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Quinn Abernathy

Despite being away from John Abernathy, and having a space of their own, things have been hard. It's been over a month now, since they took their leave, and Quinn has found herself riding the wave that is her husband's emotions. One minute, he is calm and happy. The next, on edge and short.

While their child is due in just four short months, Quinn feels as though she looks like she might explode. Her small frame doesn't help the situation, making her pregnant belly look bigger than it truly is. It is impossible to miss, or hide, and it was a sad day when she finally gave up on her favorite dresses and moved into items made by the women in the village.

With the help of Sam, a small girl they'd smuggled away from New Orleans, she is able to do more around the house. The child has become an extension of herself, and she has taken a true shine to her. The blond loves the child like her own, and they do nearly everything together every day, right up until the point that Quinn tucks her in for bed.

The days in their new home within the redwood consistently fail to be long. She is busy always, between school, housework, rest, and the people, it is a wonder she manages to stay up for any amount of time once herself and Gideon are left to their own devices.

And, of course, Eiji plagues her mind every day.

♫I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
And I'll use you as a focal point
So I don't lose sight of what I want
And I've moved further than I thought I could
But I missed you more than I thought I would♫

She waddles her way back to the small living room of their home, and lets herself sink down in the couch. A glance is sent in Gideon's direction, and as she chews at her bottom lip in thought.

"Gideon," she mumbles, beginning to form the words that plague her. Quinn wants nothing more than to share with him what she is feeling, and yet, it terrifies her. Idly, she rubs at her stomach, the motion soothing and grounding.

If there is one thing she wants, it is her husband back. But ever since the day he told her everything, it just hasn't been the same. Part of it, surely, is her. But a large part is also him. He is distantly close, as if going through the motions. And every once in a while, she swears...

"Giddy, are... are you feeling okay?"

He's been drinking. She gives him a glass of whatever he likes with dinner each night. But she can smell it the moment he walks in the door every evening, and sometimes even when they cross paths in the middle of the day. Those are the times when she misses him most. In front of everyone else, they are this perfect, loving couple. Attached at the hip, affectionate, blissful.

And that is who they are. A perfect, loving couple. But in their own way.

"You just haven't been yourself, lately."
July 14, 2018 06:29 pm

Gideon Abernathy

Gideon Abernathy is barely present in his own life.

Around the commune, he does his duties. He plasters a smile on his face, talks with the members, plants the gardens, delivers the sermons. Everything that is expected of him is done, and well, but it’s as if someone else controls him.

The bottle is never far from him. Honestly, it’s what gets him through the day. He can feel the toll it’s taking on him; his body is more sluggish, he’s never rested, there’s always bags under his eyes. But he can’t face the days that bleed into each other sober.

His mind is weakening. Not that it was strong to begin with. Prone to aggression and fits of paranoia, he finds himself constantly looking over his shoulder and longing for the sweet release of death. Not his, mind you, but someone else’s. He wants to feel the blade, an extension of his own being, cut into the skin and peel back the layers. He wants to feel their lifesource warm his own flesh, and he wants to watch the light leave their eyes.

He needs it.

However, the commune is still too young and underdeveloped to propose a ritual, and he’s kept too busy to wander off for a few days and satiate his desires.

So he drinks.

Their home life leaves a lot to be desired lately, and it’s entirely Gideon’s fault. He knows that, and he wants the guilt to be enough to make him change. But his sorrow weighs much more, and his base needs refuse to allow him peace. Thankfully, as much as the man is loathe to take her in, Sam is a good distraction, and his wife’s attention is usually drawn elsewhere, leaving him alone to wallow in his self-pity.


He grunts, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her attempt at starting a conversation. Before his eyes, the room is spinning at a sickeningly slow pace, so he closes them and simply breathes. He needs to steady himself, for her sake.

Her reverie procures a shrug from the man, and he tears his gaze over to her. The silence stretches unnaturally, and he breaks it with a hefty sigh.

“I’m fine. I’m tired. I’m losing my mind. But I’m fine.”

A smile is forced onto his face, but it comes off more as a grimace of intense pain.
July 14, 2018 07:34 pm

Quinn Abernathy

"You're not tired..."

There's a sad look in her eyes. Quinn doesn't want to be this person. She doesn't desire to hold Gideon accountable. He is perfectly capable of keeping himself. Or, at least, he used to be. The smile on his face is the exact opposite of what a smile should be. It's pained, and that pain reaches his eyes. He is hurting, and it wounds her deeply.

But he is right about one thing. He is losing his mind.

"You've been drinking. I smelled it today when you got home.. and yesterday, too. It... it's become normal."

She needs him. She needs him to get it together, and to stay with her, and keep it together. Quinn has been slipping. Her temper is not what it needs to be, nor is her energy. She is short with the women, lacking in patience with the men, and finding her center in a little girl that isn't truly theirs. It is an unfair burdern to Sam.

Sitting up, she shifts to face him, wanting nothing more than to reach out to the man. He doesn't talk to her anymore. He doesn't do anything he did. It is almost as if her Gideon is gone, and all that is left is a shell.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Quinn lets her gaze wander around their living space. It is new, but it is almost as if no one lives there. There are no memories, not really. There is no history. After their first week, things fizzled out, leaving her feeling alone, and without.

"It has to stop. It has to. Now. Before it becomes a problem."

If Gideon were to think back to their days at the Den, he would remember a bubbly little blond that was consistently drunk. He'd remember her singing karoake in the bar, climbing atop their cabins and balancing on their roofs, passing out cookies, stumbling her way through the woods to get back to the Loche cabin. But he would remember an everpresent smile, and that is something he does not possess.

Gideon is drinking to escape. It isn't recreational.

"Even Sam can tell something is wrong, Giddy. And I need you." Clearing her throat, it is clear that she is nervous, but she continues anyway. This is her, helping him. This is the only thing she knows to do.
July 14, 2018 08:04 pm

Gideon Abernathy

And I’ll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take.

Gideon watches her. He notices every small detail about the way she holds herself; the way she touches her stomach for grounding, the way she draws back, the way she watches him. Despite everything, he feels a deepening sorrow for his wife. She didn’t ask for this life, but she took it because it’s the baggage he came with. And here he is, wallowing, unable to even give her the time of day. Regret etched itself deeper into his heart, but he doesn’t outwardly react. Instead, he listens.

Quinn is struggling. She tries not to show it, even masks it with a deeper concern for him, but he knows better. Not that she’s not worried; she should be. He’s unwell. But she’s exhausted, and she loses herself more frequently. They could blame it on the hormones, but he adds more than he should to the problem. Again, he’s forced to reckon with himself, as much as he doesn’t want to. Their fifty/fifty ratio is lacking, and it had been for a while.

I’ll use you as a warning sign that if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind.

She wants— no, she needs him to quit drinking. Her nerves don’t go unnoticed, and he has to struggle to comprehend that she is afraid of his reaction. Again, he doesn’t even move, but inwardly, his mind is going through hell. Anger threatens to consume him; not toward her, but himself, and how he let someone take this kind of control of him. Eiji should never have been allowed this affect on him. Sadness swirls with the violent emotion because, as it is, he is affected by this loss, and it should never have been his wife’s burden.

And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me.

“Okay.” There’s no real inflection in his voice, but he pushes off the couch unsteadily. He leaves the house, makes the small trek to the garden shed, and retrieves the three bottles of whiskey he has stowed there. Upon his return mere moments after he’d left, he makes his way to the kitchen and proceeds to empty the contents into the sink. Thereafter, he gathers the rest of the alcohol in the house and repeats the movement until there is none left for him to get to.

“Just until I can be better.” Gideon offers a definitive nod, but it dizzies him, and he leans back against the counter and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll be better.”

Talk some sense to me.
July 15, 2018 11:36 am

Quinn Abernathy


And then, he is gone. Quinn is left dumbstruck, knowing that it was far too easy. She'd been prepared for a fight, honestly, though there is no complaint. Instead, she feels silly for being so nervous about bringing it up. So, the woman sits and waits for him to return, watching as he dumps the contents of bottle after bottle down the sink.

She's proud of him.

Just until I can be better.

Quinn nods, pushing herself up to stand and making her way slowly over to the man. Chocolate depths rove over his face, fingers reaching up to trace over the scar upon his cheek. This is the source of his pain, and she knows it. Eiji, no matter how little contact they had with him in recent months, meant the world to Gideon. While the man is important, he is hardly the sun.

That role is reserved specifically for her husband.

"You'll be great. Come on... let's get to bed."


"Your dog tried to bite my wife."

"Your wife chased my dog with a broom."

"He was in our garden!"

"Yes. Our garden."

It comes out before she can even stop herself. Quinn immediately regrets it, but lets it stand. A quiet sigh escapes her, under her breath, and she whistles for Cheeto's attention. The Golden, who seems to only truly listen to herself and Gideon, comes to her side with a big, goofy grin on his face. Cheeto knows what he did was bad, but he also knows he's not in trouble. Ron, however...

He's new to the cult. He didn't travel from New Orleans with them, and that means he is still adapting like everyone else but on a grander scale. Really, she should be more attune to these things.

There are greater things to mind, like her husband's suffering, their family, and the little girl that now depends upon them.

Without a second thought on Ron, she continues home, Cheeto in tow. Quinn can feel her stress deflate considerably once they cross the threshold, and she eases into their private space. And, with Sam playing with the other children, she is left alone. It has been so long since, and as selfish as it is, she is somewhat grateful for the reprieve.

It isn't quite what she had counted on, as Gideon stays at the forefront of her mind, but she manages to let loose just a little. Slipping off her shoes carelessly by the door, Quinn begins to pad around the modest home.

When Gideon would come home, he would find his wife passed out, asleep, on the couch. The music would be on low in the kitchen, that same old cassette tape of Oldies that she consistently listens and sings to playing the same songs he's bound to have heard now a thousand times. The house wouldn't be tidied as it usually is, but not necessarily untidied.

However, the one key indicator that Quinn has completely zonked out is the smell of their dinner, beginning to burn.
July 15, 2018 06:14 pm

Gideon Abernathy

“Excuse me, Shepherd?”

Instantly, his teeth are on edge, and it takes him a moment to compose himself before he can acknowledge the voice. Once as together as he can be, he turns and simply stares at the man, clearly waiting for him to get to the point.

“Uh,” Ron stammers, blatantly thrown off by the less-than-pleasant greeting, “it’s just that… my wife found your dog in the garden. I tried to talk to the Messenger, but she was… less than receptive…”

“Were any of the plants damaged?”

“W-well, not irreparably… Some of the peppers were trampled, and he may have peed on the tomatoes…”

“I’ll take care of it.”

With that, he turns and marches off to finish the rest of his duties, leaving the man in a dumbfounded silence.

It’s not even been a day, and Gideon isn’t handling the lack of alcohol well. For Quinn, he would do anything, but he hadn’t realized how dependent he was, simply because it kept him grounded enough to not commit mass murder. Yet, as the day wears on, he finds his grasp on sanity slipping more and more, pushing him closer to the edge bit by bit. By the end of the day, he’s ready to snap.

Upon entering the house, he stumbles over her shoes. Muttering under his breath, he practically kicks them off to the side, uncaring where they land. He finds her sleeping on the couch, and he casts her a venomous glare as the smell of burning meat permeates his senses. The mutterings get louder as he storms into the kitchen, tripping yet again over a toy that Sam had left lying on the floor. As he pulls the ruined food from the oven, he manages to burn himself, only sending him into a deeper fury.

Then, the fvcking tape…

He can’t. Not tonight. He can’t listen to the same ten songs over and over and over again. Honestly, on a good day, he can’t fathom how Quinn does it, but this is the furthest thing from a good day. As he fumbles with the radio, unable to figure out how to make it stop quickly enough, he tears it off the counter and sends it careening into the wall, where it loses a few major components and clatters unceremoniously to the ground.

When she finds him, he would be leaned over the counter, palms down against the cool surface and breathing deeply.
July 15, 2018 06:51 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Lollipop, Lollipop, Oh Lolli,


Cheeto goes running from his place beside the couch with a scared yelp, finding his usual hiding spot in their room.

Quinn starts away, sitting up quickly and grimacing at the pain it brings her back as she slows down to sit up. Slowly, cautiously, she stands, unsure of what has happened. A deep breath in burns her nostrils as the scent of their ruined dinner, and she turns the corner to see the carnage.

Her radio, shattered. The cassette's tape, spilling out and tangled. Her husband, hunched over the counter, his back rising and falling with each breath he takes.

And dinner. Their burnt dinner sat atop the stove.

One of his favorites, usually savory and perfect, now burnt, dry, and visibly hard.


Her brow creases, and crosses the modest space to him, tripping over one of her own shoes and catching herself with a hand slamming it's way down to the table. A breath is taken before she continues, far more cautious now of her steps, and stops just behind him.

The air is tense, and she hesitates before reaching out to place a hand upon his shoulder. This is new. This is something she has never seen. Not even during their worst encounters with his father, the only person who has ever been able to put him in such a state, has she seen him quite like this. He's destructive. And over what?

"What's.. what's going on?"
July 15, 2018 07:24 pm

Gideon Abernathy

He shirks her touch as if it burns his skin. Is he being irrational? Probably. Does he care? Not even kind of.

“I don’t know, Quinn, you tell me.”

Fingertips dig into the countertop so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked it. The term seeing red doesn’t do his fury justice. Before, he was drowning his unprocessable emotions in whiskey. Now, they run rampant, and there’s nothing keeping him from going down that dark, dark path…

“I understand that you’re hormonal,” he allows, his teeth grinding against each other painfully, “but I really don’t want to clean up after your encounters with the members of this commune. I also don’t want to waste. food. So if there’s something that you can’t handle, please, I implore you, just fvcking tell me.”

It’s only after he’s done being admittedly cruel that he turns to bore his gaze into hers. Gideon isn’t coping well, and it’s written in every detail of his expression. Every muscle in his body is tensed and he couldn’t relax even if he wanted to.

Running a hand down his face, his skin pulls taut, and he moves his shoulders in an exasperated roll. The dinner goes into the trash, and he all but tosses the pan into the sink, to be dealt with later. For now, he moves into the living room and collapses on the couch. There’s nothing left in him but the anger that boils his blood. He can only hope she doesn’t follow him.
July 15, 2018 07:49 pm

Quinn Abernathy

His words pale in comparison to the look in his eye when he turns to her. Gideon has gone over the edge, and Quinn is the unwitting, easy victim of his discomfort.

And then he walks away, to the very space she had just been inhabiting.

She hadn't been hormonal before, but...


Turning, she follows the man. It hadn't been a good day, she would admit that. Quinn had failed to handle things quite how it would be preferred. This is true. So, so true. But she hadn't been that terrible. And one dinner ruined, compared to every other dinner she has ever made, is a miniscule failure rate.

"I am not hormonal," she declares. For the most part, this is true. Yes, little things get under her skin more than they usually would, but at the end of the day... "I am tired. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. And I'm not sorry. They scared Cheeto and chased him with a broom. That's where the damage in the garden came from."

Despite the quiet of her voice, there is a serious conviction. And while they are on the subject of wasted food, Quinn's lesser judgment drives it home.

"We have leftovers from last night." Turning around, she starts to move toward the kitchen, prepared to clean up the mess that was the radio.

"Waste not, want not, right?"

Maybe a little hormonal.
July 15, 2018 08:10 pm

Gideon Abernathy

His head rolls along the back of the couch, following his eyes and adding to the dramatics of the motion. Gideon despises when she says his name like that, as if he’s one of her school children to be chastised. It’s just one of the ways she knows how to get under his skin.

At her declaration, he offers an incredulous scoff. Not hormonal, his fvcking ass.

“Quinn, he pissed on their plants, the fvcking food they eat. Next time it happens, you’re putting him on a damn leash if you can’t be bothered to control him.”

Her last quip sends him reeling once more, and he all but launches off the couch to follow her into the kitchen, eyes flashing dangerously. Clearly, she hasn’t seen how astonishingly close to the edge he is, but if she needs more examples, he’ll be glad to offer them.

“I’ve told you countless times, you can leave any fvcking time you want to.” He spits the venom through gritted teeth, his hands surprisingly steady for the rage he feels. “You’ve made it abundantly clear your stance on this place, but I don’t think you’ve considered what a dangerous position we’re in. If we don’t perform, they won’t hesitate to kill us, that child included. So you either commit to your place here and stop with your sarcastic fvcking comments, or leave. It’s that simple. But what you’re not going to do is keep treating this like a fvcking holiday. I won’t have our lives endangered because you think this is a game.”

All of this is said as he retrieves the leftovers from the fridge and prepares them for the oven, slamming things about the entire way. When dinner is finally going, he closes the oven with a hard clang and tosses another quip over his shoulder as he retreats back into the living room.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle dinner this go around.”
July 19, 2018 02:50 pm

Quinn Abernathy

When Gideon audibly pushes himself up and follows her, his heavy footsteps are not missed. Quinn isn't stupid. She knows that she is pushing far too many buttons. But she also knows he would never hurt her, and so while many would be running for their lives, she merely carries on until he opens his mouth.

Then she stops, turns, and stares. There are no words. No interjections.

And, as he carries on about the kitchen, pulling leftovers from the fridge and getting them ready to be brought back to life, he makes it a point to remind her just how deadly their situation is. Except it isn't. Not like it was. This place is nothing like what things were in New Orleans. And, with a bang, he declares dinner his task for the second try.

As if she cannot handle reheating dinner.

How does he manage to make her feel so small?

"Why am I not good enough? Why are we not good enough?" Her question cuts through the space between them, disappointment clear. Quinn's frustrations could be summed up in just these words, but she regrets voicing them instantly. They are a secret, often even from her own self. She would follow him to the ends of the Earth. She has. Her loyalty to and love for this man are boundless.

"I've lost my appetite."

She could go on. She could explain her quiet, broken question. But she won't. There is no need, in her mind. Quinn is tired, hormonal, hurting, and angry. She retreats, taking slow steps back before making her way to their bedroom and closing the door behind her.

And, it would be quiet at first as she paces in thought. That whimsical piece of her wants to believe that if she were to leave, he would follow. The problem is that she simply isn't sure that is true, and wanting it to be is not going to make it so. Moreover, she can't. Gideon is to Quinn as the Sun is to the Earth. Without the Sun, there is nothing.

That is about when her own disappointment turns inward, frustrations leading her to throwing her beloved camera, and watching it crash against the wall. How could she even consider that?
July 19, 2018 04:01 pm

Gideon Abernathy

Despite his noise, despite his messiness, her line of questioning manages to be louder than it all.

He doesn’t follow. He won’t infringe upon her with nothing to offer for his shame. When the crash comes, he rushes to the door, cracking it open to see the shattered remains of her camera just as she sinks onto the bed, shaking with the silent sobs that wrack her small frame.

Quietly, he shuts the door.

When Sam comes home, Gideon feeds her, spinning her a tail of a sick Quinn, which is why they were having leftovers, expertly reheated for maximum mediocrity that only leftovers can offer. She doesn’t push him, but the child is smart; she sees the distress that he doesn’t bother hiding, and the emptiness that fills his eyes.

“We’ll be alright, Giddy.” If it hadn’t come from the child that he was currently tucking in, he would’ve sworn Quinn had snuck into Sam’s room. Instead, he smiles wanly, and offers a nod before straightening up and wishing her sweet dreams.

Their bedroom door will only crack open another quarter of an hour later. With a deep breath and a peace offering of ice cream in hand, he sinks down on the bed next to her and sets the bowl on her bedside table. A silence stretches between them as he grapples with the words that would bridge the gap. When he speaks, his voice is low in tone.

“It’s not that you’re not good enough. That’s never been the problem.” He considers carefully his next words. They’ve never had the same outlook on these things, but this time, she has to be made to understand, and it would undoubtedly hurt. “If anything, you’re too good. And that’s why, sadly, you’ll never be enough, as much as I want you to be.”

He looks down at hands to find them shaking, and they automatically ball into fists in an attempt to steady them. He continues.

“I can’t leave. I’ll never be able to. Wyoming was... never an option. Because that’s what I do. I lie, I manipulate, I corrupt... Every good thing in my life, I’ve destroyed, because that’s who I am. I don’t thrive with good things. And I know you probably expect me to be sorry, or to want to go back and change things... but I’m not, and I don’t want to do that. Because you are the best thing I’ve ever had, and I’d keep you here, every day, if I felt like I had that right. Don’t think this is me pushing you away, because I don’t want you to go. I didn’t want Eiji to go. I could’ve killed him, I could’ve prevented all of this. But I also could’ve stopped you from falling for me back in New Orleans, too, and I didn’t. Because that’s how I rationalize and manipulate; I made it your choice. And it’s always been your choice.”

His fingers spread again, revealing the bloodied nail marks in his palm. “Do you know how long it’s been since I killed someone?” It’s a strange question, sudden and somehow quieter than the rest of his speech. “Since Evelyn,” he answers for her, finally finding it in him to look at her face.

Strangely, he is calm.

For now.
July 19, 2018 05:03 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Hours feel like minutes, and Quinn, in that time, has found herself balled upon the bed on her side. Her arms are curled, tucked beneath her head to offer support she cannot find elsewhere. Watery, reddened eyes stare forward as she allows herself to become lost in her own thoughts while also having none at all. It is as if she has become overloaded, and thus, forcibly shut down.

The ice cream isn't even noticed. Gideon is barely noticed. Not even his voice rouses her when he begins to speak, but when he makes his position clear, her eyes slide closed and she curls up just a little more.

It hurts.

There is nothing more that Quinn wants than to be everything he could ever need, and be able to provide everything and anything for her husband. For him to tell her so plainly that he has done the same to her that he has the members of the cult, breaks her in two.

In reality, she has always known that he does this to her. Gideon works her just like them, and she lets him because it is her excuse to live like this. Because she loves him. Because she would rather live in ignorance, than without him. Her husband is not a good man. She knows that. She will never admit it. But she loves him, and that is all that matters.

"You could manipulate me all day, every day, to do almost anything, and I'd let you. I do let you." Her gaze flickers upward, settling upon his. She can't talk about Evelyn. Not now. Not yet. Quinn doesn't like to acknowledge this loss, nor that her husband kills. "I hate it here, Gideon... I hate this. And maybe I hate it because now I can see who I always have been. But this isn't who I want to be. It.. it feels dirty, and natural."

Sucking in a breath, she pushes herself to sit up, moving until she is behind him. She leans forward, turning her head to rest her cheek upon his shoulder. Chocolate depths watch the pulse within his neck, and she leans into him as if he is all there is that could ever heal her, heart and soul.

"What are you going to do?"
July 19, 2018 05:49 pm

Gideon Abernathy

She leans against his shoulder and, in turn, he leans his cheek against the top of her head. Considering her words, he offers a one-shouldered shrug, careful not to jostle her.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m losing my mind. I can’t drink anymore to stave it off, and I can’t kill anyone here because that would put us in too much danger. I can’t leave. I can’t...” His voice trails off, and he only mimics the shoulder movement from earlier.

“But...” He hesitates. A sigh escapes his lungs, and he rubs at his tired eyes with one hand. “Quinn, if you’re unhappy, I don’t want to keep you here. We can...” A disgruntled noise is made, indicative of the fact that he doesn’t have any kind of solution. “We can figure something out. I can set you up somewhere nice and out of the way. You can lead a normal life. You can find someone who’s better suited to you, if you want.”

The thought alone makes a sour bile rise in his throat, but he swallows it down along with his pride. He would allow her that; he owes it to her. If she chooses to leave, to have a normal life, he’d walk away forever.

For both of them.

“I’m just tired of being the root of your unhappiness. You deserve so much better. You are so much better.” He pulls away and a smile pulls at his lips. It’s sincere in its delivery, but his eyes are devoid of any real emotion. The thought of losing her is enough to drive him insane...

But sanity has never been something he ever had a firm grasp on.
July 19, 2018 06:22 pm

Quinn Abernathy

He is doing it again. It takes a minute to bring her boiling annoyance to a simmer. Quinn's gaze sweeps over his features as he gifts her that smile, if it could even be called that. How does she even explain herself? How does she make him understand?

"Do you remember when we first were at the Flock? After you got better, but before we went to the house? We were playing. We were happy. I'm unhappy because we aren't ourselves, together. Not anymore." She is trying desperately to make him understand, and Quinn just cannot figure out how to get the message across. "You are not the root of my unhappiness. You are... Gideon, you are my happiness. But you're unhappy."

Leaning forward, she presses her forehead to his, hands lifting so that her fingertips may find that perfect space where smooth cheek meets rough beard. He knows she will never leave him. He knows it, and she knows he knows. Quinn will never understand why he continues to make these passes at her, knowing how much it upsets her.

"I'm sorry I burnt dinner.. and I'm sorry I got mouthy."

Quinn whispers her apology, heartfelt as ever. She should have been more responsible. "But I'm not sorry about Cheeto. He's never done that before, and what they did was far worse than peeing on some vegetables. I'll... come up with something about how everything happens for a reason, and make Cheeto out to be a savoir."

But her mind is elsewhere. It is on his needs, and how impossible the odds are. He's right. He can't kill. Not here, not yet. There is too much at stake, so early in the game. He can't drink, because she needs him to be more himself. Quinn is drowning without him, but in asking him to stop one thing, she is drowning him.

But, maybe...

"When you... when you go out... tell me how you do it? What do you do?"
July 19, 2018 07:11 pm
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