He stood there, stood tall and stout, a loose black hoodie with a set of grey slacks, a young face, unburdened by facial hair or markings, short jet black hair frayed off to the side in small spikes. A long jaw and a small nose, with a set of small lips to round it off, small, thin black brows with a set of light brown eyes.
Hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt, the adjustable string met off at an uneven balance, his brows were slightly tilted up, angled with the curse of worry. His eyes stared down to the dull floorboards, his chest lightly raising and lowering with each stalwart breath.
Why was he here?
He couldn’t shake it off, it was always on his mind, fresh onto his thirties and he gave away his life like this. His head pulled up to look down to the hall, watching that front door, with the slight peek of moonlight drafting inside, the yellow rays of the kitchen light giving him just the barest of sight other than that door.
Did he really think he could save lives like this?
He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to go any further with this. Part of him wished he could back out, before he even started this. Before they even thought of hiring him, anything. They didn’t need to be in this whole mess.
No one was a goner, right?
Everyone had their chance, they didn’t have to be criminals, did they?
Did he have to be?
His body shivered lightly, his body giving a small jitter across his body, from his neck down to his toes, shivering himself awake, trying to pull himself away from the real questions that he needed the answers to.
He pulled his head away from the door, just off to the side, to the lounge room beside him. They’ll be fine.
The small TV, held up on that cardboard box sprayed it's bare amount of light across the lounge room and couch, the show paused, with a small tally. 21 minutes, it read.
He shivered again, looking to the back of the couch, the faint, sole silhouette of a woman slouched over the lot of couch pillows, passed out and sleeping like a log, the quiet groan and the occasional rustle of clothes and the fabric of the couch radiated like a small crickets chirp, noticable but barely.
Was she a goner? What part played in her life for her to drag her down to this level?
His lips pulled tight into a grimace as he took the slow steps across the raggedy floor boards, drifitng up to the back of the couch, hands anxiously planted on the back of the couch, looking to the TV.
Was she always like this? Did she always love the TV, or does she use it to drown out everything else?
His eyes perched down, to the view of her, long entangled her crept over her face like vicious vines, overgrown shrubbery, the look of despair.
Did no one else see that? Did they stop for a minute and ever pay attention to the people around them?
His index finger scratched against his thumb, digging against the fold of loose skin by the nail, picking at himself again in worry, his brows rose again, and a small sigh came from his eyes, his brows dragged half lidded.
“Sorry, Laina…” he mumbled in a quiet whisper beneath his voice, staring at those curled strands of hair.
Each of them like a small wire, a tiny little road, or path. A curled up mess of Life, every decision framed in each curled, tangled, knotty road.
His eyes dropped from her hair, to her hand, hanging off the side of the couch as her thumb twitched just the slightest bit.
Another breathy huff came from his mouth, looking to the bottom corner of his vision, with a slight shake to his head.
He turned around, facing the lit up kitchen, leaning his lower back up against the couch backing.
And what about James?
Just a kid who worked through crime all his life? Was that his life, was he set that as fate? Did he choose this, is he happy?
Smith even?
He looked across the kitchen tiles, studying the white tiles, with black circles at each intersection of the tile line.
Sam?
Was she anything more than she summed herself to be, did she care about everything going around her? Did she feel any remorse for the insults she gave, if not for the killing, or the pain brought by the stitches she gave?
He brought his eyes back to his feet, pointed inwards, his toes giving the slightest wiggle.
Liam…
What reason? Just to try it before he’s too old? Would any 50 year old be as quick to kill as he was?
He sighed again, his body dragging in a slump down, shaking his head subtly, just to himself.
Don’t get caught up in it.
He pushed himself off of the couch backing, and planted his foot one after the other, lightly treading across the floor boards. Step, after step, he shuffled his way down to the front door, giving an anxious look outside to the shining moonlight, watching the poor suburban houses across the road, crumbling away more and more every day. He drug his head down, and turned around, his hand pulling out of his hood pocket to grab against the wooden hand rail of the stairs.
Pulling himself up each step, every thump of his feet giving that slight echo throughout the house.
Perched at the top of the stairs, he looked loosely across the room in front of him, the set of wooden doors that gave each crew member a room.
Save for two, anyway…
Metal folding chairs placed in a small circle, a folding table in the middle, a set of cards placed amongst folders and lists. A whiteboard up against the wall, drafted with squares and lines of tasks needed from the various factions.
A corkboard stabbed into, holding various different badges, berets and symbols from their enemies bodies. The walls scuffed with moved furniture, the paint fading and chipping from age.
A small, dingy, 2nd kitchen held against the wall, a cheap microwave, a stained bar fridge and a simple sink, stacked with a few small dishes. A trash can too small stuffed with cans of soft drink and napkins.
He drug himself past the table, hand dragging along the white plastic, feeling the scrape and marks from knives and nails, his finger creasing along a small bottle of deodorant, most likely James’s.
He came to the end of the hall, just in front of those scuff marks before he leaned back against a small accent table.
Somehow, they made a home out of all this.
