Sonya usually rolled most of Colt’s smokes, so she had a fair amount of tobacco strapped to her horse along with a random assortment of other supplies they needed for their travels. Her horse, amazingly, was still shacked up in Thomas’s stable. She was sure the hell brought to the small town would have spooked the animal and encouraged it to break out. To her surprise, though, the beast was still there. Shaken, of course, but there. Part of the luck was undoubtedly due to the fact Thomas’s house was so far removed from the rest of the town that it had been spared the fires and bloodshed. The only things that made it to the little home were screams and the distant, hot glow thrown by the town as it burned.
To the rickety residence, they had come. She, Thomas, and anyone else found who still drew breath. That number was low, though, and even amongst the few she had saved from death, some died soon after. Out of the handful of wounded survivors, Thomas was in the worst shape. The man had suffered two nasty slashes to the back with a sword, a broken nose, several broken ribs, the worst concussion he’ll ever have, and waiting for him was a lifetime of nightmares yet to come. Regardless of all the abuse and trauma, he was still alive. On the outside, that is.
Sonya sighed, a deep sound from the pit of her being that disappeared into the night, and pulled a smoke she had previously rolled from her tobacco pouch. She lit it with a worn oil lamp sitting next to her on the porch and took a deep, long drag that was more than well deserved. Her exhale was just as long and carried just as much stress as it did smoke.
Sonya had decided that she loved smoking. Everything about it spoke to her. The taste, the smell, the addiction, and most of all its ability to soothe wounds of the mind and soul. She wished she could just breathe the stuff all day. Her battered self could use some constant soothing right about now. Although, Thomas would soon need that more than her.
Her mind drifted to the broken man. She thought about what must be going through his head, if he had even woken up. The events of the other day had worn on him heavily. Ever since she had torn him, kicking and screaming, away from the horror show in town the other day, he had spent their whole time here in complete isolation.
She knew he wasn’t eating, either. The few bits of food she had left for him outside his bedroom door had gone to waste, uneaten. On several occasions, she had tried knocking and even attempted going in uninvited but was met with silence and a locked door.
Honestly, she wasn’t surprised. Out of anyone she could think of, she was most likely the last person he’d want to see. For good reason too. Sonya was singlehandedly responsible for all the newfound turmoil in his life. The thought made her take another long pull from the smoke she held in a shaking hand.
Sonya faintly heard the front door to the house open and shut behind her on squeaky hinges. The sound echoed through the darkness, but she showed no signs of noticing. She just continued to stare off into the sea of stars overhead as wisps of smoky tendrils drifted up from the cigarette she held. Sonya barely registered the redhead sitting down next to her on the steps of the porch.
“Everyone is finally asleep,” Molly muttered after a while.
Sonya twirled her cigarette in her fingers a few times, staring at it blankly, before offering it to the sullen woman. Without a second of hesitation, Molly grabbed it and took a deep puff of the acrid smoke. She found it as delicious as Sonya did. Her exhale was a similar, deep thing.
Molly turned to Sonya, her earthy brown eyes looking deep into Sonyas' of rich hazel, and offered her the rolled tobacco back. Sonya took it but held the gaze shared between them a moment longer. She had obviously seen the redhead before, but this was the first time she was seeing her. The woman was strikingly pretty. Delicate red curly hair of shoulder length framed a gentle face. A group of freckles marched across her nose from cheek to cheek, and she had very kissable pouty lips. Thoughts that had no business populating her mind during this hard time found their way in and began to distract her. She could sure use a distraction right now. Molly was infectiously seductive without even trying.
Now I see why you became a whore. The thought almost made Sonya laugh. She held back tears instead. There was no room for laughter right now. Not for a while. Or maybe laughter is just what I need.
“What about...” Sonya began.
“Still locked in his room,” Molly answered prematurely.
Sonya let out a sigh. “I figured as much.” Then there was a moment of quiet before she spoke again. “How are you holding up?”
The question must have struck a chord with her because she began to tremble at its utterance. Her lower lip began to quiver, and her eyes filled with moisture. Molly tucked her legs up against her chest, hugged them, and softly cried into her knees. Sonya reached out a comforting hand and rubbed Molly’s back, her face sagging with the weight of the day, the smoke hung loose in the lessening grip of her lips. Molly had been strong up to this point but, like her, she had been holding back the pain. Sonya just had more practice. It wasn’t a skill she was proud of.
“We’ll get through this,” Sonya reassured.
Molly brought her gaze up to Sonya, eyes still wet. “How? How does someone go through that and still have the strength to go to sleep at night and face it all over again in their nightmares?” Molly was getting slightly worked up, so Sonya pulled her into a tight embrace to calm her.
“You may not see it yet, but the good dreams will come again.” It wasn’t a lie; it would just take a while to be true.
Molly shivered from the nibble of the night air as a small breeze overtook the two. Sonya opened her cloak and took the woman into its depths. Her shaking gradually ceased as her chilled skin warmed. Molly’s arms soon found their way around Sonya’s waist, and she buried her face in the hollow of the blonde’s shoulder. Her breathing grew steady as she relaxed, finally finding some comfort.
They stayed that way for a while, Sonya occasionally holding her smoke up to Molly’s lips so she could take a drag. Despite the events that had transpired and the horrors swirling around in their heads, the night was surprisingly peaceful. They both took in and were eased by the buzzing of insects, croaks of frogs from a nearby pond, and the wind playfully rustling the tall, dry grass. The combination created a calming effect that washed over them.
Sonya winced and let out a small cry as her smoke burned her fingers. She had let it get too short while her mind wandered. It fell to the wooden steps, and she stamped it out with a curse. Molly already had Sonya’s hand in her own, rubbing and kissing the pain in her fingers away.
“Thanks, hun,” Sonya said, her irritation already subsiding.
“It’s no problem, sweetheart. I’m a whore. It’s my job to comfort.” She kissed Sonya’s fingers again.
“Do you enjoy giving comfort?” Sonya asked her.
“I’m not asking you for any coin, am I?” Molly smiled up at her.
Sonya chuckled at that. “No, I guess you have a point.”
“If you wanted to do me a kindness in return, then I wouldn’t mind if you rolled another smoke for us.”
Sonya gave her a big grin. “My kind of woman.” She tossed her a wink and reached for her pouch as Molly giggled. It felt good to joke around and laugh again. I did need this after all.
“So…” Molly started, seriousness creeping into her voice, “what do we do next?” She took the smoke from Sonya and lit it with the lamp.
Sonya hadn’t given this much thought, but she knew it needed her attention. “I don’t know. I guess we deal with what we have right now and get back on our feet.” Sonya held out her fingers for the cigarette and a long pause followed as she inhaled deep of its richness and stared into its red-hot cherry, losing herself in the small, smoldering ember. “Colt would know what to do…” She whispered.
It was the first time she’d thought of Colt since that day. He had come to her aid in her time of need, swords swinging, anger and furious might on display for all to see. He had forced her to run and hide, and like a coward, she had obeyed. Sonya had watched from a distance as the giant man had been subdued and captured. She hated herself for just watching, for not doing more.
“He’s a good man. I hope he’s alright,” Molly said.
“He’s a tough bastard. Honestly, if he doesn’t find freedom himself then he’ll last long enough for me to bring it to him." She sounded reassuring but she couldn’t help but feel worried. “Did you find the two silver he left you?” She added.
A smile grew across the woman’s face, and she chuckled. “I thought that was his doing.”
“He likes you.” Sonya puffed more smoke. “More than most. I never thought he’d pay you two silvers.”
“Do you not think I’m worth that much?” Molly pouted as she inched her face closer to Sonya’s.
“No, no. That’s not it. Colt just doesn’t think any woman is worth a silver piece, let alone two.”
“Regardless, it was very generous of him.” Molly was close enough to whisper it in Sonya’s ear, her breath tickled and caused a shiver to crawl up her spine.
Molly snatched the smoke from a distracted Sonya and pulled away, happily puffing on her prize. She scooted even closer, which Sonya didn’t even think possible at this point, and tucked her bare feet amongst Sonya’s own. Now they were so intertwined they might be mistaken as one person at a distance. They smoked in silence for a long while, happy to have the company of another. The night continued and the two marveled at the peace brought by the darkness.
Daylight eventually began to crawl over the distant mountains and scare away the shadows lurking amongst the bones of the town. Knowing the time made Sonya realize just how tired she was. She rubbed her face and finished what must have been her tenth smoke. Looking down at Molly, she saw the woman had dozed off. Sonya chuckled softly as she brushed hair from the sleepy face and gently kissed the crown of her head. In these hard times, affection felt good going both ways. It made her feel human after such an inhumane experience.
Molly stirred under Sonya’s cradling embrace, her legs stretching out to full extent then quivering slightly with the pleasure of it. She yawned and dug her face deeper into the woman she clung to.
“Good morning.” Her voice was muffled by folds of cloth but that didn’t diminish the sweetness in it.
“Sleep well?” Sonya asked, holding Molly closer and rubbing her shoulder. “Dreams, nightmares, or a peaceful void?”
Molly shifted and rested her head in Sonya’s lap so she could look up at her. “Only dreams, thanks to you.” She turned her head and nuzzled her face into Sonya’s stomach, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
“Me? What did I do?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Do I really need to say it?” She looked back up into those hazel eyes.
“You might have to,” Sonya laughed. “My brain is a little fried at the moment.”
Molly giggled. “Only if you roll me another smoke.”
“I’m starting to think you only want my tobacco,” Sonya laughed, but she grabbed her pouch, nonetheless, and began sprinkling shreds of dried tobacco leaf into a worn, ragged paper.
“I want more from you than just your tobacco, girly.” She made a grab for the smoke after Sonya sealed it with a quick swipe of her tongue, but it was pulled away and held from reach.
“Not so fast.” She held the cigarette pinched between two fingers and swung it gently side to side, taunting. “Tell me first.”
Molly said nothing. She snaked a hand around the back of Sonya’s head, grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair, and pulled her down as she leaned up towards her. Their lips met in a deep kiss that took Sonya by complete surprise. Her eyes widened and she dropped the smoke. It tumbled end over end into Molly’s open hand, but the acquisition didn’t end the moment. The kiss continued at Molly’s lead. It was only when Sonya’s shock began to melt away that Molly retreated.
Seemingly pleased with the result of her efforts, Molly sat up with a smile and lit the smoke, leaving the girl dumbstruck. Sonya reached up and touched her lips. They tingled ever so slightly, and her muscles shook even less noticeably so, but still, her body’s reaction was unmistakable. She had liked it, and she wanted more.
“How much do I owe you?” The joke came from a place of nervousness that Sonya couldn’t hide. Molly could probably read her like a sign. Usually, Sonya was the one to take charge. She was always in control and aimed to have this effect on others. To have it the other way around was a new experience for her. She had never felt this intimidated before. Molly had the reins.
“You’ve paid already, sweetheart. Tenfold.” She took a drag and blew the smoke out into the morning air. “You saved my life by dragging me out of that terror.” She gestured towards town with the cigarette. “I’m yours.” Molly held out the smoke to Sonya and she took it after some hesitation.
“Just like that?” Sonya asked.
“No, not just like that. You earned me. Like you said to me earlier, you’re my kind of woman. You had sass when I first met you in the bar. You showed strength and bravery when pulling people from buildings and fighting those intent on killing us. Most of all, you showed kindness when caring for the wounded. How could a girl not fall for you? I liked you before, but I'm crazy about you now."
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Sonya was at a loss for words, which was a rare thing that she didn’t ever recall experiencing before. She always had something to say. It was her nature. She leaned back on her elbows and sighed. “Well, you sure know how to be forward.”
“As I’ve said before, I’m a whore, hun. I wouldn’t be a very good one if I wasn’t forward,” she remarked.
Just then, the door to the house slowly opened and closed behind them. Sonya merely glanced back but gave all her attention when she saw who it was.
“Thomas…” She started, but she trailed off. The man ignored her and walked past the two women and down the steps of the porch, a shovel clenched in a tight grip and an old bedsheet draped over his shoulder.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Thomas,” Molly said after him as he walked away. She didn’t know him, but she heard what he had been through. She wanted to assure him he’d receive nothing but kindness from her. A friendly face when he needed one. She, too, was ignored.
“Just let him go, Molly,” Sonya told her. “He needs to take care of something.” Sonya ached for the broken man. No one should have to go through what he was about to do.
The pair watched Thomas leave in silence as he went to go bury his love and the old Thomas along with her.
. . .
It only took him a few minutes to reach the outskirts of town. Thomas let his muscle memory take over the journey as his mind wandered. Eventually, his attention was brought to bear when the vile results of the massacre assailed his senses. Everywhere he looked he saw splatters of gore and blood, cleaved skulls, spilled entails, and various forms of dismemberment. All of it was surrounded by the thick scent of rotting flesh. It made walking the streets almost unbearable.
Most of the buildings he passed had been reduced to stone foundations, chimneys, and scraps of metal blanketed in ash and bits of scorched lumber. The smoky smell of burning wood fought for dominance with the other revolting smells of Yalum in his nose.
Thomas rounded a corner, sidestepping to avoid debris or the occasional festering corpse. On the left, he saw what remained of the General Store. Unlike many of the structures around him, this one was mostly intact. The urge to go inside and soak up any memories that might be waiting inside was so strong it made him ache. It took every ounce of his willpower to resist, and he continued.
Down the main street and through the marketplace he trudged. Taking small glances from side to side, he saw most of the stalls in the market had burned down. The few that hadn’t had been thoroughly raided or destroyed. Anything that hadn’t been taken littered the streets.
Thomas looked up ahead and saw he was coming to the next turn in the road. What lie around the bend dwelled so heavily on his heart that he felt weighed down. The shovel he carried seemed a burden. Even the sheet over his shoulder felt like it would drag him to the dirt. Each footfall was colossal and difficult to manage.
As he approached the turn, he spied the first in the long line of pikes that laid claim to so many unfortunate victims. While this was the whole reason he had come out here, it was the one part of the day he dreaded the most. Thomas willed his emotions into check and took a deep breath, but when he made it to the line of pikes, he felt a familiar numbness flood him from head to toe. The world pulsed around him to the tune of his heartbeat. Sounds seemed to fade, his vision narrowed, and so did his mind. Each of his steps made his universe quake. The distance he needed to travel tripled in length, but still, he moved forward.
He kept his eyes locked to the dirt for the entire walk down the line of bloodied poles, each passing him in his peripheral vision. The number that went by seemed monstrously large, never-ending. He began to lose himself as he thought of how many people he’d known his whole life might be passing overhead, their stripped, mangled bodies cut open and drained of life. Was his mother up there amongst them? He refused to look and find out. He didn’t want to know. The mental image added slack to his face and he felt dead inside.
Finally, he reached it. Even though he hadn’t looked up, he knew. Down on the ground in front of one of the poles was a large patch of disturbed dirt. Right here on this spot, he had wept bleeding and shaking, curled up in a ball. Then screaming and clawing to stay as Sonya had tried to drag him away. He remembered lashing out at her. He had struck with a swift blow across the side of her head, but she had hit him back twice as hard, leaving him too weak of body and mind to fight her off.
This was it.
Thomas brought his gaze up the length of the pole, trying to distract his mind from what he needed to do by noting the grain of the wood, the chips, the splinters. He realized soon that he would fail. The wood became gradually stained with blood, then caked with it the further up his eyes went. Near the top, it was a thick, coagulated mess. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and it made his entire body lurch ever so slightly.
His eyes, at last, came to rest on the body of his once bride-to-be. Aimee’s naked flesh had turned a sickly pale, her back arched downwards, limbs stiff and dangling. Her hair hung down, motionless, no wind to play with it.
He didn’t scream this time. He didn’t have the strength. As it had before though, the world came rushing back in on him all at once. Sounds, sights, smells, and feelings struck him together without mercy. He felt overwhelmed, heavy. He knew he would never know peace, joy, or love again.
He felt so alone
It took him a while before he had the courage to bring down the pole. Thomas put down the shovel and sheet and grabbed the pole with both hands. He gave the pike a small push, tears welling up in his eyes. His face became contorted from the sorrow he felt down to his core. He eased up and leaned into it a little harder, uttering a small, pained cry this time that barely escaped him. He let up one last time, and with a final shout that split the ghostly silence of the town, pushed with all his might.
The pole began its descent, but Thomas couldn’t watch. He whirled away from the sight, covering his ears and clenching his eyes tight. He shut out everything around him as the woman he loved swung down at the end of the pole and hit the dirt with a sickening crunch. Even after he knew it was over, he stayed that way for a while, hiding from the world, shaking.
Finally rejoining reality again was a slow thing, but he eventually managed. He dropped his hands to his sides and sluggishly opened his eyes. An effort that felt like it took hours. He felt dizzy and teetered back on his heels, but caught himself. Thomas slowly turned his head and saw her there on the ground from over his shoulder, still impaled at the end of the pike. He turned and walked loosely towards her, knowing he’d have to get her off the end of the pole and dreading the process. He just wanted to be done with this so he could mourn, but Ovaro wanted nothing for Thomas to be easy, it seemed.
He had to put his foot on Aimee’s shoulder to pull out the gore-splattered wood, and his hands kept sliding along its length in the slick blood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, each repetition growing more unintelligible as he choked back his heartache. Each task along this road he walked took more and more willpower than the last. Willpower he didn’t think he could spare anymore. For Aimee, though, he would do anything. Even suffer.
At last, the pole came free, and Thomas fell backward from the sudden release. He quickly scrambled over to her. He wanted to roll her over. Wanted to see her face. Wanted to tell her he loved and missed her. Wanted to close her eyes and say goodbye. To tell her he was sorry.
Thomas gently turned her over with quivering hands and a held breath. He was more than horrorstruck. What little color he had in his face quickly left him. His eyes became flooded orbs of such unimaginable, depthless sorrow. His mouth opened in a gaping maw unleashing so harsh a scream of pained misery. He was a torn man before, now he was empty. Aimee had no eyes to close and no ears to hear his parting words. Her tongue had been cut from her mouth and her nose from her face. Nothing was left to say goodbye to. Only open, rotting flesh and maggots remained.
He was frantic in his need to cover her with the sheet. He fell back, spun around, and clawed his way across the dirt to where the cloth rested. He unfolded it and rushed to drape it over her. He didn’t want to remember her this way. Again, it was something that seemed like it took ages. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours.
Thomas imagined he sat there for at least an hour, head in hands that curled and flexed to dig into his face, sobbing. A small breeze had picked up and it caressed the white sheet. The cloth gently fluttered and rolled with the wisps of wind that flowed over it, both hiding and emphasizing the shape of the body underneath in a horrifying display of reality. Thomas only looked up once and the sight turned his stomach.
Get this done. She needs to rest. Let her rest, he said to himself. It was enough to get the man to his feet. With the smallest of reservations, he stumbled over to the covered body. Thomas knelt and began wrapping the sheet securely around Aimee. The stiffness of her limbs along with the smell was almost enough to send him reeling. He coughed more than a handful of times during the process and his nose burned from the stench. Moisture pooled in the lower recesses of his eyes for reasons other than his anguish.
Summoning the last ounce of strength he had left in his tired, beaten body, Thomas stood over his fiancée with the shovel in hand and bent down. He felt the gashes in his back pop and tear as he grabbed her. Fresh, warm blood soaked his shirt, making wet the dried stains already there. With a grunt that was all pain, both from within and without, he heaved her up and over his shoulder.
The walk through town was hard. Memories flashed past his mind's eye the whole way. Memories of hand-holding, Aimee’s gentle kisses, the smell of her hair during a long embrace, the dancing in town. Reminders of his loss kept coming, tormenting him. It was all gone and he had the proof of that slung over his shoulder.
Soon, it started to rain. On any other day, he would have found it inviting and refreshing, but now it only seemed to add to the thought that Ovaro was looking down on the man and laughing. The rainfall made the dirt under his feet slick, and he nearly fell several times. Even if he had, he’d get up again and endure. All for Aimee.
Thomas left town along the Western Road, headed towards the place he would bury this part of his life, to bury what he thought would be his future. The rain continued to beat against his face, hiding what tears had streaked down his dirty cheeks. The only hint left at his inner pain was his empty eyes that seemed to stare off far into some unseen abyss where he watched hopes and dreams flutter to life then fade away in an endless loop that tugged and ripped at his soul.
When he finally reached the big tree on the hill, he was soaked from head to toe. This was the spot. This is where he wanted to bury her, where he thought she might want to be buried. It was beautiful, peaceful, and bathed in pleasant memories. He wanted to drown in what lingered here, to give himself over to them, but not yet. He still had more to do.
Thomas bent and rested Aimee gently against the trunk of the mighty tree and began the grueling task of digging. He stabbed the moist earth with the head of the shovel and scooped out a chunk of dirt, tossing it to the side. He didn’t care how tired he was, how much his wounds opened, stung, and bled. He dug without stopping, heaving rocks out of his way and hacking through roots.
When the hole was deep enough, he lowered her into its depths. For some time, he stood and stared down into the pit at the wrapped figure, not wanting to cover her and say goodbye just yet. He found this part to be the hardest; letting go.
“I…” Thomas began shakily, his voice sounding foreign in his ears. He felt like a stranger in his own mind. “I miss you, Aimee.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of a dirty hand. The action made his face ache, but he could care less. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you…I’m sorry I wasn’t strong for you.” He stood in silence for a while longer, then stooped to grab the shovel. Staring down one last time, he took a gasp of air. “I love you.” The words were hard to say and came out cracked. There was no reply, just wind, and rain.
He shoveled the dirt back into the hole. Time was an unseen thing. For all he knew, it had taken days. When he was done, he fell to his knees and finally allowed himself to relive all the glorious memories they had shared, each brought with it as much grief as it did joy. He made no marker for her grave. He wanted the tree to be her headstone, this grand design of nature that would outlive him and his memories.
. . .
After tending to the wounds of the injured scattered on makeshift beds throughout Thomas’s house, Sonya yet again found herself sitting on the front porch, smoke in hand. She honestly didn’t want to be without one ever again. She was starting to worry that she’d run out soon. The thought made her want to smoke more.
To her side sat Molly. Even though the woman was 5 years Sonya’s senior, the redhead had taken to her like a lost puppy, following her everywhere and always clinging to her as if she would disappear if she didn’t hold on tight. Sonya knew it wasn’t the tobacco she wanted either. Molly was always so close, so personal. To be honest, Sonya loved it, whatever it was.
She turned to her curly-haired shadow. “Molly…have you ever thought about getting out of the business you’re in?”
At this, Molly laughed and took the smoke Sonya held. “You just want me all to yourself, don’t you, girly?” She dropped Sonya a wink and took a puff. She exhaled smoke and stared off at the mountains in the distance. “Yeah, I have thought about it. I think my days of pleasuring for coin are over and done with.”
“Is that so?” Sonya said, taking back her cigarette. “Maybe you just want me all to yourself.”
“There’s the smartass I met at the drink house,” Molly laughed. She turned towards Sonya and leaned in closer, palms on the deck. “I really like you, girly.”
Sonya gave a small smirk. “But you barely know me.”
“Maybe I like you so much because I want to know you better.”
“Is that why you want to give up whoring?” Sonya asked.
Molly had to think about this. It was a good question. Her decision had come from her gut, and she followed it without considering why. “Yes…” She said after a pause. She leaned back and stared off into the distance again.
Sonya looked up to the sky. It was already midday. The morning dew had been soaked up by the sun and a steady heat had settled in. Even though a light wind blew, it was warm and soothing. She held out her hand and was passed what remained of the cigarette they shared.
“I wonder if that poor boy is alright,” said Molly.
“Honestly, I bet he’s having a hard time.” She sighed.
Sonya touched the side of her face where Thomas had struck her. It’d bruise a bit, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t experienced before. Thomas was as strong as an ox from all the farm work he did, but he didn’t know how to fight. The punch had been lost on her. The blow to the head she had dealt him in return, however, had been savage and something he’d remember the rest of his life.
Then they saw him. He displayed a heavy, slow walk up the road to the gate of the fence surrounding the property. He brought back neither shovel nor sheet. Thomas pushed open the gate with a lazy hand and stumbled up the path to the porch looking as dead and empty of soul as what he had just buried. Sonya’s heart ached for him.
Thomas approached the steps and plopped down onto them. He paid no mind to the two women. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t even exist. The bags under his eyes were thick and his face sagged with the weight of every emotion a man could feel. He just sat there and stared off into nothing with his two empty, pained eyes.
Molly extended a hand and gently began to rub the man's back. The sudden and unexpected touch caused him to flinch, and Sonya could tell his muscles had all grown tense. He soon relaxed and accepted the minor comfort. Even so, neither of them dared to say a word, not yet.
Fortunately for them, they didn’t have to. “What happens now?” The man asked without averting his eyes from the personal void he stared into. His voice sounded coarse, like he hadn’t spoken in weeks and his throat had turned to stone.
“Do you want my opinion?” Sonya asked. “Or do you want me to say what you want to hear?” She began rolling another cigarette.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wanted lies. I can tell those to myself easy enough.” He sounded distant, lost.
Sonya stared at the smoke she had just rolled, deep in thought. Honestly, everyone needed to hear something different. For Thomas, she didn’t know what that was. She popped the smoke into the corner of her mouth and lit it with the head of the old one, then passed it to Thomas. He turned his head and looked at it, the first real movement he’d made since sitting down. Sonya wondered if he was even registering it. He seemed to look right through it.
To their surprise, he took it. He just didn’t know what to do with it. So, Sonya walked him through the motions. Neither of the women so much as chuckled when he was subjected to the inevitable bouts of coughing. He must not have minded it, though, because he went right back to smoking the thing.
He's probably loving that first rush, Sonya thought. It’ll help take his mind off things.
Thomas finally made eye contact with her. It seemed he had finally rejoined them. “You never answered my question,” he said. He took another puff and only coughed a couple of times.
“You’re smoking my answer,” she pointed out with a smirk. “Lets you think more clearly. Now you’ll be able to come up with an answer of your own.” Sonya knew she had given him exactly what he needed. He proved her right when he looked at the smoke in his hand, curls gently drifting up from its ember, and gave it another pull. No cough came. He stared far off again, but with calmed nerves and nodded thoughtfully.
“…Thank you.” He finally said.
It was her wisdom he appreciated, but he enjoyed the smoke all the same.