#ragefelt

music  follows  her  around  every  room.  even  the  garden  sings,  when  she  kneels  onto  soft  earth.  playing  for  her,   filling  silence  with  something  sweet.   when  it  is  quiet,   open  windows  allow  birds  to  lilt  their  songs.    when  night  settles,   they  are  replaced  with  old  vinyls.   this  night  is  no  different.   a  pot  with  boiling  water  adds  to  the  ambiance  of  her  nature.  and  she  pours  a  glass  of  wine.

when  he  says  this,   she  isn’t  surprised.   he  had  been  distant.  staying  closer  to  outer  walls.  his  back  to  her  at  night.    she  didn’t  pry,  if  she  could  help  it.   sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,   she  drapes  an  arm  along  his  shoulders.  fingers  pecking  at  loose  strands  of  hair  to  delicately  tuck  them  back  behind  his  ear.     ❛   are  you  okay ?   ❜  she  asks  first,   face  twitching  with  muted  concern.     ❛   you  know ,     you  can  talk  to  me  about  anything.     or  ---  nothing . . . . .      whatever  helps.   ❜ 

with the wind blowing, it took the hunter a few tries to properly light his cigarette as we waited against the door of his impala parked outside of a cheap diner. there was a weary sigh, breath laced with the slightest tinges of smoke, as dean rested his weight against the study frame of his car. it was nice to finally take a break from all the driving he’s done –– -  don’t get him wrong, the car was his home, his life wrapped in a steel frame, but sitting in one confined space for hours could take its toll –– -  even if it was just for a few minutes. 

dean was sure that his presence wasn’t going to be taken lightly ( it never was, with his job ) given his sudden appearance, but a job was a job, no matter where it took the hunter. he had a least given a heads up before appearing in the man’s territory. 

after two burnt out butt’s resting on the pavement, dean finally sees his target arrive, lit by the neon lights illuminating the parking lot. “ any chance you’ll believe this is just a social call to see a pretty face ?  ”

carol couldn’t help but start to worry about opie.  the death of a loved one was always hard.  losing sophia had crushed her, but she imagines losing a spouse was a different kind of pain.  when ed died, she hadn’t cared at all.  now look at her, with the man who pulled the trigger.  but opie...  he had kids to worry about.  and right now, with his mind so full of grief, he wasn’t looking after them.  his mother, she wasn’t good enough to handle watching them as far as carol was concerned.  not that she really wanted to pry into their business, but mary hadn’t exactly been around before.

           missed  calls.   a  voicemail,   maybe  two.  a  series  of  texts,   each  one  more  impatient  then  the  next.   the  other  night  she  parked  her  car  in  the  bushes  in  front  of  his  house.   high  on  a  feeling  of  utter  hopelessness.   before  that,  weeks  ago,   she’d  fallen  asleep  on  late  night  lonely  highways.   𝒃𝒖𝒎𝒑,   𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉,   the  airbag  could’ve  snapped  her  neck.   𝑤𝑖𝑠𝘩  𝑖𝑡  𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑’𝑣𝑒  𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑  𝘩𝑒𝑟  𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑘.   cold  hands  wrap  around  her  neck,   she  squeezes  gently  and  pretends  to  listen.   she  stops  listening  after  a  certain  level  of  volume.   incessant  rambling  of  someone  who  thinks  they  care  about  someone  but  they’re  just  attached  to  a  feeling  of     𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈,    𝒐𝒇  𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚.   she  starts  to  wonder  if  they,   if  he,   really  cares  at  all.   or  if  he’s  just  comfortable  in  the  chaos.  in  her  wake.  if  he  just  ----   likes  to    𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆  something,   they  both  eat  each  other  up.  and  each  time  the  best  part  is  the  making  up.   tangled  in  limbs,   tongues,   lips.  she  gave  into  that  painful  feeling  of  love  but  now  ----   now  he  was  demanding  answers  to  questions  he’s  asked  countless  of  times.   at  first  with  a  cautious  smile.   now  with  𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒎.   he  was  clawing  through  holes  in  walls  she  so  desperately  tried  to  patch.  but  the  paint  was  wrong.   a  shade  slightly  off.   pale,  cold,   white.   easily  seen,   𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲  𝐭𝐨  𝐩𝐮𝐭  𝐚  𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.   

           ❛  𝐧𝐨,   𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒  𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔  𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡.     𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒  𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔  𝑎𝑡  𝑚𝑒  -----   𝑎𝑛𝑑  𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒  𝑒𝑥𝘩𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. ❜  

          ❛     MAYBE IT JUST DON’T NEED’A BE SAID, EVER THINK OF THAT?    ❜    a pointed look is cast over to him, the fading lantern strapped to his mare’s side is the only thing that provides light in the looming evening.    pokes his boot against the ground, gaze astray after considering him for quite some time.    ❛     maybe . . . maybe silence is okay.    ❜