It's cherry red, like her smallest kite. The colour always surprises her. It's on her forehead too; she must have moved some hair our of her face.
"Wally?" Chase is frozen in the doorway. "Wally what did you do?"
"I'm fine." she says, blinking. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Holy shit, Bo." he crouches next to the tub, staring at her glazed eyes. "What are you on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Holy-" he reaches out a hand and touches the two deep cuts on her thigh. "Wally, we've got to get you to the ER."
"No…I'm…I think it was…it was something…something Grant had."
There's that deep, almost naive confusion and pain in his eyes. She touches his cheek, leaving a smudge of blood. "No, no Robert don't look at me like that. I'm fine."
"Fine?! Wally, you're high as a fucking kite, you just cut open your thigh!" he sees the razor blade lying on the side of the tub and throws it into the trash. "I'm taking you to hospital."
"No, no!" she grabs his wrist. "That's where Jillie went. I don't want to go like Jillie." Tears start falling down her cheeks. Her eyes, already wide from the drugs, grow even wider.
"Okay, okay I won't take you to hospital, all right?" He scrounges up a needle and suture from when he had practiced during med school and cleans the cuts on the inside of her thigh.
"It's gonna hurt Wally," he says, voice lacking a lot of sympathy.
"Give me another one of those pills then."
"No."
He focuses, stopping every few moments when she flinches.
"I thought you wouldn't notice," she says tearfully. "I knew that if they were on my wrists-"
"Wally, if these were on your wrists you could have died! They're really fucking deep."
"I'm sorry." her voice cracks. "I'm sorry I just-"
"No, it's alright." he cuts the thread. "It's not your fault. Come here."
He hates those scars. They heal two thin, white lines, slightly off parallel. They are everything he cannot prevent. He kisses them sometimes, not trying to make them go away, but to remind her that he's there.
She pulls open the door and stares at him. "Only since you brought beer, then."
"I know your soft spot. You want one now?" He sets the pack on the table and
"I was just getting ready to go take a shower if you wanted to join me," she smiles lazily, unable to stay angry at him for long.
They are the best thing the other can think of, all wet limbs and soapy hair. There're the laughs, high and low, as he half-lifts her up against him, kissing her. There are the matching smiles and the foreheads pressed together, but to her, each kiss is the loss of a thousand days she went without.
Later, they sit at the kitchen table, her feet propped on his chair, each only half-dressed with a beer in their hand.
"I love your hair down."
"Yeah, well you're the only one who ever sees it like this." It's tumbling down the shoulder of her blue t-shirt, letting damp soak into the cotton. "So enjoy it."
"Good." he winks. They sit in silence; he runs a hand up her shin, dancing fingers up to her knee.
"I swear to God!" she half kicks him.
He chuckles, "Come here, Wally."
"No, that boat just sank."
"Come here, Wally." He grabs the underside of her knee and tugs her forward, almost off her chair.
"You trying to kill me?"
"Come here, Wally." she's in his lap, and he's murmuring kisses onto her shoulder. "Bo." up her neck. "Bowen." he kisses along her jaw. "Bo, what's wrong?" She's been sitting with her eyes closed, lips hardly parted.
"Nothing."
"Tell me."
Her eyelashes part just a little. "I missed you."
His mouth twitches up softly. "You missed me."
"I'm not saying it agai-" but his hands brush the bare of her legs, and there is no past.
The bed is empty when he wakes. The clock blinking above the stove reads a little after six. Rain drips against the window pane. There is nothing to be concerned about; she's always been an early riser.
The click of the door rouses him from a doze a little time later. Eyes closed, he listens to her kick off her shoes, hears the harsh sounds of her breath.
"You alright, Bo?"
"Just-" she gasps. "More out of shape then I thought. I haven't run in a while -" gasp "-won't leave Winnie alone."
"I don't like the sound of that." he half rises, but she waves a hand and keeps breathing, leaning back in the chair. The gasps fade after a few minutes, and she continues exercising. It's a routine he's familiar with: sit-ups, push-ups, obliques, stretching.
"Didn't get enough of a workout last night then?" He asks.
"Just cause you're the type of bludger to lie in bed all morning-!"
It's all so normal, the sounds of her getting ready. He listens to her singing off-key in the shower, listens to the hairdryer.
"You need in?" she appears wrapped in a towel. The air that wafts out from behind her smells like coconut. That's what she's always smelled of: coconut and Shea butter.
"Yeah, thanks."
Winnie's awake when he emerges, searching for the iron. Her small legs kick at the chair as she shovels corn flakes into her mouth.
"Over in the closet," Wally directs, head between her knees, fingers working the braids the cornrows up towards her crown. "D'you want me to get it?"
"I can iron my own shirt!"
"Debatable. Winnie, say good morning to Robert."
Through a bite of cornflakes, she mumbles something that could be 'morning Robert,' but he's not exactly sure.
"All there is is cornflakes if you want something to eat."
"I'm good thanks. Don't eat breakfast."
"Yeah, I know, just thought I'd offer." she secures the last braid with a translucent band and sits up. "What?" he's grinning broadly, looking at her.
"Your hair."
She secures the loose top and braid-ends into a bun. "Fuck-off."
"Don't talk like your mum, Winnie," he warns. "No matter how nice she looks." The little girl turns to look at him, eyes widened with slight confusion.
"Shut-up, I look how I do everyday."
He shrugs, concentrating on a crease in the yoke. "You look nice everyday."
She's wearing the red-checked button-down that matches the red flush of her cheeks as she glances away.
"So, what are you reading today, then?" he jerks his head at the bookshelf.
"I dunno." she saunters over.
"Maybe this one?" the cheeky look on his face tells her what it is before he hands it to her.
"Fuck you!"
"I do believe that's the offer I wrote on the inside. Can't believe you still have that."
"Notice I do keep it hidden on the top shelf, away from most prying eyes."
"If I were you, I'd keep it in the underwear drawer." he laughs as she tries to snatch it back. "Mine now."
She gives him a solid 'thwack' with the book she had come over for: Kings and Caliphs: Islam's Presence in the Western World. It had the same 50 cent sticker of all her books, bought in a box from an estate sale.
Wally hasn't always read; she was a mediocre student, apathetic with no external drive from teachers or her parents. Once she was laid up from kitesurfing for two months, however, there wasn't much that could be done but hold a book between her knees and read. Anything really: histories, science, biographies, fiction. The words fill her head in a way she likes, and once there, they never leave.
"Come on, Win, ready to go? I'll see you at the hospital, yeah?"
He kisses her on the cheek as he secures his tie. "You want me to take her? It's still raining out."
"You don't mind?"
"Not if she doesn't."
They both turn to look at her. "Win, you want to go with Robert in the car?"
"Yes!" Winnie's face brightens, more for the fact that she won't have to ride on the bike than that she's taken a liking to Robert. She's an odd thing, all locked up inside her own head with her rag doll. Her inquisitive nature is a near silent one, giving her an almost permanently confused look as questions run past the inside of her eyes, trapped in by the shyness that makes her seem hostile towards anyone but Wally. But she does like her mummy's friend in her own quiet way: he talks like them.
"Alright then. I'd be honored."
"Thanks a mil, Robert." She shrugs on the leather jacket.
"Least I can do. That always looked better on you."
She smiles, hand on the doorknob. "Of course it does. That's why I took it."