Waiting on Sarah Grace

Hit the Road and Y'all Come Back

Three weeks in and my life is so boring.  I have not left this room since I got home from the hospital.  I'm supposed to going to the doctor today, he wants to get an X-ray and see how things look on the inside; I'm also supposed to get my stitches out today too.  Aunt Cat left two days after the funeral, she never called or came for a visit, not that she would be let in.  Rumor has it she went by the bar and started harassing the manager and the manager threatened to call the cops; too funny, if my prim and proper aunt had gotten arrested.  They would have to get the van though, so there would be room for her high horse too.  The lawyer called and told pops that she had been calling him too.  Since mom bought her out and left nothing for her in her will, aunt Cat gets nothing, even if she gets one of her exclusive attorneys to make a power play, I win.  She has no legal grounds and I can sue her for harassment.  Ain't life a bitch sometimes.  Pops left a few days later, after talking with the police again and watching the traffic cam footage.  They were really hoping the cars themselves would lead them to someone, but they were stolen of course. He found a stable really close to the compound in Florida, so that's where my horse, trailer and everything that goes with him, is at the moment.  They are taking care of him, until I can.  So here I sit, staring at the same walls for the past two weeks, twenty-four seven.  I really want to repaint this room.  

I'm still a target for some unknown entity; guarded on the outside by an ex-military biker gang, the neighbors are loving this, and on the inside, by one horny ex-military sniper.  There have been some heavy make out sessions, some hot heavy petting, but nothing as overpowering as the morning of the funeral.  He said he wants to wait until I can wrap my legs around his waist, when he slides in.  I asked him why that morning he was so desperate for me, and not since.  He told me it was the first night we shared a bed, the first time he saw me completely naked, and he wants both my hands pulling his hair and shoving his face deeper next time; apparently one hand was not enough.  At the rate he wants to move, I'll be knocked up in no time.  And that's something I don't want or need at this moment, especially with someone wanting me dead.  

I've been supervising the packing of my room and the rest of the house, as soon as we leave, a real estate agent, who was a friend of mom's, is taking care of setting up the bnb.  Which seemed like the best plan, since that would allow me to stay in my own house when I'm ready to visit or move back.  Shooter is downstairs now with a cleaning service, packing up things on the first floor.  The second floor is mom's room and I want to be there for that, I think. What stuff I'm not leaving is going into storage in Florida, I guess I've made up my mind, I'm not living here.  It's not the same anymore, plus this is the house I grew up in and I will always feel like a kid under this roof.  They're almost through, I think only the kitchen was left and when they get done, we leave for the doctor.  He helped me in the tub this morning, I've given up on trying to cover myself with a towel.  When someone has been as up close and personal as Shooter has, he's seen it all, no sense trying to hide.  The front door just closed, and I hear footsteps, I guess it's time to go.  I'm very ready to have these stitches out. 

"Hey baby.  You ready?" He picks me up, carrying met to my truck.

"Yeah.  I'll be really happy to shave my leg."

"Just the one?"

"For right now, yeah.  I have to wear shorts all the time and my right leg is starting to look like yours."

"Now how would you know what my leg looks like?  For all you know I know the best place in town to get your legs waxed."

"Well, do ya?  Cause a detour would be nice." 

Both of us laughing, we settle into a comfortable silence.  I love when we have moments like this, both of us completely relaxed and our humor in sync.  I grab my wallet out of the console, I never carry a purse;  Shooter carries my Chapstick and keys, my wallet stays in the truck, and my card and money stays in the card holder on the back of the phone; a purse is unnecessary.  But I might need my insurance cards today, and I wanted to do something special, since I'm free from the house today.