Alive.
Vacillating through stages of unrest spiked by a liver desperately filtrating out last night’s indulgence, Boyd found himself dehydrated and lucid. Blinking away the intrusion of morning breakthrough between a grate of protective fingers, the rub of his face scouring the pelt of the couch. Abrasive stone of morning growth shearing across the material creating a static that finally had him crack open to the idea of rising. Brought into motion by a slow lifting mast fallowed by a compression groan, comprised of gases being squeezed, of sensitive grey mass floating around in a skull made entirely of nails. At approaching a stable sitting position the entire sculpture of his face fell into his palm. Shriveled and tight from a mix of still healing welts and gristle, the peaks and planes worked their way into the pressure points of nubbed fingers. Pulling away at the thinner dermis so that the slit of his eyelids were stretched to their max extension, rotated about in a circle before allowed to retract back to their dark sunken homes. Working on through down to the pinch of nose bridge, surprisingly knotted in it’s length; Boyd crushed the pipe of cartilage with force, a centering motion as best he knew at the moment before he could collect his true whereabouts.
Haggard cough expelling some of the harsher sand collecting in his lungs Boyd lurched over. A sudden swing in slow motion, a centrifuge of balance had him move out a foot in tenement ready for the cast off from his unpremeditated spot of resting. It wasn’t until the gurgle of coffee percolating through a hose along with the odoriferous potency of an atom bomb did the launch finally happen. Unsteady at first with a hand unhurriedly coming to aid by taking a healthy portion of couch backing, did lithe legs started acting as requested. With a Stomp formed through the muffle of limp socks, his approach was about as subtle as a small heard of lumbering hung-over buffalo. Guiding arm tracing lines around some of the more delicate protrusions of his path the lamp light of a honeyed voice finally brought him to the land of the living.
“No, I don’t believe that I’ve had the chance to tune into that particular chronicle yet.” Sleep modified voice low and pulverized; coming on out through a strip of fly trap and sub woofer it was barely recognizable, an undulating copy of a copy. One last clearing of his chest brought up a myriad of congestion as Boyd decided to take up residence against the wallpaper a safe distance from obstruction. Lower jaw slackening, it hung on the lazy tails of tendons so that the bottom line if incisors aired out, desperate to speak but mute in progress.
As tempted as Boyd was to just negate any notions of his ever appearing by slipping out without incident, refined conduct had him stay. Force him to witness the aftergrowth of his trespass, make peace with the mess he not only represented but was spreading in a mass zephyr. Allow Ava her criticisms no matter how harsh or succinct; burn his crops down so at least there would be seeds of decency growing from enriched soul. The cloud of translucent iris drew lines across the tiles, raveled around table legs and connected to every single element south of the horizon. Dawn break long past, now doggedly dragging in a sunlight stain across the kitchen washed the world white. Near making Ava a pillar of purity among the stove range and tea towels.
“…if it feels like my gratitude don’t seem strong enough in this particular light Ava…” Finally reconnecting his jaws, subdued fixation finally rose to meet with her, eye contact as direct as possible without interfering. As if the entire function of his processing was still staggering through the mud the pause hung overdrawn before Boyd continued. “..it’s cause I ain’t accustomed to its generosity.” Wary posture bringing up a finger to scratch at his temple, stir about the circulation he awaited his judicial sentence. If there was anything Boyd needed more right now than a shower or a coffee was her acquittance..or at least her reprimand. Give substance to his behavior so the function of his activity could at least mean something beyond digging deeper the gap. Hardening into something stripped and so desolate, collections of ore so intangible that the connection to a corporal voice would be out of reach for the rest of his days.
Boyd wasn’t quite sure why he drove down this familiar dirt road last night, but it was becoming clearing with every breath of sober air. Atonement was burning at stake; and she was absolution.
Single arm traversed over chest and opposing elbow lingered over the back of her left hand. Returning cigarette to pursed lips, inhalation was taken and slowly released in direction of off-white ceiling hanging overhead. “Mhm,” soft hum resonated from her chest upon his timely entrance. “Well, he found me over at the bar over in Corbin, made the mistake of tellin’ him Hessler was gonna take care of me.” Head swayed side to side, another drag stolen. “Wasn’t serious, but he didn’t like the idea’a that at all. Said he wasn’t gonna leave me in a bar with a rapist by my lonesome.” Limbs fell to sides and frame lurched forward to small kitchen table. Digits wedged white Marlboro filter into outskirt slits of crystalline ashtray. “Know what I said? I told him, I’m a big girl Raylan. I been takin’ care of myself long before you rode into town on your white horse,” voice mimicked her own in that moment, vexation and annoyance reflecting blurry remembrances of that evening telecasted in mind’s eye.
Nod of head, rear pushed forth from counter, cowboy boots clicking against linoleum tiling until she ceased her steps in front of eye level cupboard. Pulling open cabinet, she retrieved two coffee mugs and slat it shut. “Tried pullin’ rank on me, told me to listen or he’d arrest me and put me in handcuffs, but you know me,” lighthearted laughter sang throughout the galley, “I’m stubborn as a mule.” She smiled ear to ear, even now she didn’t regret telling off Raylan, although things probably could’ve been handled with a little more class and tact. “Sure ‘nough he threw me in the back of his town car and I woke up next mornin’ to find myself sleepin’ in his ex-wife’s home,” and she couldn’t have been more embarrassed at the time. Now, she was offended by the gesture. The lawman viewed Ava a problem he didn’t want to deal with, yet, he thought it his business to intervene in her social endeavors; the prick.
Setting down glassware on clothed wooden center piece, fingers recovered three-quarters-burnt smoke to haul in one more aspiration. “Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, Boyd..’ Phrase trailed to silence and she extinguished cigarette. “It’d be wrong of me to judge you, ‘cause let’s face it, I ain’t any better.” Plumb tiers tightened into straight line, azures rising to meet livening emeralds. “We’re only human, but that ain’t no excuse to keep repeatin’ our mistakes over an’ over.” The point of foolish bêtises were to grow and prosper, she knew Boyd was intelligent enough to save unnecessary explanation. If he thought for one minute he could continue returning to her home in a state of drunken idiocy, he had another thing coming.
Ceruleans traced masculine visage, finally realizing the extent of Boyd’s uncleanliness. There was mud splattered all over his clothing, his skin patched with dried earthy residue. The man clearly needed a shower, but that could wait. What was a little more dirt tracked around the house? “Yeah well, you can show me just how grateful y’are by cleanin’ up after yourself,” she reiterated. “An’ I wouldn’t be getting’ used to such generosities neither if I was you.” She backed her statement with stern inclination of her head, almost as if she were trying to convince herself she meant it wholeheartedly. She was a known pushover, nudge her hard enough and she’d eventually oblige. Ava was working real hard on her confidence level since Bowman, and Boyd was surely putting those efforts to the test.
Resonance of murky liquid retired, it’s potent aromas drawing her attention to pot’s direction. Sauntering along, she fetched coffee pot and traversed back to kitchen table. Carefully, she filled each mug, leaving margin for cream or sugar. “Might I ask you somethin’?” She inquired, question following without him having say in the oncoming investigation. “Why here? Ain’t you got nowhere else to go?” Unpretentious gaze briefly met the outlaw’s, lingering prior to turning away from him. Advancing to garner generic, cardboard carton of half-and-half from the fridge and decorative, floral, sugar bowl, she doubled back thereafter. She formulated morning’s fuel with an estimation of sweet cane most would’ve found overwhelming and light cream to compliment her milky complexion. She already had an idea as to his response. Bo was a convict. Anything he might have left for Boyd in way of property would’ve been confiscated by the U.S Marshal’s Service, placed under someone else or possibly even held ownership by an alias name. Pity distended within the cockles of her heart. Although she struggled from paycheck to paycheck to keep a roof over her head at least she had somewhere to rest her weary head come sundown.
“How do you take yours?”
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