Where The Hornets Nest

E P I L O G U E ; Cured

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You've made it.

Made it where?

You'll see, my baby.

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Where The Hornets Nest

The Story You Lived

August 18th, 2023

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8 : 15 am

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// YOUR POV //
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My fingers run against the blue fabric of one of Brian's shirts, my opposite hand pinches a wooden clip to hold the cloth onto the clothes line.

A cool, yet refreshing gust of air breathes through my h/c hair.

The lake is calm below, just like Kate's sleeping form that sits against the old willow.

Tim sits on the back porch, smoking his cigarette and morning coffee, pretending to read his book on Mark Twain when it's obvious his eyes are more interested in reading me.

After the incident, three years ago now, we moved back upnorth to the second cabin of my "recruitment". Although unpleasant memories hang here around each corner, every ripple in the lake below, it's a calm summer house that I can learn to love.

Brian and I have began practice with shooting rifles, any firearms for that matter. I told him in the beginning I know how to kill, protect myself with the high technology of a weapon used through the decades.

But he doesn't listen (I think he just wants an exscuse to have his own time with me, and be a smart ass).

Besides from that, Toby has dragged me (into / deeper into) painting, which has became a late night ritual for the two of us.

Kate leads me onto a new path of the forest every weekend, at the end always is a loving present.

Tim has grown closer, softer. Our late night talks no longer turn into arguments, our trade of alcohol has been cut off. At the mention of that, I'm proud to say that I've been a year sober.

Sometimes, I call Mom.

"Toby, Pass me the pancake mix." Brian calls to the younger man inside, the two busy in the kitchen with making breakfast.

"What if the pancake mix was cocaine." I can already see Tobies goofy grin, making Brian give out an irrated sigh.

"Just shut up and give it to me, damnit." A soft smile blooms on my face as I bend down to grab the last of the laundry.

Shirt after shorts, sweater after hoodie, I wipe the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my head with a sense of fulfillment from simply doing the clothes.

Going through depressive episodes, the simple things will make you feel needed.

Turning, I sigh and walk up to the porch steps to sit beside Tim. He stares off in the distance, taking in a long drag of his cigarette.

I sit down a step above Tim, to get a sense of solitude while staying in the same space as him.

My knees ache, but I don't mind. I watch Tim put out his cigarette, glancing up at me with a small smile. I've quit smoking, well, Kinda. Whenever stress gets to over whelming in my head, I'll go on a "walk" with Toby. Sometimes Kate even tags along.