H A U N T E D

f o r t y - e i g h t

f o r t y - e i g h t

⚠️tw : mentions of s/a

I take the blankets and pillows, stuffed in duffel bags, and throw them on the back of Flynn's truck. The leather straps attached to the back of the hatchback is useful to tighten the bags to the vehicle. The sun shines against my back, warming the skin through my sundress. The picnic basket I packed for myself, is propped between the passenger- and driver's seat. Jack offered to go hunt before meeting up with me. My knees press into the hot metal of the vehicle, and I pull myself off of the back of the car, landing with my bare feet on the gravel of the driveway.

Flynn places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. I turn around to face my grandfather, who offers me a tired grin that doesn't reach the corners of his eyes. His blue irises stand out against the bloodshot white of his eyes, and I know that we share this feature. I heard him sniffling in the kitchen this morning, and uses a handkerchief to wipe away any evidence of tears when he noticed me standing around the corner.

"I'm going to go talk with Sheriff Manor down at the station", he informs me. Yesterday, once I arrived home, Flynn and I sat around the dining room table. We sat in silence for twenty minutes, staring at the file that was in the middle of the table. It looked like crimson blood on a white carpet, and no matter how much bleach you spray on it, trying to scrub it out, it never disappears. Your fingers will be raw and bloodied, adding to it, but it never vanishes.

Finally, I broke down, burying my eyes in the sleeves of my cardigan. Flynn tried to console me, but it hurt too much to touch me. I saw it in his eyes, the stare that held so much uncertainty and self-hatred, and I understood it. In my bloodstream, was the blood of a man who hurt his most beloved, and he hates himself for letting his prejudices come between him and his daughter.

"I'm going to the cops tomorrow", he had said and pulled the evidence closer. I had wondered whether Alex Kim had realized what was missing and if he did, was he searching desperately for the file? Wondering if I had somehow broken into his house, and stole what held all his secrets?

I shake my head to bring myself back to the present, where Flynn gives me a worried look. With a nervous lick of my lips, I look away from him, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. I had sent a late-night text to Jack, asking him to meet me at my house at 10 am. After he eagerly agreed, I laid in bed, comforter pulled over my head as I tried to think how I'd start the conversation. My breathing choked me, but I forced myself to see it through, to fall asleep. I woke up from a nightmare that I can't remember, sweat staining my skin while my breath chased itself in my chest.

"Okay", I whisper to Flynn, who purses his lips together, before placing a kiss on the top of my head. I watch him go back into the house, where I know he'll disappear in his shed. I doubt he'll work today, maybe stare at his tools while trying to remind his hands how to create.

I fold my arms to rest against the side of the truck, placing my forehead on my forearms. My eyes flutter shut, trying to gather the strength to continue the rest of the morning. I don't think I have any tears left to cry, and my waterlines feel swollen and sore. But I made a promise to myself, that I would not shed another tear for what Alex Kim did. He does not deserve the effort it would take to muster one up, and let it crawl across your skin.

I feel him before I see him. It is as if the ever-present whispers die down to welcome him, as the sopranos of heaven when you die. My body explodes with a thousand solar flares, yearning to touch him. I force myself not to turn around and run into his arms, even though I want to plant myself there and watch the trees grow old.

"Hey."

It is all he says to break my resolve. I raise myself from the side of the truck to look at Jack, who stands with his hair held back with an old hairband that I gave him. It keeps the curls from his eyes, and I find myself missing his gray curl. His golden eyes seem wide with innocence, the kind I need to save today. I want to capture him and hold him, hostage, painting his lips with gold leaf that matches his eyes. It will shimmer the way he does right now, in the sunlight, ever so faintly.