Kill You To Try (Chapter 3)
Summary: Weeks go by and eventually, the numbness of grief forces you back to the ranch. You're caught between two chairs.
Warnings: self harm-ish things, isolation
A/N: So sorry for the late chapter guys, I'm currently struggling with a uni project that got completely dismissed by my prof and some other life stuff - I might edit this chapter a little next week but I didn't want to leave you guys without anything :)
You must have fallen asleep,... again. The porch chair, despite its rotten-looking wood, offers a charming comfort. That, combined with the look out towards the water providing just enough ambient sounds, has continuously proven to make you drift off.
It's not like you could actively remember the past few weeks.
The dust you had whirled up into the air more than a week ago now has settled again, nestling into the crooks of the wood and the dried lavender you had hung above the window of the kitchen. It had been a measly attempt at smoothing out the musky scent of the settling wood beams and the peaty soil underneath.
Now that you've grown accustomed to it... the days are flying by.
Mainly because you keep staring into the water, dozing off, and thinking about where it had all gone wrong. How you ended up here.
The faint gurgle of the water, the occasional hiccup and splash of the gentle stream kissing the mossy, slick stones brings you back and makes you open your eyes again. There's the faint chill biting on your cheeks, a testament to how much time you'd spent on the porch already.
Maybe you should leave the blanket inside when you come out in the morning.
You twist the artfully woven fabric mindlessly in your fingers, back and forth. The loose lint gets scraggly underneath the pressure, the fine fabric strings hooking into each other and balling up.
You frown at it, thinking about the few words you had managed to string together on your laptop since you had moved into the cabin.
A splash makes you look up from your musing. A lazy drift of your eyes, more like, still without coffee and food because the food you got from Gabriel every now and then had run out by now.
Your eyes wander over the river until you spot a brown bear.
Just barely in the first few gleams of the sun, it trudges deeper into the water, uncaring of your presence on the other side of the river.
You should probably take up cooking again.
Give yourself something to do; maybe you should cook something for Gabriel, at least once, in return.
A fish from the stream, perhaps.
You squint against the bright light, the reflections on the water, and find the bear, quite unsuccessfully, snapping at fish swimming past.
It has been a week since you've been down at the ranch.
Your fingers are itching for something to do.
Then again, meeting the judging, worried look from the Senior of the Dutton family has started to lose its appeal. It makes your skin crawl to see the gruff man level such a soft, understanding look at you without much prompting.
"Hey yourself- you busy?" You set your tote bag with the empty Tupperware down at your usual spot at the kitchen island before glancing at Gabriel. He is chopping away at something, diligently working, even as you lean against the kitchen counter next to him. You watch his arm move, the way he fills the shirt up that he had chosen for today.
"A little. Working on supper preparations." He briefly turns and flashes a charming smile before he continues chopping some zucchini. "How was your week away from the ranch?"
"Insightful. I brought you something for all that food you made me. Just... a favor in return for a favor."
Perfectly cubed pieces of vegetable join the others in the big bowl next to him and you watch as he puts down the knife. When he dries his washed hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, he finally meets your eyes again.
"I would have bought you a bottle of something good to drink but I don't really know what you like."
He chuckles with a slight nod before he risks a look towards the kitchen island where you have deposited the filled box.
"Special dinner. Didn't have time to make dessert, otherwise, I would have made you some of my homemade cinnamon buns."
"Mh, I've heard good things about those."
You nudge him with your elbow before looking over the kitchen countertop more closely - the bowl is a rainbow of colors and you see a box of steak, deep in the mix of paprika orange and streaks of muted greens, a marinade that already looks promising. It's like you can smell the colors.
"Well, maybe we can make those together sometime soon, then." He nudges you back and you chuckle before hopping off the counter again.
"Yeah right. Every cook I know despises baking."
"Yeah because it's like chemistry-"
"-like chemistry", you say at the same time. You grin wolfishly before knocking on the countertop wood, twice.
"Well, I better go out to the barn. Check on the horses."
"Want me to walk you over?"
"What, do you think a wolf will get me?"
"Nah. I just... I could use the fresh air."
He throws a towel over the cubed veggies.
You don't say much when he follows you outside.
