A continuation of "Here." A little more than a blurb. Enjoy. :)
Crane watched Abbie take off her jacket and shoes when they stepped into the house. They didn't talk about their kiss.
"Do you want me to prepare you a meal?" he said.
"That'd be great. Thanks. I'm going to shower."
He nodded, stared at her.
She put her hand on his chest. "I'll be fine, Crane."
He nodded again and let her go. After he observed her walking up the stairs, he went into the kitchen to make her food. He decided on spaghetti and garlic bread. Cookies would be for dessert.
Having her home relieved him. He could finally rest, had a little more air now that she was home with him. His imagination couldn't form any of the ordeals she endured while in that place. He would never know and wasn't sure if Abbie would share them with him.
By the time he set their plates on the table, Abbie stood in the entrance of the kitchen. He gazed at her with a slightly open mouth. She wore one of his shirts and only his shirt. It was a white, long-sleeve that stopped a few inches above her knees. The collar was open, revealing her skin and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was exquisite.
"Dinner is ready."
He pulled out her chair for her. She walked further into the kitchen and sat in it. He sat down, too. Their forks, the balling of napkins, the crunch of bread, the slurp of noodles, and the jingling of ice cubes made conversation for them. Crane put their plates in the sink when they finished.
"Would you like dessert? I made sugar cookies."
Abbie shook her head. He put all the cookies in a plastic container and sat back at the table.
"You're not having any?" she said.
"Perhaps tomorrow."
She stared at him while she bit her bottom lip. His fingers squirmed under the table.
"You haven't been taking care of yourself."
"How could I when I knew your predicament? I had to get you out."
"You came for me."
He stared at her with his mouth open. Did she think he wouldn't come for her? That he would just leave her there?
"Did you have any doubt?"
"That place…. Worse than Purgatory. Some days I gave up, but some I didn't."
"What gave you a sense of hope?"
"Jenny and Joe. Irving. Corbin. Mama. Grace. All the people I love kept me hoping."
She stood up and walked to stand in front of him. He turned around in his chair. Her hands brushed through his hair while she brought their foreheads together. As his hands found her waist, he drew her between his parted legs. He looked at her.
"Did I keep you hoping?"
"More than anyone else."
"What happened to you in there?"
Abbie shook her head. "It doesn't matter now."
He let his finger run down her nose. "It does. Please don't conceal it from me."
She shook her head again. "Not tonight. Another time. Let me forget it for once."
He nodded. "You're wearing my shirt."
"I want a way to contain you for a little bit until they come for me."
Crane's eyebrows sunk to his eyes; he rubbed the sides of her waist. "No one will take you away from me again."
Her eyes widened. "They said they would get me, Crane. I have to hide."
She tried to remove his hands from her hips, but he held on tighter.
"Abbie."
Crane didn't like seeing her like this. She seemed to have a sense of nostalgia or post-traumatic stress as she called it. The only time he remembered her like this was in the tunnels when they searched for Franklenstein. The bats froze her.
"They're coming for me. Let me go."
He held her by her wrists; she tried to get away from him.
"Abbie."
"Hide. I have to hide from—"
He shook her a little. "Grace."
She quieted, and her eyes roamed his face. She nodded. "You're here?"
He touched her cheek. "What did that place do to you?"
"It got inside me."
"How can I remove it?"
"It'll always be here, Crane, just like Purgatory. You can't do much."
"Out of the much, what can I do?"
"Make me forget."
Crane's hands drifted under the shirt she wore; he hoped the circles he massaged into her back soothed her. She closed her eyes and titled her head back a little. Her small gasp spilled between them. The hem of his shirt snuck up her thighs as she put her legs around his waist. He kissed the palms of her hands, pressed them into his chest. She loosened his buttons. Then she kissed his lips.
He squeezed her thighs and left a gentle nip on the side of her neck. His tongue slid with hers as carried her to the living room and discarded her clothing. "Grace" and "I'm here" dropped through her lavender skin. He jumbled their fingers; he tied himself into her until her strangled gasps became unconstrained while her legs and arms cramped and coiled in his skin. Her halved words thumped in his ear, and he knew she had forgotten.