Just you and me

Green eyes flutter open — the sound of the little one is faint, but there, and he can hear it, and there’s no one else to help, and so he gets up, and goes to do it himself.

He’s exhausted; he hasn’t really slept more than an hour or so in the last 72. He used to be able to pull that off when he was a young man.

He used to be able to do all nighters, even weekends, strung out on caffeine, ephedrine pills, whatever it took to get things done.

Sometimes, just the thrill of working on what he loved was enough to keep him going.

There’s no thrill here, just a steady pace of numbing, grinding exhaustion.

When Lorakan walked out, Lindsey thought it might be the last he’d see of him.

He wasn’t sure, at that point, what to do for Connor, and so he just stayed, did his part. Did Lor’s part, was father and friend and teddy bear replacement, and rocking chair and source of entertainment.

Lor’s phone wasn’t working right. He couldn’t leave messages.

He knew he shouldn’t go anywhere, and after the first full night without sleep, he knew he couldn’t.

April was gone.

Trevor was busy.

Allen was busy.

Lorakan… left.

Marcus was out of town.

His father was dead.

Who did it leave?

“Just you and me, kid,” he murmured, rocking the restless baby as he paced the endless miles of floor that couldn’t tell him where everyone had gone to anymore than he could tell himself, at this point. “Just you and me.”

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0 Responses to Just you and me

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Just want to jump into your stories and inhabit them, stay as long as possible to see where they lead. Is that okay? I don’t know, you wrap such big worlds into so few words, makes me think there is something massive behind all of this, and behind this brain of yours that makes this stuff up.

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