Itβs been a week and no oneβs actively tried to murder them yet so some part of Abby is starting to feel...almost...
Which almost puts her more on edgeβthe moment you feel safe is always the moment someone tries to shoot you in the knee, or a flesh-tearing monster bursts out of a wall and tries to pull your throat out. Sometimes both.
But she wakes up on the couch on that seventh day and sheβs alive and well and un-stabbed and thatβs better than what she was hoping forβso it seems like a good sign.
It takes her a minute to figure out what woke her up at allβsomething small and soft being pelted at her face, followed by a set of smothered giggles. She opens her eyes just barely, just enough to see Lev, cross-legged on the floor with the kid in front of himβand a bowl of popcorn between them. Lev reaches in, grabs another piece of popcorn, takes a moment to aimβjust for the dramaβand tosses it at Abbyβs face. The little boy erupts in badly suppressed giggles, like this is truly the height of everything scandalous and hilarious.
Lev grabs another piece, starts to throw it at herβand she reaches up, eyes still mostly closed, catches it. Both boys abandon the popcorn and scatter, dash together to the kitchen in a flurry of laughter.
She hasnβt heard Lev laugh that much in a long time.
She sits up on the couch and thereβs the smell of something cooking and the woman from the theater, with the dark curls, sheβs humming to herself at the stove. Thereβs a house here full of soft and sentimental things, photographs and books and toys, quilts and woven blankets and sunlight filling up every window. Is this what life could have been like? If she hadnβt hunted him down. If sheβs been able to let go. Would Owen have still been able toβbe in love with her? Could she still have been in love with Owen? Could they have had thisβmornings full of laughter and humming and food andβandβ
Well, she has to stop there. She canβt think aboutβthe idea of her and Owenβwith a kidβ
It feels like a slap in the face to Mel. Who isnβt even here. If anything, of anyone hereβMelβs the one who deserved the kid, the house, the soft things. Owen. Love.
But thatβs not how life is, is it?
The front door groans against its hinges and thereβs footsteps behind her, at the door.
That feral animal of a girl is thereβand yet, sheβs not there at all. Thereβs nearly nothing left of the woman who held her under the waves in Santa Barbara. Who tried to kill her. Who let her go.
Sure, when she looks at Abby in that suspicious way, how you might look at a snake piled up in the cornerβAbby can almost see it then. A sharp edge still left there somewhere under all thisβdomesticity.
And if sheβs being honest, Abby trusted her even less when she first got here. But it was the kid who broke her.
Because every time I that half-mad, force of nature, too-goddamn-mean-to-die woman comes through the doorβthat kid drops whatever heβs doing and runs straight to her. Like theyβre two magnetsβand once theyβre in each otherβs field, thereβs just no separating them.
Sheβs seen the way the kid follows her around, trots just at her heels, watching whatever sheβs doing. Sheβs seen her lay down flat in the floor and dance little dinosaurs in circles just for his amusement.
And sheβs not saying she trusts this woman yet, because she hasnβt forgotten what those hands felt like around her neck, butβ
Well, a person who makes distinct voices for each of the different dinosaurs?
That person canβt be so bad.
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