Re: Home: Wren & Luke
[She almost, almost argued about the kids. Almost, almost, but she liked how it felt to have him nuzzle against her throat, there, just beneath her neck. She liked it, and if she argued he'd move, and she didn't want him to. That was her version of selfish, and it was small, and it was now, but she didn't think about tomorrow or the day after that. She cared about now, on those steps, and the way he was warm and alive, and even seeing bad things didn't take that away. He said he wanted her home, and she nodded. Oui, anything he wanted, anything at all. She didn't argue about the kids, not about them being dead, and not about them going to school and daycare. She just nodded when he said to stay with him.] Pour toujours. [It was a promise, and maybe it was a bad one. Maybe it wasn't the best way to help him, but she just wanted him to be happy, and that was what he asked for. Their bank accounts could be depleted, and still she'd find a way. Because he wanted it, and that was all that ever, ever mattered to her. Not healthy, non, but this was hers, and he was hers, and she was unapologetic about it.
She didn't worry about the groceries. It was cold here, not like Las Vegas, and the car was nearly the same as the refrigerator. Sometimes it was even colder, and nothing would spoil. And even if it was hot, and even if everything would be ruined, she wouldn't care; they could just buy it all again.
She shook her head.] I won't tell anyone. I promise. [And just like that, any thoughts she had of telling were gone, gone, because she wouldn't do something she promised him she wouldn't. Maybe the best thing was for her to tell, but she wouldn't. Non, she wouldn't.
She stood, and she held out both her hands to him. She stood there, on the step bellow him. His coat and linen dragging to her scrunched down knit socks.] Venez avec moi.