Slow uneven blink a hardened indication of exactly how intoxicated Boyd was the first response to the full swing of the hinges. A fumbling backtrack at the open invitation of barrel plugs the second as an arm came out to brace the molecules of the air uselessly. Retort at the ready remained unsung as he attempted to repossess the multitudes of lines in front of them, converge them into one actively talking, hissing mass. Which was it? Did she want to know why he was there or whether he was drunk? One had a far easier answer being as the vapors he was exuding could be set on fire with a zippo and some malicious intent. The other; well that seemed far more complicated than his brain was willing to work on at the moment. Extending out to grasp at the door frame in all it’s peeling aged dementia Boyd swallowed desperately as he scoured the dirt beneath him for explanation.
“Ava…” Layers of dried dirt and seed rolled around in the man’s mouth as the name was formed on a vagrant tongue. Spoken as if through a vacuum of bramble rose circling inward to strangle the voice and make it as infinitely small as possible, distort it outright. “I’ve been doin’ an awful lot of thinkin’ lately…’bout my daddy and him takin’ you up to Bulletville ‘n all ‘gainst your will. The general outcome of that entire formation of bad men with bad ideas..” Staggered words holding an off-beat slur of over extension was paused so Boyd could close his eyes, lean into the house to feel the sponge of it’s flex to help him continue. Click of a thick ball of saliva rolling to coat a dry and hungered mouth no help at all as he felt the world shift slightly to the right.
”..shouldn’t have been there.” Losing purchase of the porch Boyd leaned in without full control, the crown of his forehead connected with the flat of his palm, grinding with a full weight, a singular devotion of remaining upright. “—could’a gotten killed..” By this point the small animal of prospective sobriety was hovering above with a cloth to gag. Keep the liqour from mutiliaitng the well conditioned stone that he had spent so many years honing against.
Spoken words now hemorrhaging internally he lazily curtailed any more speech to rise once again to meet with Ava. Move past the threat of the shotgun at his belly, the hours for which he was harassing her, get to some simpler place that maybe she would understand without the use of a sermon or rousing spirits. Glazed eyes searching in the juicy darkness to find hers a crack of desperation began to seep from his pours. Collect in the trenches of his lines, manifest in the colder valleys of his face, drink deepening the dialogue of a man lost and without repentance.
“Turn’s out even though you drive down a road you know, you’ve burnt those tracks deep with travel there’ll be a day when you get to the end and you don’t recognize your home no more. You may’ave built it with your bare hand, smith the nails yourself, blown the glass in the window frames…but there’s that one day you get to your plot and its there, but it’s not..you see?” Cadence losing a half beat at every syllable Boyd’s entire broken frame leaned in against the door, the impending collapse of a man stunted by excessive drink very close on the horizon.
“You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout Ava?”
Blonde brows rocketed skywards. Boyd’s stumble only drove the hollow end of sawed-off further south. He was far more intoxicated than she’d anticipated. This was not at all a recount of a moment in the past. Last he had the nerve to arrive unannounced at her home’s front steps, he hadn’t been bobbing and weaving his own shadow. As her handle fell from his bourbon kissed lips, visage gently tilted although her expression continued to hold pronounced distaste. Fine jaw slenderly unhinged and knuckles whitened. Irritancy swelled with each slurred word struggling to composite some sort of whole-hearted apology. Ava could barely surmise his currently adopted rendition of the English language. Silent scoff accompanied rolling deep azure hues. Was he apologizing for a matter completely out of his hands? It was unnecessary and left the poor girl completely graveled.
“Boyd—“ she began in response to both to his whiskey soaked atonement and his wavering frame seeking stability. When he finally regained balance, her shoulders fell at ease. She constrained from rudely disrupting murmured ramblings. Her weight translated from one, slipper clad foot to the other. The statements which followed did not quiet her vexed mental condition. They only resurfaced freshly suppressed memories and poured salt into freshly healing wounds. Ava’s psyche worked exhausting lengths to move on since Bo’s death and Boyd’s inopportune visit was undoing what was already done.
“Y’got that right,” she interjected bitterly. She shouldn’t have been there, but she hadn’t much a choice in the matter considering the circumstances. Ava knew Bo wouldn’t leave her be after the shit she pulled. The woman not only blew his eldest son’s gray matter all over their dining room floor during a fried chicken dinner, but she disrespected his authority as King of Harlan County’s vermin and insulted him with aimed scattergun backed by reckless intent as well. She very well knew her fate and there was nothing Boyd could’ve done to stop his father’s thirst for punishing her in any which way he saw fit. Ava’s actions had placed her in that life threatening predicament, not his. He needed not redress the situation.
Deep sapphire oceans clashed severely against muddy hazel oculi, but wavelets transitioned into a tranquil calm as she drank in Boyd’s fortuitous display of echt guilt. Soft tiers pressed together and warm tongue grazed tender lower pout. For the most part, Ava always claimed unbearable repulse in his presence, but in this moment, she was purely perplexed by his display of vulnerability. However, a question still remained. Was he truly being genuine, or was this a devise to use her for the unkempt roof hanging overhead? Perfect, pearl crowns released lips, parting to gape. Corners of eyes winced and feminine features detailed obfuscation. Boyd’s profound metaphors were going to take a stint to completely sink in.
“Huh?–” Her head nutated and left hand swiftly released shotgun fore-end. Instinct commandeered the blonde’s reflexes and long limb extended out in the male’s direction, wrapping securely around his unsteady midriff to save him the embarrassment of spilling over onto hardwood paneling. This placed Ava in a rather awkward, internally disquieted position, and the involuntary eye contact which followed only flourished unfamiliar warmth in the pit of her core. When she inhaled the cool, Kentucky night air she could smell the sweet, amber stench of Jim Bean lingering densely on his hot breath with every rise and fall of his chest; an indication they’d become too close for comfort. There was a naked, involuntary display of concern embedded behind softened cerulean hues and Boyd’s wooly-headed words ultimately enunciated in resonation. Ava wasn’t the only one who’d lost her family. He had too. Boyd had nowhere to betake, no one to turn to, no place which would ever truly feel like home, she and Johnny were all he had left. She wasn’t confident that was what he was prattling on about, but she wasn’t about to drive herself into madness trying to deduce a drunk man’s trope either.
Suspiring aloud in defeat, Ava’s arm carefully slipped from crooked chassis. Clearing her throat, her she would state matter of factually, “you can sleep on the couch.” Already, she was regretting her decision to grant him entry. She could only trust he wouldn’t release the contents of saturated liquor in his system all over her carpeted floor, or even worse, on her whilst she attempted to give him a hand. “–but you’re gone come mornin’, you hear me?” Of course, she was under the assumption he would remember their folly at the crow of the rooster, but goodness how legless he was. Ava knew she was expecting far too much, but she refused to allow Boyd to mistake her kindness for weakness.
Exchanging weaponry from one hand to the other, Ava strode out from the doorway to assist him inside. Forearm encircled around his waist, encouraging all the physical support she could muster. She steadied the two of them indoors through the foyer and safely into the living room. Her eyes peered to him in an ice cold glare from their corners every few steps, keeping a close watch on his demeanor, and when they reached the sofa, she recanted the protection and warmth she’d briefly offered him sans a lick of hesitation.
Leaving him there without much a word, she vanished into the kitchen for some aspirin and a cold, tall drink of water. Noisily setting down tumbler and pills on the coffee table in front of him, blues darted, boring earnestly into his glossed over browns. “Here,” she premised sternly, “you go on an’ take these while I get you somethin’ to stay warm. And that glass best be empty when I get back.” The threat was empty, but she wanted to make his stay the next morning as brief as possible, therefore, that meant making his forenoon rouse somewhat tolerable. Receding from the living room, twasn’t long ‘fore Ava returned to him with linens promised. Hostility forcefully drove freshly scented pillow and quilt through the air and into his space, relieving itchy desideratum to antagonize him. She aimed for his masculine visage initially, but she would take what she could get.
Twin limbs quickly lifted into defensive stance and folded tautly over robe clad breasts. She was through catering to Boyd’s needs for the evening.
“Any last words?”
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