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Surrender



 
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Quinn Abernathy

He nods, and she holds his gaze for only a moment longer before she looks at the knife in hand. Briefly, she chews at her lip, knowing there would be no turning back from this. Quinn is thinking logically, or as logically as one can, when taking the situation at hand into consideration. She is about to see details, know and feel them. These are things that Gideon has worked to preserve for himself, and keep from her.

Blissful ignornance, and the ability to honestly say she doesn't know.

Her other hand squeezes his, anticipation bringing her to the brink of a strange excitement. It isn't a positive feeling, but rather one that pushes her toward anxiety. Swallowing, she lays back, Gideon at one side and the weapons on the other.

Extending her arm, she carefully holds the blade as far away from her body as she can, letting herself relax once sure that it would take an intentional movement to bringing danger toward them. This is more than just them, at risk. Quinn is, once again, gambling the safety of their unborn.

Finn.

Deep breaths are taken before she lets her gaze land upon Gideon, squeezing his hand. "It'll be okay."

And, as she slides her eyes closed, breathing once more, the world simply slips away.

It is dark, any light minimal as she looks around the small space. Quinn recognizes it for what it is: a shed. It is dirty, and dusty from disuse. Through cracks in the wooden encasing, she can smell the must of swampy Earth, and she realizes they must be in the bayou. But moreover, she feels Gideon. For the first time, she is seeing and feeling the world as he does.

The sound of birds and wildlife grate at her nerves, a deep longing for quiet permeating through her entire being. The noise isn't drowning itself out, and she isn't quite sure why. But what is most bothersome is the mixture of emotions. It makes Quinn uncomfortable, to be so satisfied yet to detest herself so much at the same time.

Her hand, his hand, reaches out to touch upon the head of a cat. Without looking she knows everything. Orange. Precious. This tiny creature means the world to him. There is remorse, and yet he is so grateful for her presence.

"I know, Mira," he whispers, turning his head to look at the love of his life.

Instantly, though in her own self, Quinn is confused. She remembers this cat. She'd seen it at the Den. She knew it was Gideon's, and that they were rarely separated. But she hadn't realized the extent of it all. Quinn, Gideon, is convinced this animal is Mira.

Outwardly, her brow cinches together. But, here, in the memory, she smiles as Mira bunts her face.

Her purring almost caused the breaking of a branch outside to go unnoticed.
July 21, 2018 03:16 pm

Gideon Abernathy

The surrounding vicinity melts into blackness, but it’s not quite absolute. His mind’s eye adjusts, and he finds himself back in that all too familiar shed, somewhere in the middle of god knows where, Louisiana.

Metaphorically, he is brought to his knees. Never has he been so vulnerable, and never in such a way. Quinn is intruding in every feeling he ever had in this moment, and something about that would make anyone shrink back with distaste. For someone like him, it’s exceedingly unsettling.

His hand, less defined and scarred, reaches out to touch the head of a cat that still lives very deeply in his blackened heart. Instantly, he is hit with those feelings of regret and longing, but a foreign emotion permeates the familiarity as well. Confusion? Toward what? This is Mira, he knows that, he knows that this cat bears the soul of his first love. She is - was - his constant, his heart, the very reason that he found the strength to leave the cult in the first place.

So what is there to be confused about?

Then, he wonders if he is feeling Quinn’s emotions as well. It’s the only explanation, and he finds himself defensive. Regret that has nothing to do with the memory floods their shared psyche, and he finds himself wishing they could exit immediately.

Through this line of thought comes that sound of the breaking branch, and he is sucked back into the past.

Mira arches her back in defensive anticipation, letting out a low hiss of warning. A protective hand comes down on her back, effectively calming and quieting her, all at once. Gideon’s ears pick up the sounds of a lurker outside, and he consciously falls back on the makeshift bed, careful not to make any noise. Fear grips his heart, and he pushes the small beast into a corner, behind a box, where she stays hunkered down and cautious.

Eyes shut, he listens intently, and Gideon remembers the emotions well. At sixteen, he was unseasoned and unsure, constantly second-guessing himself and his motives. A much different outlook to the one he now possesses, it’s what comes with time and experience.

The footsteps, light as the man tries to make them, practically quake the creaky floor. Young Gideon does his best to quell the loud beating of his heart, somehow managing to steady his breathing so the intruder might believe him asleep. He closes the distance, and Gideon feels the harshness of his breath on his face as the man bends over his unmoving form.

With a swift kick to the groin, he falls to his knees and, subsequently, hits the ground on his side. Quick as a flash, Gideon is on top of him, bashing his head into the floor until he feels him lose consciousness. He falls to the wayside, breathing heavily, and the cat comes out of hiding to perch on his chest. It’s grounding, and a moment passes before he is calm enough to move once more.

Beside the bed, he keeps a flashlight that is low on batteries. It takes a few good smacks to get it working again, and the faulty beam of light shows him the face of one of his father’s lackeys. The fear that had gripped him moments ago melts into a fiery rage, and he finds himself shaking as he picks up a knife.
July 21, 2018 04:38 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Regret. It floods her as she stares at Mira, and Quinn has to take a moment to understand what is happening before something akin to shame overtakes her, barely touching to the immense adoration for the cat but still present. Mira. His first love. His sanity. His solid ground. And here she is, confused.

There is a moment where she feels her own hand twitch within his grasp, on the verge of breaking free. She is so aware of him, and so aware of his own awareness. Quinn is unwanted here, and her deepest desire is to respect his space.

Or it was, until all focus is upon the noise coming from the woods.

On the outside, her hand grips onto Gideon's tightly. Inside, in this memory, she is on high alert. Her hand lands upon Mira, and she works to steady her heart and breathing. Mira is pushed away. There is a hot, sticky breath upon her flesh that is unwelcome, and intimidating. And then, in mere moments, the intruder is upon the ground and her hands are wrapped around either side of his head. The most intense fear has taken hold of her, and Quinn feels it to her very core.

This is it.

His head is slammed back into the flooring, again, and again, and again. And then, once there is no fight left, she rolls off the man and Mira is there. Sat upon her chest, she calms her from that terrified breathing. But there is no rest. There can't be, right now.

She moves, making her way to the bed and finding a flashlight that she raps against the heel of her palm several times before it finally serves it's purpose. What it reveals fills her with fury, and in her own world, dread. In her mind, she is brought back to the night they were in a similar situation. That anger he feels, the panic she feels, is just too much.

Once more, she flinches outwardly as the knife is lifted from where it rests. The very same knife she currently holds in her own hand.

But John... how dare he? How dare he do this to his son? How could he not see that what was best for Gideon, was to leave him alone? Why would he set him up for failure, again and again?

Those steps forward, towards the unconcious man, are satisfying. There is an idea in her head that they would learn from this, to leave well enough alone. To never bother him again. And Quinn feels it, too. Her own experiences feed into her willingness to allow this, and in this moment, she is completely complicit and peaceful with his decision.

Once more, she sits upon the man, legs astride his thighs as she brings the tip of the blade to his navel. A slow breath is taken, soothing and sure, and an almost crazed smile spreads across her face as she presses down and up, gutting him open for all the world to see. There is so much blood. She can barely see what is happening beyond it, and while this insane satisfaction courses through her, Quinn experiences something entirely different on her own.

Resistance.

Willful, she tries her hardest to bring them back. To reverse and stop it all, erase what they've just experienced together. But it doesn't work. It doesn't work as the blade is lifted, the hilt held between her teeth. It doesn't pause as her hands move to rip open the man's shirt, and better display the wound she has inflicted. It doesn't silence the strange gurgles that come from this victim.

And, as her hand plunges into him, she is stuck somewhere between intense pleasure and overwhelming dread.

He deserves this. This man deserves this. Gideon is protecting himself. He is doing what must be done to survive. If this never happened, they would never happen. She should be grateful.

You got this.
July 21, 2018 05:40 pm

Gideon Abernathy

There are a plethora of conflicting emotions going on through their connection, and it grows harder to decipher who is feeling what. In the waking world, Gideon would squeeze her hand as if to convey his need for her to stop resisting. He has bared too much of his soul to not be able to get what he needs from this. He knows what’s coming, and he needs to be able to take it in.

The raw emotion that sixteen-year-old Gideon is experiencing floods his mind in a sudden burst of acceptance, and he revels in the novelty of it. Still, there is a subtle sense of sickening dread, and he loses some of the pleasure along the way.

He watches his hand once more plunge into the flesh of this man, and he recalls it all too well. This is where he fell in love with forcefully draining the lifesource from an unsuspecting victim. This is where it all began to make sense. He brings a handful of the crimson liquid to his face and inhales, reveling in the scent of copper and salt and life, and marveling at how easy this is.

The light in his victim’s eyes is dimming, and he recognizes the anger and disappointment when he realized it was coming to an end. “No,” he whispers, both hands burrowing into the wound, spreading it wide and drawing out the organs. “Not yet,” he practically pleads, but he knows it’s too late. The body falls limp as he breathes his last, and Gideon is sure he has stopped breathing himself.

Suddenly, he remembers what happens next, and he fights toward their leaving. This only got more intense from here, and there is no sense in Quinn watching his meltdown. Yet, nothing he does pulls them from the memory, and he watches and waits for the feelings of disgust and utter contempt that his wife would surely feel.

Young Gideon grits his teeth together with a force that should have broken them. The knife, having fallen next to the body at some point, is taken up once more, and his knuckles whiten with the strain of the grip. Over and over, with a drive of insanity, he pushes the blade through skin and muscle and tissue, until the body remains an unrecognizable pile of flesh and blood. Sheer exhaustion forces his collapse, and he lands next to his mess, covered head to toe in it’s evidence.

His breathing is labored, even as the cat takes her perch on his chest once more. Mira is much more hesitant, lifting and shaking her paws in distaste, but she still finds the necessity to ground him more pressing. In spite of himself, he cracks a smile and holds her in place.

With his head in such an odd position, he swears he catches the flash of a red light in the wall. Setting the cat to the side, he sits up and moves his head side to side, eyes narrow with suspicion. There it is again!

On his feet once more, he begins peeling back the old wood to find the source of the flashing red light.
July 22, 2018 03:29 pm

Quinn Abernathy

He squeezes her hand, and Quinn sucks in a deep breath as his message is received. She submits, her body relaxing where it lays as she allows the memory to play out. Still, there is no stopping that undercurrent of strong distaste. But that sensation is no longer at the action. It is no longer at what is happening before her, as she digs innards out and pleads quietly for the man before her to put off his death. It is her enjoyment that sickens her.

Quinn wants this. She can feel it in her very core, as his will is her own.

The man passes, and she can feel her heart pick up its pace. Gideon’s attempts to leave are unnoticed, for Quinn is completely in this. She has accepted it, and she has delved in with everything she has. So, his rage becomes her own, and her hand grips onto the knife with a dangerous force. There is nothing more satisfying than the exhaustion that brings her to fall off the man, now beaten and bloodied to an actual pulp. The image burned into her mind, she knows that this is what she is meant to do. This is her niche. Her purpose.

Mira steps upon her, and the smile that spreads upon her lips is true. Bloodied digits hold to the feline, until that flash is seen. Her gaze locks upon it, and she is instantly confused again. Already overwhelmed, Quinn feels herself slipping slightly within the memory. It is with a slight shake of her head that she steadies herself, forcing onward. She has come this far, and she would see it to the end.

Moving Mira to the side, she sits up, watching with a curious tilt of her head for the blink again. And it comes. Already, Quinn can feel her elation fading slowly as suspicion sets in. On her feet, she marches to the offending wall and begins dismantling it. The wood is slippery upon her blood-coated fingers, staining easily as it saps it from her flesh. Peeling the flimsy wood back becomes easy, and soon she is staring into the eye of a cameras lens.

Her eyes narrow, and an indignant huff of air escapes her. What is this? The wheels in her mind are working, despite knowing exactly what this is. This is John. This is him, watching and waiting. And before young Gideon even comprehends the full extent, as her gaze turns from the camera to the corpse, she can feel a supreme satisfaction and pride swell within her. Anything that would ever slight or irk her John Abernathy is more than enough to please her, and those emotions are tenfold as Gideon comes to realize this as well.

Black hues latch onto the camera as she grabs at the device, a smirk upon her face as it is jostled from its resting place and freed from the wall. It is without hesitation that it is carried to the body, and she immediately slams it down onto the corpse, watching as it lodges into what used to be a man.

“Fvck you,” she utters.

It is as the toe of her shoe meets the side of the body with great force that it all melts away.

Left in reality once more, Quinn’s eyes snap open, lifting to Gideon as she comes to realize that her grip upon his hand is near bruising. Tears she hadn’t been aware of have streaked her face, and her breath is labored, as though his effort had been her own. Her hand reaches for a cat that is not there, having released the knife that now stands at attention. She had thrust into the mattress with the first blow without realizing.

Confused, she turns her head, sitting up suddenly and looking for Mira as that labored breath catches and she becomes so very aware of the here and now. “Oh...” It is all that escapes her before she is hurling herself up and grabbing at the waste basket, lifting it up to duck her face into it as bile forces its way out.
July 22, 2018 05:58 pm

Gideon Abernathy

There’s a sense of euphoria as he comes to, his chest rising and falling with a steady but quickened rate. It’s much harder to tear himself from this memory, as it’s his own. Quinn has taken him back in memories before, but they were easy to separate from. This one will steal a moment before he recognizes where he is.

It’s Quinn’s retching that brings him forth from that reverie.

Sitting up slowly, he’s almost dizzy from the sudden movement. It’s as if the room hasn’t quite settled around them, though it had never moved to begin with. There’s a dull ache in his heart, a reminder of the strange devotion he held for that cat, but his main concern is his wife.

Tentatively, he reaches toward her, intending a soothing touch to her back. Something stops him, though, and his fingers curl away into a ball, his fist dropping to the bed dully. With muted movements, he wrenches the knife from its perch in the mattress, a sigh bursting forth from his lungs.

His eyes travel to the pile of his assorted weapons, where he casually drops the object of their shared psyche. He falls back on the bed once more, the blades clashing and sliding with protest, some moving to prick at his skin. He doesn’t mind; his thoughts are preoccupied.

A second is spent on taking stock of the situation. For all intents and purposes, Gideon feels wholly calmer, so her theory proved correct. But at what cost? Has finally seeing him as the monster he’s tried to describe to her put her off of him for good?

Another dry heave from her vicinity seems to confirm his worst fears.

Once more, he’ll sit up, though he won’t reach for her. “What can I do?” The question comes out rather lamely, and she would be able to tell it’s a loaded question. Whether she wants him to get a cool cloth, leave her alone for a while, or go away entirely, he’s prepared for anything.
July 26, 2018 11:43 am

Quinn Abernathy

Quinn is trying to gather herself, and it simply isn't working quite as quickly as she would like. Left to quiet, slowing dry heaves, she keeps the waste bin near. Just in case. She is leaning on the dresser, head rested upon her hand as the other cradles the accessory to her upset near and dear. There is no real conciousness of Gideon. Not quite yet. She is still reeling.

She had just killed a man, and then mutiliated his corpse. Moreover, she tortured him to death. There is no way to have been fully prepared for that. At least, not as she thought. Quinn knew there would be some ugly content to whatever memory she delved into. She had failed to calculate her enjoyment.

Gideon's enjoyment, as her own. And, because he enjoyed it.. she did, on a personal level.

She resents herself for it.

And then, there is the cat.

What can I do?

He must feel awful. Quinn has refused to listen to him on the subject of his darker nature, and instead lives in blissful ignorance of the finer details. They were never a question, but instead something to pretend did not exist. All the while, she did her best to nurture him. Happy husband, happy wife.

Pushing herself to stand, she searches the wall before her as if it might have some sort of answer to his question before her hands wrap around a glass of water she had failed to take to the kitchen the night before. There is no thought as she gulps it down, nary a cringe to it's flat flavor.

"Are you okay?"

Turning around, her gaze reaches him, worry etched into her expression as she continues to hold the basket to her hip. From the very beginning, she had made him aware that this sort of thing is terribly invasive, and Quinn has taken a deeper dive that either of them ever anticipated. Though, truth be told, it would have happened one day. It is without question that she would, one day, be doing this very thing just to be near him again after he is gone.

She does her best not to dwell on such a time.

"I'm sorry. It just.. it wasn't what I was expecting. I don't know what I was expecting." Another heave threatens her, and she swallows a deep breath instead, working to calm her nerves. "You were so angry... and then, happy. And mad again. And it was so satis-"

Cut short, Quinn turns away as her stomach threatens to unveil itself yet again. And, as she works to control herself, she chokes out a single promise, meant to soothe her husband.

It's okay.
July 26, 2018 04:57 pm

Gideon Abernathy

Black eyes follow her every move, attentive to each detail of her demeanor. It’s more than just the puking; it’s the processing.

Just as much as he’d felt her confusion and resistance, she’d felt his desire and rage. Not only had she watched him in action, she experienced everything that went through his mind as well. A front row spectacle to a serial killer’s mind. It’s a wonder she’s still standing.

Her question procures an arched brow and a shrug, his expression that of which can only be described as what do you think?

Then, comes the apology, accompanied by her ramblings. He has to suppress the need to let out his breath in anything that resembles a sigh, his own attitude not exactly receptive. Presenting someone with your innermost thoughts and urges leaves one feeling excessively vulnerable and inexplicably defensive. It’s not a feeling he enjoys, even if it is Quinn.

It’s okay.

“No, it’s not.” He doesn’t even miss a beat, scoffing incredulously. “Quinn, it’s the furthest thing from okay. You can barely contain your disgust.”

Without even knowing it, he’s on his feet, gathering all of his weapons and tools together to redistribute throughout the house. He can’t shake the feeling of how useful this ability of Quinn’s could be, but there’s an underlying protectiveness of his own self; he just can’t bear the idea of letting someone romp through his mind like that.

“This was a bad idea,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. “I appreciate you trying.”
July 26, 2018 05:54 pm

Quinn Abernathy

As soon as he begins to tell her it isn't, she is watching him. And when he brings up her disgust, she shakes her head violently and puts out a hand, shaking it with palm spread as if to attempt to wordless stop him in his tracks while gathering herself enough to talk.

"Giddy," she swallows. Once more, she shakes her head. "No. It's not what you think. Just..."

With a breath, she shoots him a look before stepping out of the room. She needs to get herself together. So, as quickly as she can, she cleans out the basket before moving on to herself. It is only when her face is fresh, teeth are brushed, and a large glass of water is obtained that she returns to him.

Only then, does she take a seat.

Her gaze moves to a knife waiting to be returned to it's home. As odd as it may sound, she has never felt safer than she does now. Her husband is capable, and well prepared. "I was scared. At first."

Chewing at her lip, she delicately picks up the blade, turning it over as she carefully holds it with both hands. There is no helping herself as she wonders how many people it has met so intimately. "I was disgusted with myself," the words are murmured, and she can feel it all return to her. "I still am."

Turning things over in her mind, she suddenly finds herself defensive. Still reeling, her emotions flit quickly just as his had. "I got sick because it was different."

And then, unable to turn off her wondering, she glances up to him. She is ashamed for asking, and yet, there's a certain amount of hope in her voice.

"Did... did John see all of it?"
July 26, 2018 06:11 pm

Gideon Abernathy

It’s not what you think.

In spite of himself, he stops, eyes lifting to find her face once more. She breathes and gives him that look before ushering herself out of the room.

Resigning himself, he sinks onto the bed and rests his face in his hands, elbows to his knees to support the weight of his head.

He won’t move from this position, even when he feels her sink down beside him. Even when she begins speaking. Even as he’s shaking his head. Gideon wants to explain that she’s not feeling disgust for herself, but for what she felt through him.

The question she poses, however uncertain, has him sitting upright. It takes a moment, but he drags a lazy gaze over to her, pondering what her motive to this inquiry could possibly be. Then again, it’s so obvious.

“Yes.” He’s careful in his articulation for this next bit, knowing it would garner a negative reaction. “He’d been watching me for a long time. I didn’t know until later, but...” He shakes his head, pressing on.

“My father knew what I was, I think, from a young age. He never made Malachi kill anyone as a child; just me. He always claimed that it was because Malachi didn’t have the stomach for it, or that he wasn’t ready. It’s part of why he despised me so much, growing up.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he recalls his brother’s hatred and eventual demise at the hand of his wife.

“I killed a lot of his lackeys in the years that I was away. He always sent them after me, always knew where to find me. John Abernathy has a knack for tracking people down. I used to think there was some sort of device inside me that pinpointed where I was,” he mused humorlessly, as it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility in the slightest, “but it wasn’t just me. It was anyone he wanted to find. That’s why I’m always prepared,” he adds, his eyes flashing with that dangerous glint.

With a sigh, he continues. “He made me pay for every single person I cost him when we first arrived at the commune.” The scar on his back throbs, as if recalling the memory. “Not for their sake, but because I’d taken something that belonged to him. He would’ve killed me, had I let him. But I couldn’t.” At this point, his eyes find hers, and there’s a warm tint to them. “I knew you were there...

“And I couldn’t leave you.”
July 26, 2018 06:45 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Quinn watches the knife in her hands as she listens to him, carefully soaking in each word as if it might be his last. Honestly, in the end, she finds herself swallowing back the intense need to cry. Their arrival at the commune had been painful. Physically, for Gideon. But for Quinn, it was completely mental. She will never forget when they brought her in that room, and she saw him in that state.

Much less, she will never be able to erase that hopeless sensation when she thought he was going to die right there in her arms. Quinn is forever grateful he came to church that day, and that she had thought to go so far.

But.. that conversation comes to mind, and she casts a tearful glance in his direction.

"I don't want you to ever leave me."

Chewing at her lip for a moment, she places the knife aside, atop the pile of murder weapons just waiting to be explored. Quinn leans, resting against him and tucking her head beneath his chin. "It's hard. I'm glad he saw it, you know? But when I think of what he did to you, knowing that.."

There really isn't a need to complete the thought, because it is was obvious. Gideon left, John followed in his own way, and Gideon protected himself. And then, he was captured. Because of her. Tortured, and nearly died. Sighing, she calms herself.

She could beg him to not accept Eiji's judgment. She could beg him to run, or fight. Anything to avoid what he deems inevitable. But what good what it do? The only fight that could be had, would be done by her own hand. She knows that.

"I want to keep doing this."

Access to his knives, access to him, would prepare her. Helping him, would help to make the most of their time. "Please, Gideon. I promise to do better."

For now, she wouldn't even bring up Mira.
July 26, 2018 07:22 pm

Gideon Abernathy

An arm easily snakes around her small form, holding her against him firmly. Gideon would never adequately be able to express his desire to never have to leave her alone, but it just isn’t plausible. And they both know it. His demise is inevitable, it’s just the timing that they couldn’t pin down. Then again, maybe that is for the best.

Quinn doesn’t finish the sentiment, but he doesn’t need her to. If anyone hates John as much as Gideon, it would be his wife, and understandably so. Despite his own needs, John Abernathy is a large reason as to why they could never find real, infinite peace.

I want to keep doing this.

There’s a light tensing in his muscles that causes his body to stiffen noticeably. As he considers, his arm drops from around her, hand coming to her chin to force her gaze gently to his. He searches her chocolate hues, finding nothing but certainty. He frowns.

The hand falls to his side, his jaw locking in deep thought. “I...” But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to continue this strange ritual.

Then again, he does, more than anything.

“Tell me honestly,” he begins, his voice low and insistent, “what you feel about what happened. Honestly.”
July 27, 2018 11:26 am

Quinn Abernathy

Meeting his gaze, Quinn swallows. He doesn't like this, and she knows it. She doesn't even truly know this went for him. There were bits and pieces of him that she felt, outside of the experience, but it was not enough to define anything. So, as he stages his question, Quinn does the only thing she can do.

Tell the truth.

"...Scared." The word resonates despite the whisper in which it is produced. "Not of you. But of knowing. It's a lot. Touching these things, seeing it, feeling it. It's foreign. These are things I've never felt before, but they're frightening because I know that one day, I will."

Swallowing, she sits up, letting her gaze wander for a moment before finding his again. She would never admit it, but she knows exactly what sort of feelings she will harbor for the person who takes him away. And that means, while she harbors no ill will now, someday, Eiji would likely have earned her hatred. Quinn would be just as fearful, angry, and... she has to stop that line of thought. It simply isn't who she is right now.

"And satisfied. But, that's hard to explain."

Just like they used to, with their game of secrets, she turns it around. A small smile, fleeting but true, and her sights rove over his face. "Your turn."
July 27, 2018 12:38 pm

Gideon Abernathy

...because I know that one day, I will.

This line of thinking gives him pause. Gideon knows what she’s referring to, but far be it from him to tell her how to feel about a certain situation. He could try and steer her clear of going after Eiji, but nothing he says will really matter. In the end, he’ll be dead, and she’ll have to figure out how to move forward in her own way.

And Eiji would have to face his own consequences.

“You don’t need to explain satisfaction to me,” he says as he bumps her shoulder with his own, “trust me, I get it.”

At her prodding, he inhales and exhales, pondering carefully. “Vulnerable. Exposed. Defensive.” If there is anything between the couple, it is honesty, pure and simple. He had made a promise to himself when they first got together that he’d always tell her the truth about himself. This would be no different. “They’re not really feelings I enjoy. It’s a very private process for me, and having someone not only there, but experiencing my thoughts and emotions, it’s...”

Unable to find the words, he merely shrugs. “But I’m okay,” he offers, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “I’m much calmer, I can focus better. It helped, and that’s... good?”
July 28, 2018 11:53 am

Quinn Abernathy

"It's almost too much.." Quinn finishes his sentence, letting it go just as quickly. She understands, to an extent. Sharing yourself is so much more difficult than it is to impede upon someone else. "I'm glad it helped. I've missed you so much, Giddy."

Slipping her hand into his, she bumps his shoulder back with her own. Exhaling slowly, she glances past him at the pile of knives.

"I stabbed the bed," the words feel foreign. I stabbed is not exactly in her vocabulary. Though, despite that, a smile appears, followed by a quiet laugh.

"These knives.. they need to be cleaned after being touched. I don't know how to do that. And.. Gideon, you're going to have to clue me in on where they're hidden and we need to make sure they aren't in reach. What if Sam gets one? And Finn, once he's out in the world and moving?"

Turning, she faces him where she sits, searching his face. Slowly, at her own pace, Quinn is letting herself slip into her husband's world. "And... I want you to teach me. Things. It'll help me process, if we are going to keep doing this."
July 28, 2018 12:59 pm
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