thewordofweb: (reflect: by sanguinet)
There are few places I genuinely want to be lately, ever since I found what I did. Two days on the boat had been all I could muster before my guilt kicked in and I returned home to make sure Joe wasn't going mad. I still am nowhere near myself and I drift more than before, as if imagining what being out five miles from shore would be like and dying.

Dying. But not by bullet or by mortar blast. Not by enemy fire or something honorable. No, in my case, I just vanish. Before I even realize where I've gone, I'm on Grant's doorstep and I knock at the door, brow furrowed in thought.

"You in?" I call out, half-hoping he's not and I can continue wandering (maybe take the boat out for an afternoon sail) and half-hoping he's here so maybe I can pretend to understand what I've found and why I can't seem to shake it, at all.
thewordofweb: (here and not there: by outoficons)
Realistically, I'm aware that Liebgott's had a conversation with Grant that points the way to success, but it's not like I'm on the same page as him. I missed chapters and I'm not able to forget it any more than the others are. So instead of leaving it alone, I grab another handful of books (War of the Worlds, Oliver Twist, and the Picture of Dorian Gray) along with a handful of Joe's cookies and more smokes before I head to the Compound.

It might have been nice if I weren't nervously fumbling with the books, flashing Grant a wary smile as I pick up the fallen book, juggling my notebook as well (in case he falls asleep and I have time to work on lesson plans).

"Grant, hey," I nervously greet, a smile on my face to try and take the edge off. "Got a hangover from all of yesterday's excitement?"
thewordofweb: (GIRL: lounge)
It's already sunset by the time I'm up at the Compound in the khaki shorts and the blouse Joe found, all ruffles and blue satin and white polka-dots that make me feel like I'm stuck in someone's poor fashion parade. I'm due for a movie in an hour or two, but I still want to drop in on Grant with the food I've picked up from the kitchen and the books I'd brought (Alice in Wonderland, Emma, and War and Peace).

Of course, that we're nearing seventy-two hours and I'm still the way I am frightens the crap out of me, but worrying won't do anything, I guess. Riding it out is the best method and having Grant here and having him remember will help that. Better than talking about feelings with Skinny, at least.

I round the corner for the clinic, holding up the plate of food on top of the pile of books. "Got a delivery for you," I say, one half of my mouth tipping up in a smile. "Hope you like jell-o."


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May 2014

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