Mine [Grey]

[Jesse Fforde]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Grey> Dazed. Dazed and confused. That had been a popular movie back in the 90's, had it not? Her dark brows knit together while she sat inside the lobby of the Wickbridge bank. It hurt to take a deep breath. She was unsure why her chest felt hollow and her neck was extremely sore. The pain was more like a throbbing ache that matched Mother Nature's gift. But, it worried her that to turn her head either direction, the muscles seemed too tight.

Did she overdo it at work? Had she put too much time into that engine? And while she sat there, clutching nothing but the ends of her coat; Grey tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing there. She had come to the bank originally for something. To take money out of her account. But, at that very moment, she could not place why. The landscapes changed before her eyes. From a place she never even recognized, to an area blocks south of Wickbridge's local bank, to now sitting in that lobby.

While her head throbbed, she brought her right hand up to scrub over her face. It was dirty. It looked like her hands had some road rash to them - tiny little cuts and dirt mixed in underneath nails that could certainly use a manicure. She drew in a yawn, lips opening as she sucked in that breath of fresh, perfumed air. People milled about, in and around her. They came and went, using the tellers or the banking assistants spread out at regal looking desks. Very few raised their voices, someone said how a fee was unfair and another laughed about the sunshine whatever sport had been the attention on television the night before.

And in that moment, Grey closed her eyes. She was tired. She had not quite realized how tired she was until she looked down at the newly purchased jeans and saw the hole in the right knee. Instinctively, she lowered her hand down to that mar and let her fingers inspect the tattered fabric. The blood of hers had dried, and the teal and black tennis shoes peeked out the ends of the boot cut denim. Huh... How'd that happen?

So, she started to take stock other places too. Tennis shoes. Wallet. Satchel that was zipped up underneath her non-designer coat, hooded for the horrid weather in the city. Wait... Her phone. Where was her phone? The thump of her heart started rushing the blood around her body as adrenaline kicked in again and she wrapped her fingers around the slim smartphone's case and drew it out. The smartphone was certainly a new treasure for Grey. And she tapped the screen to look and see exactly what time it was.



<Jesse Fforde> The wedding, according to Jesse, was a farce. A pirate themed wedding where the wedding party itself was far larger than the guests convened to watch. Some small part of him felt left out, as if it were some punishment for being an asshole; he was forced to sit there and watch while all these people, this large family, bonded together in something so important. And he was left there on the outskirts. A couple of people had acknowledged him, but in the end he’d slipped out without saying much of anything to anyone. Of course he thought it was idiotic – the two of them had only known each other a couple of months and now they were getting married. And not ordinary married, where divorce is possible, but eternally bound in a way that can never, ever be undone. Who the hell does that after only a couple of months?

In the end, he understood that he was not like the masses, however. In that moment and on that night he knew the two of them were in love, and he was there, and he didn’t complain, even if he didn’t celebrate quite as robustly as the rest of them. He’d even left a nice sketch of Blake and Zoey – a point in time when they hadn’t realised he was watching them. But he was, and he was drawing them in their candid moment. He left them the rolled up canvas. They could choose to keep it or scrap it – store it or frame it. He didn’t care.

What he did care about was getting home. This whole business of vows and feelings had him thinking about Grey, inadvertently. Once upon a time he might have run away from her faster than anyone could say ‘I do’, but instead he caved and he ran to her instead. Except when he got there, she wasn’t home. He checked the time. It wasn’t too late. He sat down in front of the TV and flicked through the channels absently, but only got more irritated the more time that passed. He pulled out his phone and messaged Grey. A quick Where are you? She didn’t answer. Fifteen minutes later he tried calling. She still didn’t answer. He then called the garage where she worked – they said she’d gone home hours ago.

Jesse remembered coming through that door one night to the smell of blood, strong and pungent. He remembered the panic that had quickly flooded his body. The same panic flooded his body now. He remembered how he’d told Velveteen about Grey; how she’d said not to give her Grey’s name, but the name had slipped anyway. He remembered how dangerous the city actually was – how many of him were out there. Vampires who fed without remorse and guilt, and who killed rather than feeding with mercy.

One more time, he called Grey’s number. And while it rang, he paced the area in front of the door. If she didn’t answer, he was going to go out there and start searching the streets, one at a time, until he found her.


<Grey> The iPhone was pretty attractive. The sales person spent over an hour with her showing Grey all of the perks and things called 'apps' on the smartphone. It was quite surprising how much technology evolved. She wanted the white one. There was something about the crisp, clean look that begged her attention. She had grabbed a case that was made of dense plastic, had a peacock feather along the backside of it, and paid at the front desk. She remembered walking out with that phone and managing her first text message to Jesse.

The screen was so small, and she was not used to working with a tiny touch keyboard. But, after a while, the navigation of that phone became second nature. So, when she held the phone in her hand, the weight alone was reassuring. It was normal. It meant that something was okay. The sun was gone, and Grey did not even recognize the time that had been lost. A frown turned down her pale, dry lips. She did not even have the chance to check the time before her phone buzzed in her hand. The ringer had been turned off hours ago in concentration and respect for her job. But now, Jesse's number splashed across her display and the time was after midnight.

Wait, what? Midnight?! It was 12:03AM and she gulped hard when she looked up. The matronly woman across from her gave a gentle smile and did not seem to care that she was staring. With a bank that was open twenty-four hours, it was surprising for Grey to never before realize how busy this particular branch would be at this time of night. "Jesse." She said in almost a whisper when she answered the phone and tucked the expensive contraption to her ear. That was the way she said hello. That was the greeting he got from her most every time he called. Sometimes it was playful. Sometimes it was short. But today, it was quiet and almost uncertain calling of his name from her lips. Grey swallowed hard and shifted her weight in the seat.

Her mouth was so dry. Her attention was broken. These memories kept popping up inbetween people's wayward glances her way and the workers that dolled out dollars and collected payments. What could she say? What could she do? She really didn't know what happened to her. And she didn't know why it was so late. Was he going to be mad? It looked like she had missed a call or two prior in the blip the phone allowed before taking the incoming call full screen. There was no doubt that he would hear her breathing over the line. After all, it was slightly heavy and she was still coming down from the rush of thinking she had lost her phone. Cradling the side of her head, she absently smoothed that palm down to rub her neck.


<Jesse Fforde> Even as the phone rang, Jesse was collecting his keys and his wallet. He shoved the wallet into his back pocket and was leaving the apartment without even thinking to grab a jacket. The shirt he wore was a flimsy material, quite see-through. An odd choice, really, but it’s what he had decided upon. It was only as he was mashing the button of the elevator to go down that she answered. Jesse didn’t care that the neighbours might overhear. He almost shouted into the phone – as much as he could manage with a voice that had never fully regained its grandeur. Maybe it was never meant to be a grand voice. Maybe this was how it was always meant to sound – a little bit like gravel beneath boots, baritone, and yet somehow smooth.

“Grey! Where the hell are you?!” he asked. He glanced up at the little screen above the elevator that told him where the thing was. It was slowly making its way up to him. He could hear her laboured breathing over the phone; the quiet nature of her voice as compared to how it might normally sound. Something was wrong. He could hear it, even over the distance. Something was not right.

“What happened? Are you okay?!” he asked. Thank the lord for modern technology – even he stepped into the elevator and the doors whooshed closed behind him, he did not lose any signal. She remained on the other end of the phone. The ‘G’ button lit up as his finger slammed against it. The damned machine couldn’t move fast enough. Sure, she could have said she'd gone out with friends, that she was out drinking. She could have reprimanded him for being too possessive. And he waited, with baited breath. Breath that he did not need.


<Grey> The longer she sat there in that lobby chair, the longer her body started to remind her exactly of what hurt. And while she held the phone up to her ear, she clutched it tighter and tighter. She squeezed her eyes closed, and tried to ignore the older woman with a gleam in her eye. Whether it was that all knowing kind smile that set Grey's heart thumping, or it was that light tsk she heard at the state she was in - the bank hadn't asked her to leave yet. "I am at the bank. The one right by work." She took a deep breath, knowing full well she had set Jesse off.

The man certainly would have every right to worry. She had kissed him that morning, gave him a smile, and told him she would be fine. Grey would have to amend that morning to do statement. Because right now she wasn't fine and her back throbbed painfully like someone had given her a rough kick. "I don't really know what happened. There was a gate. And I couldn't find anyone. And then there wasn't a gate. And... I'm okay." She tried to make it sound like she was okay.

But, after all, she wasn't really sure she was okay. She had left work about five o'clock; quitting time at the garage. And then she had been missing a whole seven hours almost. As her mind twirled faster, she swallowed again - wincing at the general ache in her neck. She felt grubby. She felt like she had someone else's smell on her. She felt like someone else had touched her and she couldn't remember a single ounce of it. Without trying to let her voice break, she whispered over the line again. "Can you come and get me, please?"


<Jesse Fforde> “I’m already on my way,” Jesse half growls down the line. He’s not one for conversation, and as much as he wants to know exactly what happened, and wants to keep her on the phone so he at least knows she’s still there, he knows it’s not practical. “Stay there,” he says – it’s not needed, but he says it anyway, before he hangs up. At least the apartment complex they live in is relatively new and the elevator is relatively fast. He only has to wait another five seconds after he hangs up for the doors to whoosh open – and then he’s out of them like a bat out of hell, stalking through the lobby with his eyes on fire.

The bike is parked out on the street, with the single helmet attached to the handlebars. He wrenches the helmet free and pulls it down over his head; the bike comes to life after a rough kick, roaring beneath him. A horn blares its anger into the night as Jesse swerves out in front of an oncoming car. He doesn’t even have the energy to flip them off. He weaves in and out of the traffic, of which there’s not much at this time of the night, hurtling around corners and gunning it on the straights, until finally he arrives at the bank, a mere ten minutes later.

As he steps through the doors he removes the helmet; the woman behind one of the counters is giving him a hard glare – yeah, yeah, he knows. Helmets aren’t exactly welcome in banks, but he’s not going to try to rob the place. If he is, it’s only to rob it of one of its occupants. When he sees her he almost shouts again – just a mangled sound of panic. He holds it in, however, and grinds his teeth together. She’s a mess. There’s a hole in her jeans and there’s blood, too – not just the sweet, second-hand blood he’d grown very fond of over the past few nights, but real blood. The blood that seeps from wounds. He drops to his haunches in front of Grey, hand immediately brushing that hair of hers behind her ear. Sure, he’s furious. But not at her.

“What happened?” he hisses, aware that they may have eavesdroppers.


<Grey> Relief washed through her chest when her lover said to her that he was already coming. Her chest felt as if it were going to implode. From the various emotions that scattered around inside of her to the aches and pains seeping through her skin, Grey sat there quietly and tried not to draw attention to herself. But, that was hard to do when her hair was falling out of that work braid, dirt marks stained up the side of her face, and scratches galore seemed to hang heavy in the territory of her knees and hands. She was clutching that phone so tight in her grip that her knuckles where white when he set eyes on her.

It took everything she had to still sit in that chair instead of launching herself up into Jesse's grip like the end of a tortured, romantic movie. No, she sat right there like he told her to stay there. She tried to look strong. She even managed to give him a bit of a smile as those dry lips of hers cracked and her fingers of that left hand lifted and brushed down his cheek. He looked so devastatingly handsome. That black shirt of his hugged his chest just so. She wanted to tell him that he was so gorgeous. But instead, the words that dropped from her mouth wasn't at all what she expected. "I'm sorry!" And she said that in such a way, that the quiet sob twisted up her features in a grimace. It was louder than she expected given the way he tenderly touched her hair and she ignored the wetness that rolled down her cheeks. Jesus.

What was this? Hormones?! She took a breath in, tried not to shake as she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed her eyes tightly together as if to stem off the flow of those tears. Twice now, he found her a mess. "I don't know what happened. I was coming here after work and then the next thing I know I wake up in this... This... place. And it has a big gate around it and a fence and there's no one there and everything was quiet. Too quiet, Jesse. And I was trying to find a way out and everywhere I went, it was blocked." She said, almost sounding devastated at the thought of not being able to get back home. Her voice was quieter now, more controlled. It even had a hint of anger to it as those watery blue eyes stared into his.


<Jesse Fforde> She was sorry! Jesse’s eyes widened and his lips parted to furiously tell her that she had nothing to be sorry about, except she continued, answering the question that he had asked. And as the words fly from her mouth, Jesse understands. He know he understands far more than Grey does. He knows exactly what has happened, and possessive fury licks through his body like an unchecked, raging bush fire. He has no idea why the leeches in the city like to drag their prey around; he has no idea why the humans who are fed from end up, sometimes, in places they’d never go. She had found herself in the Quarantine Zone, by the sound of it. A flood of panic threatens to fuel that fury, like that bush fire found a gas station somewhere deep inside. The ******* Quarantine Zone, where she could have been mauled by God knows…

… but she’s not there anymore. She’s here, in the bank. Safe, if a little knocked around. Of course there’s no way Jesse would ever forgive whoever did this, should he find out. Though he knows, already, that there’s no way. Grey doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember a thing. How is he supposed to find out? There’s no way. His teeth grind against each other again as he shakes his head. The story isn’t finished yet. It can’t be.

“But you found your way out?” he asks. Maybe someone helped her. Maybe she found the sewers. Maybe she climbed the wall. Maybe that’s why she’s so scratched and grazed. Even as he asks the question, the pad of his thumb wipes away the wetness on Grey’s cheek, his opposite hand resting upon her knee. He has this vague notion that he never wants to let her out of his sight ever again.


<Grey> She shook her head then. She shook it with such a force that it dropped her hair forward again from behind her ear where he had tucked the strand. The haphazard braid was mostly loose anyways, the curls falling this way and that outside of their original confines in a distressed manner. "No. I don't remember how I got out. I was walking down the street and trying to figure out where I was. It was so cold, Jesse. And everything was dark. It... There wasn't anyone. I mean, I didn't see anyone to even ask. And then the next time I turn around I'm picking myself up off the ground again. I stumbled around a bit. I hadn't had any lunch. And everything felt so ... odd. I just knew I needed to get to the bank, Jesse. I was going to go to the grocery store after work."


There was a shaking, ragged breath that she sucked in. It was almost as if she didn't get that all out in one breath, she didn't want to relive it. There was a grimace upon her face and instinctively, she cradled her neck again. She rubbed that sore flesh while she watched the look on his face turn from murderous to concerned to caring. She shuddered, cold and trying to keep herself from having another little breakdown. Poor Jesse, he had seen enough of those tears of hers lately that the man was going to drown in them. "I... I just had to get back to the bank. And I was going to take some money out. But, then you called. And I didn't realize what time it was." She whispered to him, thankful that he caused the matronly woman to scurry away. She leaned down, almost shrinking her shoulders so she could be as close to him as she could.


"I was going to get dinner. And some more cereal. And some chocolate." She murmured. That was only half her list for the store, but none of it seemed as important now as her limbs bounced, her tennis shoes smacking against the tile in an effort to keep her nervous energy contained while she gave that tortured look to Jesse. "I feel dirty." Was all she said, and she meant even beyond her typical day at work where grease and oil were her mediums.


<Jesse Fforde> Again! Of course, the Quarantine Zone wasn’t only overrun with zombies and ghouls, but also the vampires who sought to kill them, and collect bits and pieces for rituals, or to sell. Or just because they enjoy the slaughter. Of course most vampires who would find a human lost and confused wandering around inside the Quarantine Zone wouldn’t help. Of course they wouldn’t. They’d just have a bit of a meal. The fury still simmered in all of Jesse’s countenance; the muscles jump in his jaw and his entire body is tense with it. He knows that he is that kind of vampire. He can’t be angry at those who wouldn’t help because he has done the same thing on many occasions. Except he wouldn’t leave his prey to live. His would die.

But that doesn’t matter now. Guilt doesn’t play a part in Jesse’s reaction. Instead, he stands and pulls Grey up into a tender embrace. He holds the back of her head with splayed fingers as his mouth lingers near her ear. “I understand. I know what happened. But I can’t talk about it here,” he says. He’s still aware that there are far too many people around. He kisses Grey’s temple, the stubble over his lips and peppering his jaw tickling her skin, snagging her hair. “We’ll go home, little dove. You’re okay,” he says. And he forces the calm into his gravelly tone; he tries to keep his anger under wraps – because it won’t do any good here, in the middle of a crowd. And his first priority is Grey, who looks so shaken up. It will not help her one iota if he is to explode right here.

He lets go of her so he can reach down to collect his helmet. He then wraps an arm around her waist to lead her out of the bank, one glance over his shoulder to glare at any who might try to take her from him.


<Grey> She was relatively new to the city. She knew that she liked her tiny little blocks she knew. Where her path to and from work most every day was the same. And she stayed for hours sometimes in the bank, the building like a safety net since she had first come to the city. Perhaps that was why she couldn't bear to leave the four solid doors until Jesse arrived. "I didn't mean to be so late." She said quietly against his shoulder almost as he pulled her up. In that moment, she went willingly with him. The aches and pains her body gave her - a protest of her wild evening - was nothing compared to the comfort she sought in the man standing in front of her. Her heart was beating hard, the boom boom almost enough to let someone's mouth water despite her own attractive, bloody scent.

She relishes his touch. Turns her chin into the kiss at her temple. She clings dirty hands to his upper arms, the bite of the road rash from some trip up and stance to break her fall obviously didn't work when her knee bent and that fresh blood was quick to tease the air around her and the scab obviously broke open. "Did I miss a date?" She tried to keep things light, her memory foggy in some areas as he tucked her close.

She eased into step beside him, and tried to act oh so casual. But her hip hurt and her neck was throbbing. She wanted to curl up into that bed. It was painful, the thought of not even knowing where she was. Or why Jesse couldn't say anything. Too worried about prying ears. And while she fought a grimace, she clutched tightly to his hip for a bit of added support as she trailed next to him. "I'd like that. Home." Safe. With him. She shook her head, trying to make sense of this whole discombobulated night. "What did I do wrong?" She whispered to him, unable to keep her curiosity contained until they got home now that they stood by his bike.


<Jesse Fforde> They pause as soon as they’re standing beside the bike. The breeze is crisp, but they’ve left behind the hubbub of the bank and he can at least be a little more open out here; a little more forthcoming. He turns to face Grey, and lifts the helmet to push it over her head. It’s a little too large for her, but it will at least keep her head safe from splitting against the road, should he crash. Which he does not intend to. He keeps the screen up so that he can still see her face, before his hands rest on her hips.

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, his tone clipped and certain. There’s still fury there, under the surface. Emotion rages in the desert that is his soul, whipping up a veritable sandstorm. He could say that she shouldn’t be out at night. He could tell her that she’s not allowed to finish work after sunset, that she has to have all her banking and grocery shopping done and be indoors by the time the sun sinks below the horizon. But it’s unreasonable, he knows that much. He’s furious that she can’t be safe. He’s furious that he can’t somehow claim her, so that all the others know she’s taken and out of bounds. He clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

His head spins. The scent of her is overpowering. He’s hungry. Of course he is. He always is. The scent of her blood doesn’t arouse him this time, though. Not one bit. It only makes him angrier. He hasn’t responded to the lightness of her tone or the airiness she has tried to infuse into the situation. Jesse hasn’t got it in him to be cheeky right now. He wants to tell her that this, this is the reason why she should let him do it. Let him feed her his blood. This will never happen again. Not now, though. Not here. He steps away from Grey so that he can throw a leg over the bike. It bounces beneath his weight, lowering a little. He holds out a hand to help Grey climb on behind him.


<Grey> There was a bruise forming over her right brow. Undoubtedly, it happened either the first or second time that she woke up from the pavement. Everything felt a little confusing. But, with Jesse there, the reassurance was all she needed. As the helmet came to rest upon her head, Grey ignored the increased throbbing of her neck. A hot shower. Or better yet, a nice hot bath. That's what she wanted. And while Jesse said in that terse voice of his that she did nothing wrong - it did not reassure her very much. No, instead, she could just tell that he was holding something back. In taking his hand, she squeezed it. Swinging a leg over that bike just as he had was an ounce or two more difficult than normal.

"I think I did." She said to him quietly before he revved that engine. Grey was made of strong stock. She could handle the scrapes and bruises, the cuts and the aches and pains. Her job demanded it. Her body was used to the long hours of the day and the need to be successful. And in doing so, she often over did it a little bit. But with a deep breath, she wrapped her hands around Jesse's hips. The man was even more handsome when he was angry. Although, she wouldn't quite tease him about that very bit of knowledge now. No. She'd forgo the cereal and the chocolate for a bath now.

What a mess she made of the evening. And while she lowered her chin, that helmet nudged forward. It reminded her of how very lucky she was to have him. How very lucky she had ran into that solid bit of a man on the street that day - unwavering in her thump upon the ground. A lick to her lower lip and she squeezed his hips. She knew it would only be a matter of minutes until she was back at home with him and learning a whole new lesson.


<Jesse Fforde> All Jesse can do in response to Grey’s adamant statement is shake his head and press his lips tighter together. He will explain fully when they get home that she has done nothing wrong, just like a girl wearing a short skirt cannot be blamed if a man chooses to rape her. It’s ludicrous to think any of this is her fault. He could, of course, tell her the one thing she did do wrong was refuse him when he asked to turn her. Not right now though. Not yet.

The bike revs beneath them, but this time Jesse isn’t as reckless in his driving. He has something precious that he doesn’t want to lose. If he crashes, he will survive. Grey wouldn’t. And thus, he takes a little bit longer to get home. He follows all the road rules, and keeps to the speed limit. He doesn’t pull out in front of any cars. When they arrive, rather than park the bike out on the street he takes it down into the parking garage below the complex. He parks in the space that belongs to the apartment number. The roar of the bike echoes back to them even after he has turned it off.

He doesn’t say a word as he waits for Grey to get off the bike. He remembers the first he brought her here; he remembers how much he just wanted to **** her, and how much he did, in the end. This situation does not echo that one. Sure, yes, he desires her. He always does. But tonight he has far too much else that he’s concerned with to even make a move.


<Grey> The mood is serious. She can feel it underneath the surface of his skin. She knows that something is brewing within him as he fights to contain it. First, she will loosen her grip on his hips. She eased the helmet off her head. And in that moment of holding the heavy, safety plastic to the side, she leans forward and kisses the back of his neck. It is light, and brief. Her lips are dry so it perhaps isn't as pleasant as he was used to from her. But, it only was feather light before she eased off of the bike.

Her leg would swing around, curl and cause her to take a slight step or two extra to gain her balance now that she was on solid ground again. Her face was pale except for the dirt and the bruising. Her cheeks did not even have a hint of color to them while she waited for Jesse to depart. A lick of her lower lip, she looked around the garage. Sure, she had been down here before. Of course, not so many times that letting her attention drift to the lot of cars wasn't something sacred.

In that moment, she blinked. She reached out and held her hand out to the man that came to her. She wanted him close. She needed him near. While her legs still felt stiff and a little bit like they were made of Jello, she waited for him to get off the bike next. "Thank you, Jesse. Thanks for coming to get me." She whispered to him, but in that garage her voice carried. Soon, she'd be practically pulling him into the elevator. She just wanted to get them back home.


<Jesse Fforde> The kiss on his neck does a lot to soothe Jesse’s frazzled anger. He doesn’t notice any difference now; he knows that her lips are cracked but that doesn’t make it any less pleasant for him. It doesn’t matter the state of the woman, he will always love her. But he doesn’t like that her lips are cracked or that her skin is pale. He doesn’t like how she has to take a few extra steps to regain her balance. It means that someone – or several – has taken too much blood from her. And those someone’s weren’t him. Other have touched her in a way he wants to be reserved only for him. And it would have meant nothing to them. He barely contains the growl that threatens to rip from his throat. Instead, he makes sure that the bike’s stand is erect, before swinging his own leg off the bike.

He takes the helmet out of Grey’s hands and leaves it with the bike; he then takes the hand that she hold out to him. He wraps that hand around her waist, afraid that she might lose her balance. She doesn’t look right. She looks like a ghost of herself, and tonight he will play nurse.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, his tone still as clipped as it was before. “Whenever you feel like something’s wrong, you call me. I don’t care when or what time,” he says. And he means it. He’ll stay up all day. He’ll keep his phone on him at all times. Even if he has to risk the sunlight to do it, he’ll come to her aid. The two of them walk the short distance to the elevator; Grey almost breaks away from him in her eagerness to get inside, and he is pulled along with her. Once in, he pushes the button for their level and watches the little numbers over the top of the door. It’s as if her eagerness is catching, and he, too, wants only to get inside. And once they are inside, he locks the door behind them – the normal lock, the deadbolt, and the chain.


<Grey> Together in that small space of the elevator, Grey can feel the tension humming between them. She squeezed his hand, waiting for him to come along with her. Each floor is an eternity, and she knows rightly that he is so very concerned for her. Leaning back against the wall, she finally feels in that elevator that she can catch her breath. But, in a way, it almost feels hollow inside.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



<Grey> "I will, Jesse. I promise, if I need you for anything, you will be the first that I do call." She said to him, her pale smudged face turned up to look at his. She gathered herself close to him, letting her body brush against the sturdy support he has to offer. Once inside, once he has the door locked - Grey would peel off her jacket. The coat's zipper was thrust down and she was out of it in a mere moment.

"Tell me. Say it. I know there is something more, Jesse. What is it?" She murmured to him, dropping her jacket to the floor once they are inside that spacious apartment. She took a deep breath. She gathered her bearings. She was a big girl. Her shoulders were wide even if she took a moment to grab the tail of her barely their braid and unravel it.


<Jesse Fforde> He knew that she would want answers immediately, and he would give them to her. But she also needs warmth and space and cleanliness, and so even though he wants to sit her down at the dining room table and hold her hands, and explain everything gravely, he doesn’t. Instead, he answers her even as he moves into the kitchen to grab a glass, and to retrieve not water, but her favourite bottle of alcohol. He pours her a sturdy amount, and as he goes about it, he speaks:

“I haven’t told you everything, Grey. About vampires,” he says, ice-blue eyes lifting to assess her reaction to the word, that dirty word, that thing that he is and that she doesn’t yet want to become. “Most feed without killing,” he says without the barest hint of embarrassment or awkwardness. This is what he is. This is what exists. And there’s no point being stupidly meek about it. “And they get away with it. Because when they feed, something happens to the human – the wound heals and they don’t remember. They wake up in places they don’t recognise. They lose huge chunks of time,” he says, and as he speaks his voice trembles with rage. He has to put the bottle down and clench his fists to keep himself from throwing it against the wall. He takes a deep breath that he does not need, swallows it, and picks up the glass. He brings it to Grey.

“This didn’t happen to you once. It happened to you twice, tonight. Some ******* asshole fed from you and left you in the Quarantine Zone. And then another ******* asshole fed from you again, and left you near the bank. That’s why you can’t remember anything. You were passed out,” he says. Although he appears calm, the liquid in the glass that he offers to Grey has ripples radiating across the surface.


<Grey> She followed behind him quietly. As he moved to the kitchen, so did Grey. She deposited items along the way. First, her phone. Then, her satchel that she carried across her body underneath that coat. Then, she dropped her keys upon the kitchen counter quietly while she watched him vibrate with nerves, anger, and irritation. She understood now, that it wasn't all at her or her actions.

But, that didn't make the situation any better. She swallowed tightly, her throat dry. It felt like her mouth was a desert. She inhaled deeply, looking to him as he poured that alcohol and spoke. Her face still remained slack. Impassive. She did not grimace when he spoke of his kind. Of the actions of those he are associated with by the death alone. "I am okay, Jesse. I'm here." She says quietly as if to reassure him that the bumps and bruises, the scrapes and the swollen knee is just superficial. Oh, how it is. She touched his fingers as he passed her the glass. She accepted it from him without denial. It probably wasn't the best on an empty stomach, but she tipped it back and swallowed anyways. Not even a cough as the bite of the fluid lubricated her mouth and throat.

"I don't like that feeling. I don't like being their meal." She whispered, even if that wasn't quite steady. She reached out, setting the glass to the side. She tugged Jesse to her. She needed him. She wanted him close. She needed to wrap her arms around him again. Her smell was strong, but upon her person lingered a few additional scents. One or two no doubt was because of work and the bank, but another scent was of a creature more feral. And she didn't care. She lifted herself up onto her toes while attempting to tug him down. She brushed her lips against his, in an action as if to say that it was all okay - even if it wasn't. He couldn't protect her and she did not at all expect him to in the moments of that befuddling afternoon.

But now, in that moment. Where it was just them, she set to reassure him. An aching leg, a throbbing neck, and the pain that spread along her lower back was all just temporary. Her time with Jesse was not. No - she was his. And he was hers. And as much as she didn't like the sound of that Quarantine Zone - she was thankful the second beast had dragged her from it. "It is okay." She said again, murmured it against his lips.


<Jesse Fforde> It should work but it doesn’t. The scent of her blood and that enticing taste of her lips against his – the taste of the alcohol mixed with the flavour that is distinctly Grey – should push away all of his anger. He could lift her up onto that kitchen counter and could help her to remove the rest of her clothes. But he doesn’t. She tries to tell him that it’s okay and he knows, in one aspect, it is. She is fine. She did not die. Right now, in this moment, everything is okay. The frown furrows tightly over Jesse’s brow even as he returns that kiss, but he doesn’t linger. He straightens, and again is pushing his fingers through Grey’s hair, gazing down at her as if she is a fragile thing that he has just dropped, and he’s checking for the cracks. He shakes his head.

“It’s not okay,” he says. He doesn’t quite know how to explain himself. Yes, he can smell things on Grey that shouldn’t be there. She’s been places she shouldn’t have been, and strangers have been manhandling her like she is just a piece of meat. Jesse struggles with the implications. Once upon a time he did consider her just a piece of meat. In the very beginning. Though after that first night she immediately became something more, whether he realised it straight away or not.

He can’t tell her that they were wrong to do it to her, because he would be a hypocrite. It all comes down to that one thing – the thing that has been preying upon his mind for nearly a month, now. He licks his lips and lowers his hand. He doesn’t want to push her. No, he doesn’t want to argue with her again. Still tense, he draws back. “I’ll go and start you a bath,” he says. He strides through the apartment and into the bathroom, wanting only to maim something, but keeping his rage bottled.


<Grey>The way that he touches her was almost too endearing. The gentle touches, the running of his hands through her free, kinked hair as her closing her eyes. Standing so close to him was reassurance alone that she was okay. He had come to get her, bring her home, and now continued to watch her. To see him upset was something that Grey had to take. He had every right to be upset. After all, would she herself not be furious if something like this happened to him? Certainly, taking into account, if their situations were reversed; her emotions would be through the loops and a churning ball of fire right in the middle of her chest.

It did not matter how old one was, if they were a responsible adult, and could defend themselves. Someone had plucked her up in the middle of her walk to the bank, fed upon her, and left her disoriented and confused in the middle of the Quarantine Zone. It did not sit with with her. In fact, it churned her stomach. Looking back, so many different things could have happened that did not and she knew that was something that ate at the man’s protectiveness. With a deep breath, she watched him walk away from her. “Thank you,” She calls quietly after him as he sets off to go to the bathroom.

Grey trails behind. She does not follow him right away. Instead, as the alcohol warms her abdomen and takes the chill off the night, she moves around the kitchen. Soon, her tennis shoes are off and she has a strawberry poptart in her hand. With alcohol, she always ate. With each small bite, she contemplated what to say. What to do. How to make him feel better about the creature he was. She knew he was struggling. It was almost understandable. There was no need to make any excuses for his kind.

So, she finally crossed that apartment building and would linger in the doorway of the bathroom. She tried to picture Jesse as a blood-thirsty creature, heartless, and cold. As her heart tripped over itself, each swallow of the breakfast treat sticking to the back of her throat, Grey knew that she could not picture her lover in the regards of the other night creatures that had their fill and just left their victims upon the street. Standing in the doorway as he ran that bath, she watched him as she finished her dinner.


<Jesse Fforde> Starting a bath isn’t the most strenuous or demanding task. It requires only that he turn on the tap and wait for the water to reach the required temperature - scalding, probably, because he lacks the bodily functions to properly assess water temperature - and to stoop down to plug the drain. He clatters around for a few seconds in the cupboard before he finds some bath soaps - where the hell did they all come from? There are a few different things to choose from, and he finally pours in some liquid that claimed the ‘calming scent of sandalwood’. He never knew that sandalwood had calming properties, but you learn something new every day.

Why has he chosen a scent that is supposedly calming? Is it to calm Grey, who seems far too calm already? No, he muses, it’s probably a vain attempt to calm himself; he, who ends up kneeling in front of that bath with his head resting on his forearm, which itself rests upon the edge of the tub. This should be enough to change his ways. After this, would he become a discerning vampire who feeds only from blood bags, and who saves strangers without faces from grief? Probably not, no. And does that make him a bad person? Yes, yes it does. Grey doesn’t know who he is, underneath it all. She doesn’t know the stark and ugly truth. And if he were to turn her, she would learn. She would understand. And then she would walk away, just like the rest of them. Jesse can see the future unfolding in his imagination, and it causes a foreign terror to take up residence in his soul.

He knows when Grey comes to join him in the bathroom, though she doesn’t enter the space. She just stands by the door. Jesse sighs and pushes himself to his feet. The bath is still filling, and will take a while to be full enough. He leans against the basin, all the conflict evident in his features as he watches her eat. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. Finally, he glances back up at Grey.

“How are you so calm?” he asks.


<Grey> She can see the tension rolling through his body. She can feel the silence eating up what would normally be an easy going night between them. She would come home from work, eat, and spend her time with him. They would go out or stay in, making decisions together or if a desire overrode - making a choice to please the other. They were, in truth, already in a committed relationship. She remembered while he knelt at the tub when he had told her of his permanence.

She had not taken him at his word. She just remembered giving him a smile and a nod and knowing that nothing lasted forever. He was bound to find someone better, a blond most likely who had a fake laugh and bigger breasts and he’d shrug as he packed his bag - told her to be out by the time he got back - and slammed the front door. At least, this was something that nagged Grey at the back of her mind.


He was upset for her. He was silent and brooding. Her face gave a bit of a grimace when he turned around, when he looked so very lost at what had transpired. Still, she did not move from the doorway of the bathroom. Instead, in all her dirty wear and her wayward hair, she choose to lift her shoulder with the hint of a shrug. “Because I did not die tonight. Because I’m home with you. Because I wasn’t raped or tortured. Because I wasn’t left to die in the middle of the street, hoping that someone would come along and help. A couple vampires grabbed me up, made me their breakfast snack, and left me to fend for myself. Yes, I was a little disoriented. Yes, I’m a little banged up. However, I am back with you.”

She took a deep breath, her knee throbbed. Her back reminded her that she would so much rather be curled up on the couch or in bed by now. She was so thankful that it was her weekend off at the garage. She did not have to get up early, pull on those overalls, and amble out the door at the crack of dawn. Though, in that moment, as the clock ticked; she watched Jesse’s face when he looked at her. “You are upset enough for both of us. I’ve been through worse, Jesse. You don’t need my emotions fuelling your fire.”


<Jesse Fforde> She’s even calm as she answers, the words tripping from her tongue reasonable enough. How is she so reasonable? Is she able to forgive those monsters who’d feed from her and leave her for dead? She says that she wasn’t, but Jesse begs to differ. How is it not leaving a human for dead, dumping them somewhere in the Quarantine Zone?

“You were, though,” he answers. “Next time you might not be so lucky. Next time they could just… play hacky sack with you until you end up in hospital, and on death’s door because you’ve got no blood left,” he continues, the anger fuelling his words so that they are released in one hot breath. He’s not only furious at the bastards who would do it, but he’s furious at himself. Because he is one of those bastards. He stops and takes a breath. He wants to gauge Grey’s reaction. He licks his lips. Best to tear the band-aid off now rather than to let the wound fester and rot. Best to let her know now exactly what she’s gotten herself into and with who.

“Do you remember the first night you met me, Grey? I killed a woman in the bathroom of a diner. You said you didn’t care, because she was a stranger. And why should you shed a tear for her? I killed her because if I didn’t, she’d have remembered me. She’d have remembered that I fed from her. And I couldn’t let that happen, so I killed her. I snapped her pretty little neck and left her in that dirty bathroom for the next person to discover. That could have been you. Do you get that now? You were lucky tonight that you didn’t meet someone like me. Because you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead,” he says. He is a monster. She is grateful that she wasn’t left for dead. And she should be grateful that there are those out there more merciful than he is.


<Grey> Forgiveness is something that Grey really has never had to work on. She, by no means, is a woman that is able to do such freely. Instead, she can be very dismissive of people’s actions. She harbors memories painfully. They are locked away at the back of her mind and serve as reminders to the woman she has become. She stood there looking at a confirmed creature of the night, and yet she did not run from him. She never really did, in fact. No, he intrigued her. He beguiled her. He demanded attention and she gave it as if she had every inkling that he was not harmless.

And she looked at a murderer. She looked at the man who confessed himself to her as if he had to get his latest sin off of his chest. Instead, while he spoke, she shook her head. She let her chin fall side to side not as if she were denying his very words. No, instead it was almost that acceptance of the fact that he was right. She could be dead. She could be mauled and cut up, her body chopped to pieces in someone’s backyard or buried in a drop cloth under a ton of cement at a local construction site. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about these prospects before.

So while Jesse looked at her, he would have seen that she accepted his words. They sunk low into her abdomen and pitted her stomach. The cramps that worked their way across her pelvis was almost damning in the department of emotions. Swallowing tightly, she tried not to let her lips fall into a frown. The hollow look in her eyes came, stilting emotion and denying Jesse the ability to much decipher what she was thinking. She often got that blank, boxed look when they broached the subject of mortality. And tonight was no different, except for the fact that she had been as he put it, right in the thick of things.

“You did not kill me.” She said, finally. After a long, painfully silent pause. She lifted her eyes, as if she looked at his person instead of his face. She settled her clear blue hues upon him. And in that moment, the emotion seemed to be overwhelming. The slack look of her face was nothing compared to the single tear that escaped with the next blink of her eyes. It was quite obvious that Grey was able to hold onto her emotions in such a way that almost was … cold. “I…” She trailed off, unable to finish her thought. Her tongue felt so foreign that it was no longer connected to her mind and she let the silence fall between them again.


<Jesse Fforde> “No, no I didn’t,” he sighs, the words like a hallelujah blooming amongst all the muck. But it doesn’t matter, does it? He was watching her carefully, and while she nodded and her eyes did not widen in horror or despair, she didn’t give him much else to work with. Jesse, who was once so schooled at keeping his own emotion at bay, was now a seething wreck of it. So strongly did he feel that he could not contain it. The fear of losing her was most prominent, a darting, fleeting creature causing his eyes to dance over her every feature, to finally settle on that tear on her cheek. It near tore him in half.

She had started to say something else but had stopped. He pays no attention to the water as it pounds into the bath behind him; the steam billows from the gathered pool, filling the bathroom with sandalwood scented steam. He steps away from the basin and takes a tentative step toward Grey. He wants only to gather her into his arms and hold her there, the solidity of her, to reassure himself that she was real and that she was alive. But he hesitated. She hadn’t continued, and he couldn’t read her. He bowed his head again.

“But that’s not the point. I could have. And I have done, to so many women just like you,” he says. “You are an exception to the rule,” he adds, his voice a quiet whisper beneath the rush of water that fills the white space. Again, he crosses his arms over his chest.


“You already know how I feel. You know I want you. Forever,” he says, the implication of the word heavy. She knows what he means, and what he is referring to. “So it’s best you know the truth now. So you can tell me no. So that you can leave, if you want to. Run now, while you can,” he says. He’s giving her the chance to save her own skin, to make an escape from the monster she now lives with. Never before had be been ashamed. Only now he could he feel it, like a warm and unwelcome blush spreading over his cold soul.

<Grey> As the bathroom became humid, her clothes itched her skin. They reminded her that she was dirty. That someone else had touched her. Not just one person, but two. And they weren’t human. They were vampires. They were like Jesse in only the way that they needed blood to survive. He had told her his dark secret. He had told her that it went against the very person he was, his ethics - to be with her. She was an enigma. She was his mistake. She thought briefly upon the fact that she could have been that waitress in the diner that day. She could have been the woman found in the bathroom with her neck broken and that slack expression of horror on her face to meet her end and the grace of her Maker.

Watching Jesse, it twisted her heart in her chest. To see him so distraught over her ill adventure of an evening had her upset for him. He did not need this. He did not need her adding to his already full plate. She did not want him leading a second life because she was his mistake. But, at the same time - he was the good of her life. He was the one thing she took solace, support, and pleasure in. He was all that kept her here.

When he bowed his head, she managed to push off of the door frame. Her knee gave her a little trouble. The sugar from her quick dinner certainly did not seem to help the shaky feeling. Her muscles still seemed to quiver. Grey did not trust herself for too long without the support of another object. But that did not deter her from reaching his side. No, in only a few long paces she was standing in front of him. She hesitated to lift her arms. She was dirty after all, and he was clean. He looked beautiful in that outfit from his earlier evening events. He took her breath away. He had no idea that he made her day. Every smile, every call, every text message and laugh had her thankful for him.

Another tear slipped from her eyes, renewing the trail of the previous wet droplet that now blazed down both sides of her face. And in one moment, she spread her palms over his crossed arms. “I am not going to run anywhere. I’m not going to leave you. You might piss me off. You might upset me. You might make me cry or scream, but that isn’t enough to get me to leave. So if you want me gone, you better say it right now. You better tell me that you don’t want to deal with me right now and I swear, Jesse, I will grab my things and leave you alone.”

She took a short, stilted breath in while the water came down, slapping at the occupants already pooled in the tub. “If you want me, then you have to deal with me. You have to accept that right now I can be broken. That I can be hurt. That I won’t quit my job and become a recluse. I know it scares you. Well, it scares me too. I will… I will die. One day.” She turned her head up now, picking up her chin instead of just looking at his chest. It was almost as if she did not trust herself to say these things to his face in the moment until now.

“I love you. And that means taking the good with the bad. The ugly with the beautiful. The irritations with the pleasures. You need to accept me for what I am right now, just as I accept you for what you are. I’m not leaving unless you want me gone.” She said to him in a whisper, the tears seemed to be ever silent. There was no sobbing in that moment, just complete adoration for what they were together.

“I am not dead.” And she said that quietly, with a conviction to her voice as her eyes narrowed and she lifted her right hand to cup his cheek.


<Jesse Fforde> He hasn’t even asked her to become a recluse, but she appears to read his mind. It’s been there in the back of his mind ever since this whole ordeal started. Of course he wouldn’t make her quit her job, but she needs to not hang around outside at night time. The blueness of his eyes hardens. He tries to think about it reasonably. Every human is bound by the laws of nature. Every human risks death on a daily basis. Everyone goes about their business even though at any minute they might get hit by a car, or get struck down by a heart attack or a brain aneurysm. Sure, the chances of death are far great in this city, but Grey had survived thus far, had she not?

She responds not with fear but with anger. One day, she will die, she says, and Jesse’s eyes widen. Does she mean it in the way he hopes? He doesn’t question her; he doesn’t let her see his desperation and his need, his impatience for it to happen right now. Of course he had that hope. That he wouldn’t have to say it, that she would ask for it after realising what could happen to her as a human. That she would ask for that easy way out - that bubble wrap that came neatly packaged in vampirism.

“I don’t want you gone, I don’t,” he says, tension flooding from his body as he reached up to cup Grey’s jaw, to brush a kiss against her lips, and then another, pressed against her forehead. He then rubs his cheek against hers, affectionately. “I do… I do accept you for everything that you are, for who you are,” he says. And then his breath hitches. He shouldn’t. She just asked him to accept her, but he can’t help it.

“If you just...if you let me, you wouldn’t, you’d be stronger,” he says. He knows he’s probably not making sense. It’s a disjointed conversation with disjointed sentences. He knows it’s not going to happen, not here and not tonight, but he can’t help but offer it anyway. Just so that she knows - so that she is reassured that he hasn’t changed his mind. And that he does want to keep her forever. She just has to say the word.


<Grey> “You stand by my side, just like I will stand by yours. I will not make decisions for you, Jesse. And I hope that you will understand how important it is for me to live my life right now with you. I’m not ready yet. You know this.” And she knew that was so hard for Jesse to understand. She knew he wanted her bundled up, safe, with this obvious superior strength and skill. But, all Grey knew was what she had underneath her belt already. She was not ready to be a cold, blood-sucking creature of the night that would scout for prey and feed upon the innocent.

Of course, this did not make her innocent herself. No, Grey knew the injustices of the world and the realism. But, she feared she was missing a great deal. There was a hole in her supernatural index and she would be forced to fill it when Jesse took her life from her. It was not that she could not comprehend Jesse’s need to want her safe. Instead, she just could not comprehend the loss of how she knew to exist. Something, one day, would change that. By meeting Jesse and coming to know the little she did about the man that she stood in front of; he would change that for her.

Her shoulders sag a little bit as he informed her that he did not want her gone. It was a relief, however bittersweet knowing she still would stare death in the face. Everyone died sometime. Everyone died of something. Sooner, later, or in the mix between - people died. She swallowed hard, attempting to hide a bit of a grimace as that bruise along her cheek seemed to bloom even more in the warmth of the bathroom. If they weren’t careful, the tub would no doubt begin to overflow soon.

“I promise I won’t intentionally do anything stupid, okay?” She said finally to him, knowing that would not help much in his plea to get her to join his way of life. She briefly cupped his cheek, stroking her fingers back over his ear and down to behind his neck. She just let her lips rub against his. She turned her chin to brush that kiss to his own cheek. She felt the rough stubble of his jaw, the beginning of a beard she teased him about just that morning. And she knew there was no other way to make him happy at the moment.

Because for now, she would stay human. Bruised face, scraped knee, and periods to boot. He would have to deal with her like that if he was not going to kick her out. “I’m sorry you are disappointed in me.” Because, even though he did not have to say it; she knew he was.


<Jesse Fforde> If there’s one thing that can be said about women, they seem to be born with the innate skill to nip a conversation in the bud. If they don’t want to talk about something they won’t; if they want the topic to change, then it will change, and there’s nothing you can do about it. They’d started this conversation on opposite sides of the bathroom, and now they are standing in front of each other, skin against skin, the way they know each other best. Grey still looks like she’s been hit by a bus, however, and Jesse is aware of the circumstances. It’s been less than a week since he’d found her bleeding profusely in the bathroom and he could still smell that blood on her now. She is still tender. He sighs and shakes his head.

“You don’t disappoint me,” he says. She is more than he could ever hoped for, even though in that moment he does feel the heavy weight of disappointment flattening any small hope that he might have had. But she is still here, and she is warm, and she is a mess. And she has been through hell.

“C’mon,” he says, swiftly changing the subject. He is still furious, and he is still upset. But she has said she will be careful and he has to accept that. He has to believe her, and has to try not to let his fear get the better of him. He is stronger than this. He can deal. Fingers still entwined in Grey’s, he tugs her toward the bathtub. The water laps near the rim. It will no doubt overflow when she eases herself down into its depths, but Jesse doesn’t care. There’s a drain in the middle of the tiled bathroom floor built for such accidents as overflowing bathtubs. He turns the tap off and turns back to Grey.

“Lift your arms,” he says, intending to undress her like one might undress a child. He’s still far too serious, and there’s nothing suggestive in his tone. He wants her to relax. And as soon as she is deposited in the bath, as soon as she is comfortable there, he will go out to the kitchen and he will make her something to eat. A poptart is not good enough for dinner. And after losing all that blood she needs sustenance and protein. He will make bacon and eggs, and sausages, with mushrooms and hashbrowns on the side. It’s close enough to breakfast. He might not be able to eat it himself, but he can still cook. And he will, just for Grey.


<Grey> Her tears have dried slowly upon her dusty cheeks. The kiss with the pavement seemed to leave a fine layer of filth on her. Though, such a thing did not turn Jesse off, she knew that his fury still boiled beneath the surface. She would allow him to tug her over to that giant, porcelain bowl. She remembered the hours she would spend in that bathtub when Jesse had first encouraged her to use the apartment. The bathroom was, after all, her favorite room in the entire apartment. She could spend hours there, reading in the warmth of the jets bubbles and spray. In fact, she still had a new paperback book from Kristin Higgins turned down and opened to the page where she last left off.

As she lifted her arms as he instructed, it was almost a let down of the conversation and the adrenaline that pumped through her system. She answered his call, he drove her home, they talked, and now she was so close to sinking down into that tub. Exhaustion did not even begin to define her current feelings. She wanted some Tylenol, but that could wait. While he eased her jacket, shirt, and bra from her - a few more bruises could be noted. There was nothing horrific. There was no boot print, no knife stab, no finger grips on her skin that could be seen under his inspection. Because part of her knew that was exactly what he was doing.

Once naked, she stepped into that bath with his help. Her right knee was certainly ugly looking. The bruise was a shadow of a eggplant purple and a yellow, lime green. Dusky hues of blue danced around the edges which meant that when she was let go - she went down hard. She takes the nearby sponge, and starts to dutifully work at scrubbing herself clean. The bar of soap floats atop the hot water that melts her tense muscles. Before long, she would manage to wash and condition that long, dark brown hair before sitting hunched over in the tub.

“Thank you.” She said when he pulled her out, when he wrapped her in a big towel and bundled her up in order to shove that food underneath her nose. With her eyes heavy through that breakfast, she would only close them when he came to bed. Staring at the ceiling, waiting for him. She couldn’t sleep until he was next to her.

He had a point. She would be stronger. She would match his strength. She could stand by him. She could be someone that he would be proud to show off. But for now, with his weight against her side and her damp hair drying on the pillow; she slept knowing that he cared enough to be upset for her.