now too far away from him to assess the damage.
He turns the corner two blocks later, distance allowing respite as he slows down, no imminent danger present.
The craving, which seemed to abate in the frenzy, is now back, more potent than ever and he suddenly remembers the knife in his hand. It's one of his only possessions, one of the only things he hasn't tried to sell yet, but the sight of blood is just too much, even for him. So he dumps it in the bushes as he walks, heartbeat returning somewhat to normal.
He doesn't know how much times passes, but just as soon as he begins to wonder what he'll do now that he can't even return to the dump he's been living in thanks to his mom's monthly checks, a car pulls up to the sidewalk, cutting him off as he tries to cross the street.
He thinks nothing of it, until the driver rolls down the window and leans across the console to smile at him.
The man looks familiar, but Rob doesn't dwell on it. Instead his eyes immediately zero in on the empty passenger seat where a small white baggie calls to him like a beacon, pushing any apprehension he might feel to the very back of his mind.
The yearning only grows when he realizes the cure he's been waiting for is finally within reach. So when the man asks if he'd like a ride, there's no second guessing.
No questioning, no doubt, just reassurance, certainty.
He'll have his fix now.
He's earned it after all.
***