Vigil, pt 1

Vigil

He sat there, sawed-off across his lap. Facing the door of the seedy motel, he kept watch with bloodshot eyes. Every few instants, his gaze fled to her. He couldn�t help it. Only his self-discipline kept him there, making sure none of their pursuers could harm her. She was everything to him, even though she didn�t know it. To her, they were only friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Had she asked it, he would lay his life down without question.

She lay there, sleeping, so peaceful. Long, dark brown hair spilled out around her, framing a lightly freckled face. A shadow of a smile graced full lips. Beneath her eyelids, blue eyes no doubt shone with happy dreams. To him, she seemed to have a sort of happiness, serenity that he could only imagine. Walking over with the weapon still in hand, he knelt before her. Leaning the gun against the night table, he let himself rest his chin on the mattress near her. Her scent curled into his face, an aroma that taunted him daily with the knowledge of what he was never to have. Deep down, he knew his place: to serve her.

Involuntarily, his hand began to reach out to stroke her face, gently. He watched his own hand for a second, he drew it back, shamefacedly. It curled up into in a fist, as if trying to crush the emotions he felt. He looked down, remembering his place. Standing, he returned to the darkness, to maintain the vigil.

The vigil ended at the break of day. Chin low and eyes only slits, he looked up and over to her as the first rays of dawn struck her. �Andrea,� he called out to her. �Andrea, wake up.�Her eyes opened, luminous. A smile drifted across her lips like the cloud across the sky. �Morning already?� she called out to her companion as she spread her arms and stretched, back popping audibly.
�Yeah.�
�#, you didn�t sleep, did you?�
�Maybe. I�m fine. But today, you�re driving.�
She smiled brightly before skipping off towards the bathroom as he stared after her. Sighing, he forced leaden limbs to move towards the kitchen to make breakfast for the both of them.

They ate quietly. Drea watched the morning news, as he tried not to slump face first into his bowl of Lucky Charms. The only thing keeping him going was her. A glance, a smile, a laugh was all it took to give him strength. He grabbed those moments and held them tight when he could, when he thought she wasn�t looking.

Before long, they were in the car again, on the road. He sat in the back, gun across his lap as she continued the drive for the Canadian border. Everything seemed too easy. He slept perhaps four hours before they reached the truck stop. Andrea entered the store after filling up the tank. Following her in, he left his weapon in the car. What could go wrong inside of the small convenience store?

The man in the mask walked in four minutes after they did. Andrea was perusing the snacks, looking for a sugar fix as the man in the mask raised the revolver and pointed it at the cashier, demanding the contents of the register. She squealed in terror. The robber, startled, began to whip around. He saw it coming. Her companion half pulled her over, half shoved his body in front of her. The bullet tore through the flesh of his upper arm, where a part of her torso had been seconds earlier. Clean in and out with a spurt of blood, the bullet eventually lodged itself in a bag of Fritos. Some of the gore splashed onto Andrea as the companion lurched towards the bandit.

The man in the mask fired a second shot, which went wild as the clerk curled up in a ball and screamed. Andrea�s protector ran straight into the extended arm with the weapon clutched in it with suicidal abandon, the only thought in his mind to protect the only thing that had ever mattered to him. The arm crumpled inwards as the robber fired a third shot right into himself. Both men collapsed in a groaning heap.

Andrea rushed over, face pallid. Rolling him over, she looked at him with eyes livid with worry. �Greg! You okay?� Time stopped for him, in that instant. Looking up at her, he stared into the depths of her midnight-blue eyes. In there, he saw caring, affection. He sought and he sought and he sought�until he realized that what he was looking for just wasn�t there. There was no love for him. Turning away, he grunted and hauled himself to his feet. It was his fate to sacrifice for others, for her�sacrifice even his dreams. Squeezing his wound tightly, he walked out to the car. They would outrun the cops, he swore.




DE

He sat in the car, a wadded up T-shirt in his hand as he tried to staunch the bloodflow. Greg�s head lolled about as his head swam. Andrea was driving, muttering to herself as tears filled her eyes. Soon, Greg had passed out.

He dreamt. He dreamt of the night it all began. She had called him over, around ten. Waiting outside, she was covered in blood. Andrea had been one of his best friends since highschool, though she never seemed to have suspected his feelings for her. AT any rate, she simply sat on the stoop, covered in blood and eyes opened wide. Her boyfriend had hit her in a drunken stupor, and as he slept that night, she had beat him to death with a hammer. HE couldn�t decide if it was out of retribution or fear- she had bruises just barely hidden often enough to raise some eyebrows. Greg had never like the guy. He made her shower and collect her possessions, going home and grabbing his own. Before leaving, he looked at the body. The eyes were open wide, forearms shattered and jaw broken. Greg puked.

He picked up a sawed off from a friend, and they hit the road that night. He had driven the first five hours, leaving everything behind- a comfortable job, an apartment, family and friends. If anything, his father had taught him that. Nothing comes without sacrifice.


DE

Deus, your writing remains forefront. Will you be continueing with this story? I have NO idea where you're going with this but it may be incredible.

Damn yeah, sibkin!

I have SOME idea of where it's going. Vaguely. Sorta. But I want imput from everyone. Comment! U2U me! Sacrifice animals! I don't care, give me feedback somehow!

DE

MORE!

Must read more!

I hate when you leave it hanging like this.... I gotta know what happens next.

Greg winced as the burning spread down his sternum and numbed his arm a little. The big bottle of Bacardi dwarfed his hand as he sat against the side of the car. Andrea looked over at him, worried and tired. The sun was setting in the distance, sending orange light off of everything. Ordinarily, Greg would have found a poetic parallel between it and Andrea. Right now, he just clutched his arm and took another swig.
�Better?�
�A little.�
�Promise we�ll see a doctor when we cross the border. Promise.�

The liquor barely dulled the pain, but Greg would take any amount of help at this point. More of the clear, disgusting booze slid down his throat. The wound throbbed. Andrea had made him a sling from an old shirt, bought some bandages. Unfortunately, he was still bleeding. The entire area had begun to swell. Even through the drunken haze, Greg realized that a bleeding, drunken boy would have trouble crossing the border. His head bobbled towards her, unsteady.

�We need ...we need to find a motel.�
She nodded. She helped him up gently. He leaned against her, a pillar of strength. His world spun around him. He had abandoned everything. Crying, he lay down in the back seat. The next day, he remembered only fragments.

The roach motel lobby, sitting down in a worn and tacky chair.

An unsteady walk down a stuttering pavement.

An indigo eye, worried and affectionate.

Yellow sheets.

Again, the indigo eye... then darkness.



DE

By the time he woke up again, the rumpled sheets next to him had already lost her warmth. Greg felt nauseous and weak, arm already throbbing in the bright light. He groaned as he rolled onto it a bit. She came running at the sound, twangs of a steel string off in the distance. She stroked his forehead gently, wiping away a sheen of sweat.

�You need a doctor.�

He smiled up at her, lost in a fantasy. He saw the yellowed walls, heard the country playing the background, and briefly imagined he was where he always wanted to be.

�I�m fine, honey.�

Her smiled skewed a bit, torn up with desperation, despair and affection. Bright eyes turned watery.

�No, Greg, you�re not. I�m afraid for you.�

�Really, I�m good.�

�Stop it!�

Andrea�s fist hit the bed as she turned away, raven hair gleaming bronze in the sun. A wracking sob tore through her chest, tears falling onto his neck. She collapsed and wrapped her arms tight around him.

�You�ve been nothing but good to me, Greg, and I don�t know why. Please don�t die on me. Please...please let me help you.�

He smiled in his delirium, and put his good arm around her shoulders as the crying shook her.

�Anything for you, dearest Andrea. I love you.�


Just a little update. My energy's all over the place.... but I promise to keep writing.

DE