Ah, hell. Christ fucking hell, that was Nancy, sure as anything, a flash of red running like the devil was at her heels, running like she’d seen something profane and Christ, Christ, Bill knew well enough what it was.
It’d only been a harmless bit of relief. A brief moment of release, minor and inconsequential. Didn’t mean a thing only she’d seen and he knows she’d seen and now he knows he ought to go after her.
So he leaves. Pulls out and unceremoniously departs, though he takes his time getting home, wanders the streets and thinks about the situation without thinking too much about the situation because it’s not anything he wants to fill his head with, only he can’t not think about the situation because the way she’d run off, odds are she’d gone home to get plastered, and he can’t leave her in that state for long. So. So. So finally, he heads for their flat.
His first thought is she’s dead. In the instant he opens the door, he’s convinced he’s killed her twice over (that’s nonsense, he hasn’t killed her, not ever, there was never a first time), and there’s a hitch in his chest, a moment where he can’t catch a breath or even remember how to breathe.
But she’s breathing. He can see the rise and fall of her chest, shallow but discernible. And he moves toward her, cautious, hesitant.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-05-31 05:19 am (UTC)Ah, hell. Christ fucking hell, that was Nancy, sure as anything, a flash of red running like the devil was at her heels, running like she’d seen something profane and Christ, Christ, Bill knew well enough what it was.
It’d only been a harmless bit of relief. A brief moment of release, minor and inconsequential. Didn’t mean a thing only she’d seen and he knows she’d seen and now he knows he ought to go after her.
So he leaves. Pulls out and unceremoniously departs, though he takes his time getting home, wanders the streets and thinks about the situation without thinking too much about the situation because it’s not anything he wants to fill his head with, only he can’t not think about the situation because the way she’d run off, odds are she’d gone home to get plastered, and he can’t leave her in that state for long. So. So. So finally, he heads for their flat.
His first thought is she’s dead. In the instant he opens the door, he’s convinced he’s killed her twice over (that’s nonsense, he hasn’t killed her, not ever, there was never a first time), and there’s a hitch in his chest, a moment where he can’t catch a breath or even remember how to breathe.
But she’s breathing. He can see the rise and fall of her chest, shallow but discernible. And he moves toward her, cautious, hesitant.
“…Nance? Hey. Nancy?”