Tara Knowles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drownedindreams) wrote2014-06-29 01:25 am
drownedindreams) wrote2014-06-29 01:25 am
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and then, it rolls on. (Dated Father's Day)
It didn't matter that the kitchen was still covered in blood. It was streaked with her blood, and Jax was waiting for Scott - he'd made the phone call because he hadn't known who else to try, but it didn't matter - the dog still needed walked, and the fact that Macha's paws and tail were spotted a dark, rusty red and Tara's boots had left footprints on the stairs, the hem of her jeans was darkened. There was the smallest streak on her cheek that she didn't know about, and another one the back of one of her hands.
It was hers.
It was hers, in her kitchen; the fork, too - $4.99 at Macy's, two years ago, on clearance was her only thought - that was hers, hers from home.
Home. That was an odd concept now, because she knew. It wasn't just blood and the fork and thicker things that had come from 'Home', to her home, here. It was the file. It was the file with photographs and a coroner's report and police reports, it was the thing that said she died the day after she'd come here. Home - here - wasn't home -- and the home she remembered in California... that wasn't either. Home was where she was buried, where she was nothing but a memory and a crushing regret for some and her absence a triumph for others.
Her eyes were dead, red-rimmed and swollen from the tears she'd shed when she'd thrown up in the bathroom, when she'd stared at Jax and threw the tumbler against the wall where it'd shattered. Still, Macha needed to walk, and Tara wasn't thinking about where she was or where she'd been, or that they both had blood on them - she just let the dog lead the way.
It was hers.
It was hers, in her kitchen; the fork, too - $4.99 at Macy's, two years ago, on clearance was her only thought - that was hers, hers from home.
Home. That was an odd concept now, because she knew. It wasn't just blood and the fork and thicker things that had come from 'Home', to her home, here. It was the file. It was the file with photographs and a coroner's report and police reports, it was the thing that said she died the day after she'd come here. Home - here - wasn't home -- and the home she remembered in California... that wasn't either. Home was where she was buried, where she was nothing but a memory and a crushing regret for some and her absence a triumph for others.
Her eyes were dead, red-rimmed and swollen from the tears she'd shed when she'd thrown up in the bathroom, when she'd stared at Jax and threw the tumbler against the wall where it'd shattered. Still, Macha needed to walk, and Tara wasn't thinking about where she was or where she'd been, or that they both had blood on them - she just let the dog lead the way.
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"Okay," Derek says slowly. She's acting like she's in shock, and Derek doesn't really know how to deal with this. Getting her off the street would probably be good. He takes the dog's leash and puts a hand on her lower back, gently steering her towards the park. "Come on."
He helps her sit down on a bench and then sits next to her, reaching out to pet the dog's head when it whines. He doesn't know if she wants to talk about it, but she's near catatonic and covered in blood, so Derek isn't going to leave her there. He sits next to her and presses their shoulders together, trying to be a comforting presence at her side.
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Her eyes finally find his. "I don't know what to do now," she says quietly. She has no idea what to do.
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Derek listens to her intently, slowly reaching out to rest a hand on her lower back as she speaks. He inhales deeply, verifying that she's not currently injured, here and now. "Maybe it's just the city messing with your mind. It does that."
He doesn't really know what else to say, so he just rubs her back in slow circles as he bites his lower lip, brows furrowed. He wants to help, but he has no idea what to do.