“You are my sunshine” B|
This wasn't how the story was supposed to end.
They got out. They faced down monstrocities of imagination's darker realms and lived. That was supposed to be enough. For a woman who once took everything she had for granted, she was definitely changing that. Less itineraries. Less control. More... going with the flow. More freedom.
More fun. Less death. That was the plan. That's how the story was supposed to end. That's how her story----their story----was supposed to end.
Late nights with movies were soon becoming her favorite. It was hard to relax. Hard to unwind after nearly a decade of being as tight as a string, so afraid to move in case it broke and ruined everything. But, it was getting better. And everything was perfect. Exceptionally perfect that Claire was almost asleep while the television droned on. It didn't help that the steady rhythm of heart beat and breathing drumming into her ear, and the warmth seeping from Owen to her was a lullaby that she didn't realize existed.
Everything was perfect. Until there was a noise in the kitchen. Owen was the one who heard it, because he instantly tensed and tried to move her without waking her up, but she was awake the instant the atmosphere changed. Blinking her eyes until they focused, Claire shifted to sit up and looked over the back of the couch.
Maybe it was nothing. (At least that's what she thought at first.)
It happened extremely fast. The pair surprised the man in the kitchen and the shot was loud, not as loud as her almost scream, but loud. The man ran, and she thought everything was okay----until she turned to ask Owen to call the police.
He was leaning against the door frame, a hand pressed against his chest. At first, it didn't register. Not even the dark red stain that was slowly blossoming even as he tried to stop it.
No.
No, no, no, no.
He dropped and she hit her knees with him. Shaking hands tried to examine the wound, but he was talking. He was talking and she wasn't listening. Her mind was going through the probabilities. How likely it was that he was going to survive this and everything came up nil.
"Claire----"
"Shut up. Just shut up. You're going to be fine. I'll just call the ambulance and get you help, and you'll be fine. You'll be fine. You---"
A hand brushed her cheek and she tried to ignore the stickly warmth that was left behind. Instead, she tried to focus on his face. Ignore the blood. Get the phone. But, she knew it was too late the moment his eyes closed.
The story was over, and she wanted to scream. Scream, rage, and demand another chance. Anything. Something.
She just wanted him back.
