everything, with time

Sarah grew up without a mother, but she adapt to it; considering her own father as her mother at the same time. However, there were moments she wished to have one, to talk and do girly things together like how her classmates does with their own mothers. When you came to her life, you resembled the type of mother figure she has dreamed of.

In comparison with the rest of her classmate’s mothers: you stood out. Mainly for your way of dressing, your aloof personality, and spoke very little or didn't say anything at all. This has led your classmates, parents, and teachers to be skeptical of you; often making denigrating comments behind your back and avoided any kind of interaction with you. Although this treatment would've hurt many people, you didn't reacted that way. On the contrary, you ignored them. She tried to do the same, but at the same time she is enraged because, deep down, she knew you’re one of the most gentle and softest person she has ever come across.

Joel brings Sarah in a tight hug, his chest swelling with pride after her team had won the soccer championship thanks to her goal, “I’m so proud of you,” he mutters into her hair.

“Dad!” Sarah laughs, his stubble cheek scratching hers.

He leans back, “Lemme see the medal.”

She pulls the ribbon forward for him to see the golden medal.

“I’m so proud of you,” he repeats, feeling his eyes becoming watery. It felt like yesterday, when he had enrolled her into her school’s female soccer team when she was in the elementary. He kisses her forehead, hoping that she didn’t see the tears prickling in the corner of his eyes.

She noticed, but didn’t say anything. However, in your case—

You’re behind him, sniffling and wiping the tears that slide down your cheeks with an handkerchief — smothering the soft material across your flushed face.

“Y-You were amazing,” you managed to say in a quivering voice, “simply…amazing.”

“Aww,” she coos, walking towards you to give a hug. Which you promptly kneel down, and receive it in good spirits.

Her content face turns into a reddening glare. Far from where they are, she caught a group of mothers laughing at you. She knew it because one of them were pointing with a finger.

She loves to get to know you. You didn’t talk much, and thought it is the reason on why she feels intrigued in learning more about your backstory, likes, and dislikes. In time, she acknowledges that you two have a lot in common. For example, in music. Which every time she brings her portable CD player, you always shown interest in her CD album.

“May I see it?”

“Of course, you don’t have to ask it.”

You quickly read the list of songs of the compact container as she sits next to you on the worn-out sofa with her ears plugged in.

“Good taste,” you thought with a faint smile.

You didn’t live with them, but practically you came by everyday on your motorcycle. Sometimes to watch rented movies, eat breakfast or diner, and even help her with her homework or prepare her with an upcoming exam.

On the week-ends or your day offs...were a different story. When you came, not only you cook but also clean the house (dusting, sweeping, and mopping), wash the laundry (you iron it before folding it), and even brush the shoes (if they were made of leather you'd polish it). Every time her father came back home and found the house like those interior design magazine; spotless without a speck of dirt in sight—

“Sweetheart, we talk about this,” he begins, walking into the kitchen, “I am grateful that you do all of this. But, Sarah and I can manage it, we always have.”

You were swiping off the counter with a cloth, wearing an apron on that had a phrase in an embroidery: best dad in the world.

“I told you,” you clean the dirty cloth in the sink, “It’s not a problem for me.”

He presses the bridge of his nose. It’d be a lie to say that his house changed drastically after being in a relationship with you. He and Sarah have always done the house chores, oftentimes being Sarah to do most of them all. Once you come in and clean, there’s no stopping you...regardless of what he says.

He walks behind you, enveloping his strong arms around your waist, “Did Sarah help you?”

“Yes, she’s doing the laundry…”

“Good,” he kisses the crook of your neck, again and again. In each time, the faint aroma of your perfume hypnotize him, after a long day of work this is what he needs.

With Joel’s arms glued to your body, you went to the fridge and open it, “Here, take this…”

You hand him a glass of one of your famous fruit smoothies.

He raises a brow, gladly taking it, “What does it have?”

“Vitamins and minerals that your system needs to function,” you inform, guiding his elbow for the glass to touch his lips, “drink it.”

Because of her father's work, it can be difficult to have a time off and visit your apartment. When it happened, without a fail you prepare delicious food and the space is always clean. Above all, she always find a new item that reveals something about you.

She was kneeling in front of your living room's bookshelf. Before examining it, her ankles turns around to the kitchen. You and her father were side by side washing the dishes together while discussing in low voices about the contractor's poor behavior.

“Joel, this is why I want you to start your own business...”

“I know...been thinkin' about it lately....”

“Good, I know a few people that can help you...”

Her eyes drifts towards the once empty shelf that now contains dozens and dozens of books in different genres and languages. She didn't know where to start, even more so when nearby is the: record player with a cabinet filled with vinyls, and your electric guitar that laid against the wall — it wasn’t been there since her last visit.

All she could think about was how amazing you are.

“Hi, Sarah. How you’re doing?”

“I’m fine—What’s that noise? Are you at the bar?” 

“Yes—”

“Aw, man!” 

“I’m sorry,” your elbows rest on top of the telephone booth as you press down your earlobe in an attempt to conceal the boisterous sounds from behind, “The group that was supposed to perform tonight cut the gig last minute and they called us instead.” 

Sarah groans, throwing herself onto the sofa, clutching the wireless handset phone on her cheek, “I was afraid something like this might happen…”

“I’m sorry,” you couldn’t help but to repeat. Of all the days this could’ve happened, it had to occur on Joel’s birthday. You bite your bottom lip, hanging your head low, the silver stacks of rings strokes across your jaw, “You know that I am excited just as you are about his birthday. It’s just…we couldn’t say no.” 

Sarah smiles faintly, brushing her hair backwards, “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong. At what hour do you think you’re coming?” 

The corners of your lips lifts up. Once again, you are surprised at her mature mentality when most kids at her age would’ve reacted differently. The sole of your leather black boots turns around, shifting your attention towards the stage, “A group is now performing, and there’s another coming next. After that, it’s our turn…I’d say around eight?” 

Sarah presses the bridge of her nose, “All right.”

“Is your father there with you?”

“He hasn’t come home yet.” 

“Oh, that father of yours,” you sigh, shaking your head, “he works so much.” 

“Yes,” she agrees whole heartedly, glancing at a framed photo of all three on the wall, focusing on her dad that today turns thirty-two, “Yes, he does.” 

Please deposit twenty-five cents more for the next three minutes. 

You were about to cuss, but managed to cut it back in your throat. Soon, a familiar hand snaps in your view; against the brick walls, Tess snaps her fingers around your face while Marlene repeatedly taps her watch at her side. Together they mouthed: “Hurry up!” 

You stuck your tongue out and they did the same, “Listen, Sarah. I have to go. As soon as I finish I’ll call you, okay?” 

“Okay, and (Name)…”

“Yes?”

“Break the stage.” 

Even though she is not with you, from the tone of her voice, you knew that she is grinning, and you couldn’t resist to do the same, “Sure do kiddo. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

The worn out telephone clings inside of the booth. 

Marlene clasps her hands in the air, “Here I thought you wouldn’t finish!” 

“At least, it wasn’t Joel,” Tess laughs, “Or else, we would be here all night.”

“You’re just jealous,” you tease, shoving your hands into the pockets of your black leather jacket. 

People of different types and ages comes in and out of the huge crowd that has formed in the small space. On the dance floor, men and women sing in unison, banging their heads and swaying their bodies at the rhythm of the rock music that is being played on stage. Clouds of smoke emerge as people take drags of their cigarettes while various kinds of liquids splashes out of their drinks. 

The white clouds lingered to the bar where no other souls could fit in—

“Breaking news…” 

A faint noise came from the analog television set that hung from the corner of the stacks of alcohol. It seeps through the sea of people that are glued to the barstool — overlapping the loud sounds of chit-chats, laughter and clinks of glass. Not a single person bat an eye at the newsanchor; except for you, Tess, and Marlene. 

“The Army has paralyzed the international airport of New York City due to the violent outbreaks that has been going on the nation ever since this morning—” 

“Another one?” Tess tucks her hands into her armpits, “Before I dropped Pedro to school, I read in the papers that the army had also taken the Los Angeles airport.” 

“I read it too,” Marlene crosses her arms over her chest, furrowing her brows. “When the bar owner called me in the afternoon, I was watching the news that said the hospitals are getting full with those types of people…” 

Uneasiness slithers into your guts, you’ve noticed it too. The same news has being playing over and over again throughout the day, the last one being worse than the previous one. At first you thought it was a case of a new type of the flu, that it’ll die down but, instead, it has escalated fast...too fast. Your heart begins to race strongly into your chest, rocking your ribcage with each pound at the uncertainty. 

“We have yet to know the cause of this unnamed disease that has spread on massive scales, not only here in the United States, but also across the continents—” 

The bartender roughly switches the channel with a remote control to MTV Music, “Better! Been hearing that crap all day!” 

It has gone worldwide. Your trembling pupils darts to Marlene who stares back. A hardened expression fell in her features, oozing authority and domination. After all, she was part of the military for 2 years and had dropped off because she grew a disliking towards it. 

“W-What do you think it is?” you ask, being surprised at the quiverness of your voice. 

Marlene remains silent, her lips pressing in a thin line. Tess also waits for her response with anticipation at her side. For what it felt for minutes, she took a deep inhale, flickering between us and the television before answering, her tone as low as a whisper, “I…I don’t know.” 

Tess caresses her chin, “Is a virus.” 

Marlene places her legs one on top of the other with a hum. 

“As soon as I came home,” Tess places a hand beside Marlene's head. “I logged in Reddit. And read that yesterday, supposedly in Asia, there was a case in the rice fields that a woman who was known to be calm suddenly turned crazy and began attacking her coworkers.  Listen to this,” she leans forward, you and Marlene reciprocate her action, “today, out of the dozens of people, nobody report to work...” 

Marlene nods slowly, taking every word, “I wouldn’t be surprised. They often hide details from the public to avoid chaos. But,” a deep line forms in her forehead, “if they’re publicly interfering at airports, hospitals. It most likely means there’s a high chance that...it has gone out of their reach...” 

“Who knows what they’re hiding for us,” Tess drops her arms to the side, “They’re only telling more cases of people going nuts, but none of ‘em is about what might cause it like an infection of a food or a bite of an insect…” 

Beads of sweat comes out of your pores, and clammy fingers fidgets in your pockets.  All you could think of is your loved ones: friends, family, Tommy, Sarah, and…Joel. The last time you’ve seen him was this morning at his house. You had drop by to congratulate with and ate breakfast together with Sarah and Tommy. 

“Hey…” Marlene reaches to your wrist, making contact with your silver chain bracelet. Concern glows in her brown eyes, “…take a deep breath, alright?” 

You follow her advice and took a deep breath, and another, and another. “It’s just…” you run a hand over your face and whisper-yell, “what is happening?! Tess is right, nobody is telling us shit!”

She went poker face, her thumb stroking your bracelet absentmindly. “I don’t know,” she responds, mostly to herself. 

A round of applause came, a sign the current band has finished playing. Once they bowed their thanks, promptly they took their instruments and cleared the stage for the next group to come in. Near the curtains, the bar owner signals to Marlene and she nods back — a cue that is our turn next. 

“Let’s go to the Van,” she pats your shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. 

“What are we going to play?” Tess asks, stepping aside to let a herd of men walk past her where one of their elbows roughly pushes her back.

“Hey!” they growl, “Watch where yer goin’!”

“Watch where you’re going, piece of shit!” Tess spats back. 

Before Tess could continue, Marlene guides her to the entrance with a hand on her lower back, “Easy there…” 

The sunset has settled in, igniting the area with red orange hues as the streetlights starts to illuminate the parking lot and nearby street. The three of you paces to the back to the of the establishment while planning out the performance. 

“How about we sing Carnival of Souls?” Marlene asks, searching for her keys in her denim jacket. 

“I don't know,” Tess mumbles with a cigarette in her lips then lights it with a lighter. She takes a short drag, the smoke exhaling out of her nostrils, “Is not that I am oppossed. I think the song is fire, it's just...is new and is one motherfuckin' headache. 'n that's only on rehearsals, I cannot imagine on stage...” 

Marlene chuckles, “I know we have been practicing a lot, but the last few practices has been great that I think we are ready to launch it publicly. What you think (Name)?” 

“W-What?” you blurt out, having lost track of their conversation after you took out your fliphone, fingers hitting its buttons, speed-dialing Joel's number from memory, “Sorry, it's just-- can I make a quick call?”

“Sure...” Marlene and Tess drifts off. 

“Thank you...” you mouthed, smashing the small device onto your ear and walked away. 

His phone begins to ring, and you bite your fingernails. 

“Is your father there with you?”

“He hasn’t come home yet.” 

It rings, rings, and rings.

“Hello this is Joel Miller, and please your message after the tone—”

In a click of your tongue, you shut the phone close. Where could he be? You play with the silver chain around your belt, trying to shut down your troubling mind. At least...for a moment; within minutes, your group is about to perform.

You didn't pay attention to what they were saying, except for the name of the new song you've all been working so hard on: Carnival of Souls. Out all the songs you've done together this has been the most difficult one. It has fast tempos and speed between the instruments, as well as the drastic high and lows vocals. Over the past few months, you three have been practicing arduosly in the evenings, even though you have work and family commitments during the day. 

The lapel of your black leather jacket opens, slipping the fliphone into the inside pocket as you turn around.

In other words, you need to lock in. 

“Everythin' alrigh'?” Tess passes her cigarette to you, “Did he pick up?”

Your head shakes, taking a long drag of the sweet nicotine. Its calming effects quickly slips into your bloodstream, “Let's talk about this later...”

Marlene scans your features for a moment before opening the doors of the trunk, where the instruments were laid inside: her bass, Tess's drums, and your electric guitar.  

“Alright then,” Marlene begins, “Tess and I were talking about that we think it is time to perform the new song to mix things up a bit. Do you agree?” 

A heavy weight grows in your shoulder to just one thing: your solo part. Is the pinnacle point of the song where timing needs to be precise or else it'll fall off. Regardless of it, the countless hours of practice gave you a boost of confidence; and boy, how you need it right now. 

“Let's do it,” you agree, giving back the cigarette to Tess, “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

“That's settled then.”

Loud sirens burst in. Your head jerks to the streets; a group of police cars dashes across the traffic, dodging and going past the vehicles at full speed — even ignoring at the several red lights. 

Your jaw hangs open. 

Marlene covers her mouth. 

Tess's cigarette falls to the ground.

Fuck. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we now present The Fireflies!”

Tess snaps her fliphone shut after calling the babysitter and talking to her son, Pedro. She rolls the drumsticks into her palms, “After this, I'm going straight home.” 

“Me too,” Marlene rubs the back of her neck, “My mother must be worried, all she sees on TV is the news.” She coughs out loud, flexing out her hand, “Ready?” 

“Hell we are,” you nod, placing your palm on top of hers then Tess joins hers.

Together, you count on three, and chanted: “Fireflies!” 

Mere seconds before stepping on stage, Marlene softly asks in your ear, “Does Joel have a gun?”

You stop adjusting the strap of your electric guitar over your shoulders, “I think so…”

“Then tell him to teach you.” 

It is stern and strong like a command that you could not fail. Is rare for her to use that tone of voice. Often speaking to you and Tess gently, almost in a motherly way, but when she uses it: she means every word of it.

“But...I don’t have a license.” 

“I doubt that won't be necessary for much longer.”  

The look of concern she had earlier had spreads widely on her features. She gave a close smile, touching your cheek lightly while holding her bass, “Let's rock 'n roll.”

Sounds of cheers and whistles greets Marlene and Tess as they enter in the spotlight, but it all dims down to silence only hearing your frenetic heartbeat drilling into your eardrums. A shiver ran through your spine, turning your feet cold, but you force them to move forward. 

“How we are doing tonight?” Marlene beams, accommodating the microphone stand.

The audience happily yells in different answers:  “Fine!”  “Great!”  “Good!” 

“It's wonderful to hear that, but” Marlene shakes her head playfully,  “I can't believe you're already tired...” 

The strings of your electric guitar tightly presses down, plugging the chord into the amplifier. Take a deep breath. Your tense shoulders rolls back.  Calm down. Your mouth has gone dry, the back of your throat rolls over and over to form saliva; slowly moisting it — even though, Marlene is the lead vocalist, you and Tess need to also support her vocally. 

A lump forms on your throat, tears swells in between your lashes—

You shove, and shove it all down, repressing any type of reaction to emerge further — silently praying, the audience wouldn't notice.  

Marlene gestures the animated crowd to lower their voice, which rapidly did. She chuckles, “This audience has such good manners! Let's us introduce ourselves, we are The Fireflies,” a few whistles came in, “and we are composed by me the bassist, Marlene, the drummer Tess...” 

Tess greets. 

“and (Name), the guitarist...” 

You wave with a forced smile, but Marlene saw through it. 

“Tonight we're going to play a new song called Carnival of Souls, hope you like it!”  

Another round of applause came. Marlene nods at us, when her gaze settles on you, her mouth pursues forward — gesturing to breathe.

Just as we always have done: we started in sync. Marlene's suave and honeyed voice held a mesmerizing note that, alongside with the soft tune of the bass, electric guitar and the drums: hypnotize the crowd. As the seconds passes the tempo intensifies with the speed of your fingers to the rapid pace of Tess's drumming and the drill of Marlene's bass. The bright light of the stage allows you to scan the audience with ease. You've never seen people react so fervently and ardently; some went in awe, and others, with their shouts and whistles encourage us to go further. 

“You're doing amazing sweetie!” 

It brought a genuine smile to your face. The mesh of the microphone shakes at the loud and resonate of your voice, intermixing with the huskiness of Tess from behind. At the corner, some people swayed violently in all direction. During the creative process in making this song, you knew this song had potential, but you did not expect this—

Your brows knits together whilst the pads of your fingers burns across the strings in different position. The reaction has spread to the other side; people starts to jump on top of each other, stumbling into the floor, throwing bottles, glasses—

Tremor shakes into your pupils and flies to Tess, who is smashing the sticks onto the drums and cymbals with such agility and speed that made it look easy. Your eyes flew over to Marlene, who is singing loudly, yet maintaining the sweetness of her voice while she quickens the pace of her fingers on the bass.

Are you seeing things?

A tight sensation locked in your chest. The anticipating moment coming nearer, and nearer: your solo act. Marlene and Tess abruptly lowers the volume of their own instruments — the time has come. 

Here goes nothing. 

A bead of sweat slides down your temple. Leaning backwards, your fingers dances across the metal strings in frenetic movements that made the pads of your fingertips to ache and split open. The wild reaction of the public drills in the air, adredaline kicks into your system, your nails scrapes, but you didn't feel it: you were in the zone—

Your teeth harshly grinds together, clenching your jaw tight. 

The crowd has grown animalistic. More and more people are tackling themselves onto the ground, the tables. Others are biting each other's skin of where chunks of skin, ears, and splashes of crimson red blood came from one side to the other. Cries of pain and agony became just as loud as your solo. 

From the dance floor, a man breaks to the stage, growling like an animal, hauling...towards you. 

A high-pitch shriek came out of your troubled soul and smash the electric guitar at his head; knocking him out on the wooden floor, and didn't move. Instead, blood spurts out of his cracked skull. You back away with repulsion, almost tripping with the cords and cables nearby. In huffed breaths, you look down at your beloved instrument: is nearly broken in half, its strings burst open with a large splash of crimson red in its body.

It took your brain several seconds to acknowledge that Marlene and Tess stop playing. In exchange, came one of the most horreundous sounds you have ever heard. It's as if the devil took possesion on some of the people; making them grunt, groan, scream animalistically while their bodies pulls towards others like they have no control of their actions. 

You freeze on the spot at a particular sight of a man eating another. He was chewing hungrily at his neck where a large glob of saliva fell on the raw red skin, sinking his teeth onto it only to gnaw and bite a huge chunk of it — you could've sworn that you saw a glimpse of the inside of his throat. The worse part of all, the man is conscious, weeping weakly, slowly writhing on his own pool of blood until he laid motionless. 

Hair lifts on the nape of your neck. The guitar trembles in your tightening grip, turning the base of your knuckles white--

“We have to go now!” Marlene takes off the strap of the base from her shoulders, but held the neck. She dashes past you, grabbing your hand and hold Tess's old shirt. 

Luckily, the backstage door is close by. From behind, came that awful noise. You look from your shoulders, they had invaded the stage and is running at the same direction. Tess's shoulders shoves the door open, after you and Marlene came outside, instantly close it. 

Tess's back glues onto the door, pushing all her weight against it, “Grab that metal bar!” 

To the side, there is a large dumpster container; a metal bar is sticking out from the lid. In a blink of an eye, Marlene's hand drops yours, seize it—

The worn-door begins to shake...violently, quickly you went over to Tess to press your back against the door. Marlene ran, almost tripping on her feet, but push the metal bar across the handle; locking it. Yet, it opened, but only slightly; bloody hands begins to crawl out of the darkness as their moans intensifies. 

Tess shoves her drumsticks behind her backpockets, running behind of the container and push it. Without thinking twice, you and Tess join in. The metal wall of the container bends lightly as it moves. Your face scrunches mustering every ounze of strenght and energy while lunging your legs further and further — digging the soles of your leather boots to the ground. 

Everyone gasps loudly after succesfully blocking the door. Night has fell and the once tranquil ambience has turn wild. The streets is full of abandoned cars, garbage lying anywhere, some buildings are on fire; in the midst of this, people were running and shouting, some attacking others just like in the bar. 

Your breath hitches on your throat, wanting to pinch yourself that this is not truly happening, but your body did not respond.

Tess catches her breath with hands on her hips, “ 'N I have my damn guns at home...”

Marlene pulls out her keys, “I have a few in the van.”

“Wait, you do? Since when...”

“I only have it for self-defense...”

The foul scent of the backdoor stabs your senses,  your back is still pressed against the dumpster which kept shaking and shaking with every shove from those...people — if you could call them at. 

Tess kneels at your level and grabs your shoulders, her touch slightly shaking, but spoke firmly, “We need to move.”

In deliberate movements, all three move towards the van with careful steps — hoping it won't gather any unwanted attention from the streets. You and Tess squats on the floor as Marlene unlocks the driver's side door. 

“Listen, Sarah. I have to go. As soon as I finish I’ll call you, okay?” 

You hurriedly pull out your fliphone, and open it:

15 missed calls from Joel <3

 6 missed calls from Miller's residence 

You swallow the little saliva you had, dial the house phone number, and quickly replied: 

“(Name), where are you?” quavered Sarah,  “Are you okay?” 

So as not to scare her more, you try to sound as calm as possible, but failed, “I-I''m okay, Sarah. Are you okay? You're still at the house right?” 

“Yeah...but what is happening? The news won't stop playing the warning and dad hasn't come home yet—” 

“Whaddya mean he isn't there?!”

“He came, but Uncle Tommy called him from jail and he had to go to bail him out.” 

A part of you wants to ask why, but time is gold. On the corner of your eye, Marlene gives Tess a gun. “Listen Sarah. Lock the doors and don't answer to anyone, y'hear?” 

“Mmm.” 

Within seconds after you hung up, a call came: 

 Joel <3

In a speed of lighting, you pick it up. 

“Babygirl, where are you?!”

A wash of relief came, but you wince at the sharp noises from the background, “At the bar. I tried to call you earlier—”

“I know, baby, I know—Fuck!” he shouts, several gun shots pierces in, “Listen, I am at the police station with Tommy—”

“I know, Sarah told me.”

“How is she?!”

“She's alrigh', told her to shut the doors 'n don't answer to anybody.”

“Good, baby—”

The call drop, you glare at the small screen; the bar signal is gone. Your head bangs on the van, putting your fliphone away in your pockets.

“Did your signal also went out?!” ask Tess desperately, suffocating her phone in her grip while the gun rests on her lap.

“Yes...”

“Damn it! I hope Pedro is alright...”

“Here,” Marlene's  hands you a gun, it is a medium size in color black — the same type that appears in those rented action movies you watch with Joel and Sarah. 

Marlene curls your striffening fingers around it, “You see that lock? If you want to shoot someone, you drag it down, aim, and pull the trigger.”

You could only nod, absoring the new information whilst the gun rest heavily into your sweaty palms. The moonlight shines brightly on a motorcycle that is parked in front of you. It's an vintage model, black with silver streaks that glows in the reddish-orange rays of the fire. 

And you're the proud owner of it. 

“I'm going to Joel,” you state strongly, for the first time in the entire evening. 

Marlene's brows raises in disbelief, “What?”

You stood, already having the keys in your grip, “I'm sorry. I'm going at my motorcycle. He's at the police station with Tommy.”

Thankfully, the police station is in a few blocks ahead that you could get there in less in a minute. However, Marlene's and Tess house is on the outskirts of the town. If you were to go with them, the chances of reuniting with your loved ones alive will be slim. As much as you love them, you can't take that risk. 

Tess and Marlene exchanges glances, understating the situation without the need to further explain the reasons. Tess hugs you, hard and firm. Soon, Marlene's arms envelopes around the two in a tight and warm embrace. It isn't the first time you had these kind of hugs, but this time is different — knowing that you'll never see eachother again. 

What is happening? 

What is happening?

What is happening?

The question swirls in your thoughts repeatedly as you ride down the street. Cool night breeze hits on your helment, your eyes tries to focus ahead; dodging any objects or car in the way, but couldn't help but linger on the people

At those people. 

Shivers went down your spine, you squeeze the handle so you wouldn't fall while turning around the corner. Ahead on, the police station came to view; there were only two people, one shooting inside whilst the other was lying on the sidewalk, fighting off those people  so it wouldn't jump on them. 

The closer you got, the more you realize the person in question is Joel. 

Your Joel. 

And he has those demons on top of him.

Without thinking, you grab your guitar from your back, you zoom past him, and smash into its head — sending it across the sidewalk, colliding with a streetlight where it explode. 

You lost your balance and fell on the street—

“(Name)!—” Joel's voice booms from behind. He sprints, falling to the ground with you. “Baby!” hurriedly, he cradles your body into his arms, taking off your helmet, “Are you okay?! Speak to me!”

“I'm fine...” you groan.

He caresses your face. As much as he wants to comment about the blow you landed on that thing, and how cool you looked—

Tommy's gun shots reminded him that he must be going.  He must go to Sarah. 

“C'me here,” he helps you stand up. On the process, something fell off from your black leather gloves, and realized is the neck of your electric guitar...of what's left of it. 

“O-Oh, Joel,” you pant, tears sliding down on your cheeks,“W-W-hat is happening?”

“Babygirl,” he whispers, cradling your face in his rough hands and wipes your tears away with his thumb. He kisses your forehad, “I don't know. They say is a virus that all they do is bite each other off.”

“I-I'm scared,” you wimper, clutching at his wrist.

“I'm here. We're here,” he hugs you, “We're in this together, y'hear?”

Tommy rushes in, re-filling his ammo, “Joel we gotta go.”

Joel nods, handing him the keys of the pick-up truck with one hand whilst the other massages your back, “You drive.”

He guides you towards the vehicle, settling into the passenger seat next to him with your arms wrapped around his waist as he whispers sweetnothings in your ears. His intoxicating scent smooths your trembling heart, getting rid of that awful odor from your system.  

Even if the world is falling apart, without Joel at your side: it's not worth it. 

In his peaceful slumber, Worick’s breathing became more and more labored. He squirms under the soft mattress of his bed at the gust of fresh air running over his legs. Soon, a soft touch caresses his inner thighs, following after a sound of a gentle suck...then another...and another. It took him minutes to realize there's a warm embrace on his member. 

A familiar one that is.

He squints an eye, in midst of the rays of the sun peeking through the blinds of the window a blurred vision of your disheveled hair on his crotch came to view. Orange and yellow hues ignites the room making you glow in the morning sunrise. Your arms were enveloped around his waist, holding each side of his hips tenderly. His breath hitched as your head slowly starts to bob, giving languid strokes on his member. The corners of his lips curls up, catching a glimpse of your concentrated face as you furrowed your brows — digging your nails onto his hips, hollowing your cheeks to welcome more of him into the warmth of your mouth, humming in delight. 

Its vibration quivered through his body, a soft moan escaped his lips and sinks into the pillows. One hand grips into the sheets whilst the other found its way into your hair, kneading his fingers into your strands —- brushing your hair backwards and grunts when he sees his wet cock disappearing into your sweet plump lips, feeling its head being brushed more into the back of your throat. 

He bites his lower lip and strokes your hair as the suckling noises blesses his ears. Heavy breathing ignites on his chest, with a hand holding his hips down, you grab the base of his cock and stroke his balls while you suck and twirl your tongue around his now throbbing member. Gradually, you quicken up your pace in a rapid manner, your nose coming closer and closer to his lower abdomen. A smile curls your lips at the feeling of his hips hardening and his moans becoming louder and incoherent —  loving the way the infamous Worick Arcangelo is coming apart under your touch. 

Beads of sweat oozes out of his forehead, his knuckles turn white and his grip tightens more and more into the sheets. A strained breath escapes from his lips when you took all his cock into your mouth, his cock fully going past the back on your throat, and your nose nuzzle into his pubic one, smothering your face where small  curls of pubic hair tickle your nostrils. 

Tears prickle around your eyes and hold your head still as you give his cock continuous suckling making an obnoxious wet sound that made him hitch his breath —- trails of the mixture of your drool and his juices escapes your mouth, coating more on his cock all the way down onto his pulsating ball where you continue to swirl them under your palm. 

He struggles to keep his eye awake—panting— wanting nothing more to engrave this moment into his memory. 

"The next time I see Chad,” he whispers, pressing his temple against yours while his arms envelopes around you, “I’ll have to tell him not to put you into much stress.” 

You kissed his stubble cheek, “But Ricky, you’re half the reason why I have so much work to do.” 

Worick leans back with a pout, “Even my darlin’ complains about me!” 

“Well,” you whisper  as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear,  “If you were a good boy, you wouldn’t leave so many messes behind for me to do paperwork about it.” 

“But you like me this way, don’t you…” he grins, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

You cup one of his cheeks and wink, “Why do you think, I’m still with you?” 

The corner of his lips turns up and seals your lips tenderly, holding your body firmly against his — your back hits the concrete walls of the backside building of the Police Department.  

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck and ruffle your lover's  hair in between your fingertips.  He grins through the kiss, enjoying the taste of your sweet lipstick mixed with his tobacco and whiskey, and roams his hands around your body, giving your bottom a light squeeze. 

“Ricky,” you breathed, between kisses,  “I have to go back to work.” 

“Honey!” he protests, breaking the kiss while heaving slightly and checks his watch, “We have five minutes left!” 

You pressed your finger against his plump lips, “I need to go back to work.” 

His shoulders slumps down and brings your body closer to his, “Honey....” 

 “I’ll see you later,” you kiss his lips one last time before walking away...or at least trying to do so. He tightens his grip around your figure making harder to break free, “Worick....” 

A cloud of sadness paints his features, “At least let me walk you back...” 

“Why are you behaving like a child? You act as if we’re not going to see each other tonight.” 

“Darlin’…”

Throughout your slumber, you heard a sweet, familiar voice calling you softly. Soon after, you felt a warm kiss in the hollow of your waist that sent shivers to your spine. 

“Darlin’…”

Another kiss is placed on your ribcage, then another on your shoulders as rough hands gently caresses on your exposed thighs and hips. Despite the tiredness, your body couldn't help but to squirm on the cushioned bed, allowing yourself to be succumbed to his affections and ready to be consumed as a whole. 

“Darlin’…”

“…Worick.”

“Yes, I’m here,” he whispers hoarsely, feeling the vibrato of his voice behind you, “I’m here darlin’…” 

The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes awakens your senses. Little by little, your eyes opens and found yourself surrounded by strands of ash-blond hair that you adore so much. 

“Ricky,” you breathed, turning around to face your boyfriend, the one and only: Worick Arcangelo, “I was waiting for you…” 

“I know darlin',” he seals your lips in a sweet kiss, enveloping his strong arms over your waist, pulling you close to his chest, “I know, but I’m here…”

Worick pampers your face with kisses, each one of them it is with such tenderness that you couldn't help but melt under his touch — allowing him to explore the familiarity of you that neither one can ever get tired of. 

“Ricky…” 

He hums. 

“It is late…”

“Honey!” he leans back with a pout, “we have to finish what you started!”

In the dim lights, a negligee adorns brightly and deliciously on your figure. Its see-through fabric reveals the bareness of your most intimate areas under his hungry gaze. 

He gives your inner thigh a firm squeeze, “How do you expect me to go to bed after seeing you like this?!” 

“I was waiting for you, but…fell asleep.” 

“Something came up,”  he props an elbow onto the pillow and drums his fingers on your hip, just above the string of your thong that he is restraining himself to yank it off from you, “and had to deal with that...” 

 “It’s okay, ” your eyelids drops, “you’re here…that’s all that matters…”

“Darlin’!” he rapidly cups your face with panic, “don’t go sleeping on me!”

“I’d love to Ricky, but…let’s finish this in the morning...” 

“You know how long it's been since we last slept together?!” 

“…How long?”

“Almost a week! It’s the longest we've had!” 

In his line of work, having two jobs can be challenging. Sometimes his schedule gets so full that he barely gets to see you through the day. All though, he makes the effort in calling you or stopping by, even for a brief moment…it is not enough for him. However, this week has been rough; errands and appointments came again and again and again. It drove him insane, even more so when he realized he had spent more time with other women than with you. 

“That’s why I wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, leaning towards his touch. 

“Darlin’…” he whimpers softly, bringing your face to squish your cheeks together with his. 

“Ricky…”  you giggle softly at his stubbed skin scratching against your soft ones. 

Other times he’d let you sleep — he presses his thumb into your mouth, letting the tip being moisten with your saliva and slides it down to your neck — leaving a trail of your saliva as it reaches to the valley of your breasts — But, at this moment...all he wants is you. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, lowering the waistband of your underwear, “So damn beautiful...” 

A brush of cold air went to your cunt, he slips his fingers in between your legs and caresses your entrance. Low moans escapes from your lips, to him it is a beautiful chorus to his ears that is yet to unravel. Slowly, he inserts a digit into you and grunts at how tight you're always are. 

“Ricky…” you moan loudly, now fully alert more than ever. Yet, you're tired. You've been waiting for him for hours, but — your toe curls when the tip of his fingers hit with ease a sensitive spot — he knows you more than you know yourself. Another moan came within you, but it traps on your throat at the feeling of his tented pants growing near your pulsating cunt. 

You also want this. 

It has been too long. 

“Ricky,”  you lick your lips, clasping rather desperately on his chest, “I wanted to please you!—” 

The corner of his lips turns up at your never ending devotion that always make his heart flutter. Instinctively, he softly kisses you whilst his fingers thrusts over and over again into your wet walls, where your juices begins to overflow past his knuckles. “S'okay, lemme take care of you,” he coos between kisses. A rush of blood went to his throbbing cock at your body loosen up against his, making the pace of his finger go more and more rapidly than the last “—Lemme take care of you—” the sound of your incoherent moans echoes loudly on his ears as his cock is on the blink to burst from his trousers. 

“Lemme,” he breathes heavily at the delicious manner your cunt is receiving his fingers. How long has it been?— He jerks his fingers out of your cunt and you whine at its absence. 

“Ricky! —”

In a speed of lighting, he sinks down in between your legs and parts them wide open with eagerness. His mouth begins to water at the glorious sight of your cunt. Like a hungry man, he seals his lips around your cunt in a slobbering and wet kiss, your breath hitches as he buries his face deeper and deeper into your folds and felt the pad of his tongue easily going past the ream of your walls. Tears prickles around your eyes whilst his tongue swirls into your sensitive walls with such precision that made your back arch. Your clumsy fingers grasps onto his hair and fist them, smothering him even more into your cunt and he moans with glee.. He grips onto your hips, holding them in place for dear life so that his lips would not break apart from the vice that is far intoxicating than cigarettes: your cunt. 

“Ngh—Worick!” 

He furrows his brows, and swirls his tongue around your bud of pleasure and sucks on it...hard.  

“Ricky!” 

Oh, to be surrounded by you it is a pleasure that he will never takes for granted. With a sharp inhale through his nose, he sucks in your juices and slides a finger underneath his chin and begins to scissor. 

Oh, there it is. More and more of your juices begins to fill past the pad on his tongue. A line forms in between his brows and starts to suckle harder and harder. 

A mix of incoherent grunt and cries came louder and louder. Tear slides past your cheeks while shaking your head from side to side. His grunts vibrate heavily through your whole body making your knees buckle. 

“Darlin’ where yer goin’?”

Arthur’s powering presence rapidly came at your side, casting a shadow over your limping figure as you walk through the camp or rather…dragging your legs to do so. 

Heat evaporates on your skin as the rays of the sun boils your face, elaborating breaths begin to break from your lips. A line forms in between your brows whilst Arthur’s rough hand gently holds your hip. 

“I just wanna,” you gasp, curling your hands into a fist, loathing how your voice has turned out to be weak rather than recollected. A bead of sweat runs past your clammy forehead, your nails sinks into your palm at the familiar cramp that has ignited through your lower body, “I just…wanna walk…tired of…sittin’ aroun’.” 

Arthur winces at your tone, regardless the countless time he’s heard it, he’s  never going to get used to it. He squeezes your hip, holding still by his side while distancing  of the bustling sounds of the camp until is replaced by the  gentle waves of the lake. 

Against your will, you leaned towards him, allowing him to hold more of you when you’re the one who wanted to do it by your own accord. One after the other, sharp pain palpitates from within, the weight of his strong arm adds pressure as it fully encircles around your waist until his fingers rests on the edge of your lower abdomen. 

Grunts begin to surge but you hold it in your throat, your curled hand starts to tremble not knowing whether it’s from rage, the pain or this dammed heat. 

“A woman,” your tongue runs past your bottom lip, “cannot get…their morning walk…aroun’ here no more?” 

Arthur takes a sharp inhale through the nose, “It’s just…I get worried that’s all.”

His green-blue eyes travels around your figure, taking notice of your will to keep walking in spite of everything — moving your crippling body through this heat — the hairs are glued onto your forehead, sweat emerging from your damp shirt, and—

His brows furrows at the sight of your trembling curled hand that is now gripping onto your long skirt. A curtain of your hair fell onto your face, he brushes a strand behind your ear. The sun soaked you completely, you were biting onto your bottom lip while panting through your teeth with squinted eyes. 

You didn’t stop walking, you continued. 

With no complaints. 

And it hurt him. 

It felt like yesterday when he heard the news months ago about your accident. It was supposed to be a day like any other, a heist, a robbery at some rich folk party. Trelawny and Hosea had convinced him and you to infiltrate in order to obtain information and potentially rob some jewellery. 

It wasn’t the first time the two of you had done it. 

Nothing ever happened when you two did it. 

Until some drunk rich feller invited you to his carriage because he wanted to show you his mansion that was nearby.

And you accepted it. 

After all he was the main target that Trewlawny and Hosea talked about. 

You were supposed to get some papers, rob some damn jewellery and leave.

He trusts you, your capabilities and knew how to get a job done and went alone. 

His biggest mistake.

He should've ridden faster.

Instead a heavy pour of rain fell that unfaithful night when a landslide crashed on the carriage and consequently had fallen on a small cliff; leaving you with a great damage on your body and the driver, the horses and the rich feller: dead. 

He'll never ever forget that moment — the sound of the crash, the cries of the horses intermix with yours, the rain... — He'll remember it as long as he lives. 

Arthur kisses your temple, tasting the saltiness of your sweat on his lips. It reassures to his heart that you’re still alive, that you’re still with him and not buried ten feet underground. 

Through the blurry woods a log came into view, you scratch on your thigh with a hiss at the overwhelming burning sensation that has gotten hotter than ever; part of you wanted to sit down and take a rest, but another part wanted to prove that you can still walk even with this new unwanted body of yours. 

“Fuck!” you shriek, tripping over the ground. 

Arthur quickly hold your body steadily, and looked down to see a small rock peeking outside of your skirt. You grab onto Arthur’s waist, the base of your knuckles turns ghostly white onto his leather belt. A trail of strained breaths came past your lips, pulsating sensations spikes over your body more stronger than the last.

A wash of relieve came over him at the sight of a log nearby, he dips his arms underneath your legs and carries you in a bridal style. 

“I gotchu, sweetheart,” his lips presses against your temple, “I gotchu…”

Tears prickles around the corner of your ears, the pain has consummated from inside out. You hid into the crook of his neck and grasp tightly onto his wide shoulder to ground you from the only source that centers your pitiful new life — the powerful, the almighty, the dangerous outlaw that is your friend, your confidante, your caretaker, and your lover: Arthur Morgan. 

“Ow...” you couldn’t help but to whimper weakly, “Ow...”

“I’m here sweetheart,” he continues to kiss your temple, striding as light, “I’m here sweetheart, I’m here…”

Tears slide past your cheeks as he sits you on top of the log, despite the swift motion being the gentleness as ever it is still too much for your damned body to handle. You cradle your face into your hands and wept from everything — the pain, your body, the heat, and your pitiful attempt to prove that you’re still useful but it failed as a reminder of your new life. 

Arthur’s soul wrenched while sitting besides you. He encapsules your shaking form wishing he could take each one of your pain away. Sounds of your hiccup fills in the air, you press your face against his shirt, wetting its material with your tears whilst your nails sinks into his waist as he caresses your back gently.

He took everything in — you soak his shirt while you cry harder, your nails digging further into his flesh — but, he didn’t care as long it made you feel better…even if it’s for a small moment.

“Why?” you sob, “Why haven’t you left me yet?” 

He raises a brow before he could reply, you lift your chin and his breath hitched. A taint of flush covers your face while a waterfall of tears streams down your cheeks without ceasing as an intense fire ignites in your gaze that he has never seen before.

“Why?!” you thunder, clutching onto the collar of his neck, “Why!! I ain’t the same woman that you courted over! Look at me! Look how I turned! I ain’t the same!” you punch on his chest, again and again as tears flies around, “Why the fuck you didn’t leave me yet!” Why you want to be with a woman as useless as me!” 

“Why?!” you shook on his shoulders and managed to scratch on his chest. He tries to stop you, but you push him away harder, “Why?! Why?!—”

Forcefully, he cups your face in his hands, “‘Cause I love you!” 

A lump forms on your throat within deep breaths, you realized what have you done — his hair is disheveled, his wrinkled shirt damp with your tears, and his broad chest exposed with red scratches that reached to his neck.

“‘Cause…I love you,” he coos now softly, wiping your tears away with his thumbs “ ‘n I ain’t goin’ to leave you…”

“What a fool…” you mumble, shutting your glossy eyes, gently shaking your head from side to side, “What a fool…” 

“Darlin’ look at me…” 

Between deep breaths, you slowly open your eyes and melt under his softening expression. 

“I ain’t goin’ to leave you. We’re in this together, y’hear?” 

You hold onto his wrists, “Oh, Arthur…” 

The first thing you saw when you woke up was Arthur. The person who has been there with you in this process has been Arthur. The person who always seeks out the best treatment and doctors has been Arthur. From the moment you get up to the second you go to bed Arthur has always been there for you. To a such point, that he has gone in arguments with Dutch for not going on many missions just to be there with you. 

“Y’know,” you absentmindedly draw circles around your medical corset, the rough plaster gliding smoothly under your finger tips. A habit that you’ve gone used to since being banded months ago.

Arthur hums in reply, laying carefully besides you, wrapping himself under the sheets. 

“There’s the girls that can look after me when yer…gone,” you mutter, remembering the exchange of blows from earlier between him and Dutch about you…again. 

Arthur stares at you intently and seals your lips in a sweet kiss, “Yer always my priority…” 

You threw yourself into his arms and wept from the devotion he has demonstrated during this time, including moments like this, when in the midst of agony, deep inside of you is still fortunate to have Arthur by your side and that he hasn't left you despite of everything. 

“Oh, Arthur,” you breathed on his neck, “Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry…this has been too much…”  

“S’okay, honey…” he strokes your back and kisses your cheek tenderly, “We’re in this together…” 

The scent of tobacco and whiskey swirls your senses as a chorus of birds flies past by, he shuts his eyes closed, feeling his body feel at ease with yours. His strong arms were curled around your back in such gentile way that he is afraid he might break you.

He should’ve gone with you that night, there’d a chance, just a chance that…none of this would’ve happened to you.

“If I would’ve turned out this way…” you hiccup, “that accident…might as well finished me on the spot…”

He presses his lips in a thin line, remembering how far you’ve come and how long there’s still left in your recovery — he hasn’t meet someone as strong as you are.

The bridge of your nose presses hard against his neck, breathing in small puff through your stuffed nostrils, “So sick ‘n tired of goin’ to these damned doctors…all of ‘em says the same damned thing…useless…all of ‘em.”

“W-We’ll,” he manages to speak, his strong voice breaking, “we’ll find somethin’…together.”

He has lost count the times he has taken you to a doctor where the treatment has been futile. As much as he hates to admit out loud, whenever he hears of a specialist he has little to cero expectation from them; proving once more the indigestible fact that he has to force himself to face: that you’ll end up like this for the rest of your life.

Yet, he can’t bring himself to give up, not when he’s witnessing your pain every single day.

“How?” you drown in your own tears, the crippling pain ignites down to your feet, “How? It is useless…so useless…”

“We have to try…at least,” his voice lowering to a whisper, “I heard a folk in Saint Denis—”

You groan out loud, breaking apart from him. He noticed how your shoulders have slumped down, and took his hand to play with his fingers. He licks his lips, debating to whether or not continue, instead choose to raise your hand to kiss on top of it:

“Y'know, I mean it...”

“Mean what...”

“Loving you...'n this won't change anythin'.”

Silence erupts in between, the two of you stare at each other’s eyes, knowing damn well the experiences that have lived together throughout this process.