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She wakes up with a headache.
That’s the first thing she notices, among many, including the uncomfortable chafe of her shirt being inside out and the balmy, unbearable clinging of her faux-leather skirt that she had undoubtedly fallen asleep in. Having somehow stumbled into her bed after a now-foggy night of drinking and dancing, Lillie now deals with the consequences of a few too many vodka mixes. Without even having moved from her position, all tangled in the bedsheets, she can feel the dizziness washing over her as she awakes into sobriety.
Well, no. Into a hangover.
Upon opening her eyes, Lillie assumes it’s still night - or, idealistically, that she’s dead - when no burning sunlight meets her gaze. But rays breach her peripheral vision, and give way for the next realisation. The ring of sweat forming around the sides of her face, collecting in the same area as something fuzzy and heavy.
Lifting her hand (a task on par with lifting a ten tonne truck) and picking the item off her face, then squinting at it harshly as her eyes readjust to the light, Lillie figures out what it is.
A cowboy hat.
Well, specifically, it"s a Cattleman hat.
Lillie owns her fair share of western hats. Hand-me-downs from her father prior to his 24 year trip for milk, and a barrage of consumerism-type fashion accessories calling themselves Cowboy Hats. Gifts from her mother.
Neither of which Lillie would dare to wear in public, despite how popular and fashionable they are in Oakfield. The small town (miniature city, as she affectionately refers to it) prides and markets itself on the rural countryside aesthetic - the farmer’s markets, the horses, the sheer number of sun-tanned sweating hunks in flannels coming in from all corners of the grassy fields to drink a hard day’s work away at all the bars. Most of which are themed after the very lifestyle they live, all antlers and mechanical bulls and guns. One of which Lillie had gotten absolutely hammered in last night, and presumably stole this hat.
She has no recollection of how she got it, which sews the seed of guilt in her stomach. Unlike many of her friends, who giggle and fawn over the random trinkets they find after nights out, she’s never been proud of becoming a drunken kleptomaniac. There is no better time to take advantage of someone than when they’re drunk, and that is a habit she has left behind. For good.
What makes it even worse, if that’s even possible, is that the hat is good quality. Someone either paid a lot of money, or put in a lot of work and love, and now it’s in her room. Not theirs.
Looking at the fine more-than-definitely handcrafted workmanship of the hat, as much as it turns her stomach, ignites a curiosity. The fur felt is a desaturated brownish black; the kind of colour you only get after years of sun bleaching and water damage. Parts of the rim are scuffed, revealing the lighter leather underneath, rigid and grainy under her thumb. There’s a crease in the centre, only a small one, and other slight readjustments that tell Lillie it’s been modified. Around the base is a black belt, marked with the imperfections of genuine leather. A small feather is lodged between the belt and fur, and Lillie hasn"t the faintest idea what type it is.
It"s not her"s. That"s for certain. It’s probably not even a generic branded hat, it’s too well made and too altered. It could be one of a kind, specifically tailored for one person. Not only that, but it"s about three sizes too big for her head. No wonder she thought the sun had gone out - she can fit her entire face in the crown of it.
She sets it down on the empty space next to her in the bed, and sits up, dizzily carrying herself to the bathroom. The guilt, mixed with the vodka, makes for a wretched wake-up call into her toilet.
Sitting on the bus, Lillie traces her finger around the metal circles in the belt a few more times, before she flips it back over and inspects the inside.
After having refilled her stomach and consoling herself, she’d begun to examine the hat over her breakfast in hopes of finding a label that could at least give her a monetary value, so she could resell the thing in hopes of finding its original owner. But her guess about it not being generic had been right, and there was no such tag.
Instead, there was a rectangle of cotton sewn into the leather band inside, with handwritten text. It was slightly smudged, most likely due to sweat, but still legible.
‘If lost return to:
John Marston
Milton Farms, Oakfield’
A rare, shining beacon of hope. A name and address. Whoever this hat belongs to clearly expects to lose it, or has lost it before, because there is no other tangible reason for the tag being there.
Milton Farms, after a quick Google search, is South-West of Oakfield, but still far out into the country. The recommended routes are either walking (not in this heat), taxi (not in this economy), or bike (she does not own one).
However, just when hope seemed lost that she’d have to trek through the countryside with a hangover, the internet comes to the rescue. On the outskirts of town, two brothers own a horse rental. It is perhaps the strangest business that Lillie’s ever come across, but the reviews are excellent, and she’d much rather travel by a shifty horse than a scummy taxi.
The bus slows and stops, and Lillie waves off the driver as she leaves. Google Maps is becoming her best friend, as she timidly follows its directions down the dry pathways, continuously looking up for the disrepaired green sign advertising the Davies Brothers’ services.
The blue pathway gets shorter and shorter, and finally Lillie thinks she can confidently put her phone away, having spotted a stable on the side of the dirt road. With a little more pep in her step, and the hat in her bag, she hurries along.
A man sits on the fence beside the entrance, and turns with disinterest when she approaches. He looks her up and down, quirks an eyebrow, and swings his leg over the fence to face her.
“You lost, girlie?”
Lillie shakes her head. “No, sir. This… um… this is the stable?”
He snorts, and she has to resist the urge to curl up.
“This look like a stable?”
“Yes..?” She answers, suddenly uncertain.
And then he laughs, all jovial, and smiles down at her.
“Good, ‘cuz it is! Had too many folk sayin’ we look … suspicious . Do we look suspicious to you, girlie?”
“No sir.”
The man laughs again, even brighter.
“Oh, that’s great! See, I knew ol’ Clive wasn’t scarin’ nobody off. That’s the best news I heard all week, girlie, you really done made my day.”
Confused, and sweaty, Lillie just smiles and laughs nervously.
“So… can I get a horse, please?”
Not-Clive jumps off the fence and opens the gate for her, gesturing her into the stable enthusiastically.
“‘Course, ‘course, pardon my manners, miss, and pardon Clive too, wherever he is - he don’t speak much. You need a horse? We’ll get you a horse. You buyin’?”
She’s being brought on this man’s emotional rollercoaster whether she likes it or not. Lillie decides not to question too much, just answer.
“No, no, just renting. I only need it to get somewhere and back.”
“Oh, yeh? How long you think you’ll be takin’ ‘em out?”
Oh. She hadn’t really thought of that. Best case scenario, it’s the right place, she can return the hat and swiftly apologise, and be on her way. From here to Milton Farms, it’s about half an hour. So… an hour?
But then again, worst case scenario, the owner of the hat is furious that she took it, and tries to call the police or take all her money, and she has to fight for her life, fleeing on this rented horse.
“Two hours.”
“Two hours! Just what I like to hear, girlie. Now, normally we charge ‘bout twenty-two dollars an hour, but for you and your sweet talk, I’ll cut you a deal. Eleven.”
She’s going to have to pay twenty-two dollars to borrow a horse for a stolen hat. The things she does for her guilty conscience. Lillie nods.
“That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ll take a horse.”
He hollers in glee. Business must be rough. Excitedly, he brings Lillie up to the main stables, where the horses idly stamp and sway. He extends his arms excitedly, walking backwards. Another man, who Lillie presumes to be the aforementioned Clive, is tending to one of the horses.
“Take your pick, take your pick! They’re all good, reliable and steady, they’ll treat you right. And if they don’t, we’ll give ya half your money back!”
Comically, he leans forwards and cups a hand around his mouth.
“Not really, though, just warnin’ ya. Ain’t no way to prove one of these horses bucked ya off unless ya film it. Which is just suspicious, don’tcha think?”
This man is something. Lillie nods and, eager to leave, points at the horse on her left.
For a girl who hasn’t ridden a horse since she was 4, Lillie picks it up again rather quickly. The man, who finally told her his name was Clay, gives her a brief lesson on it before taking her money and sending her off. And it was brief . Had she been even a fraction more of a city girl, Lillie has no doubt she’d have already been bucked off and abandoned.
Thankfully, the concept of calming down a horse isn’t unfamiliar to her. She’s gentle with her pats and strokes, aware that she’s as much a stranger to the animal as the animal is to her. She hopes the poor thing isn’t too uncomfortable as they trot down the path.
Then again, it’s not like a stray kitten. It’s a horse. If the stallion had any complaints about this, it’d most definitely make them known. Lillie’s thankful that the horse is quiet and content, if nothing else.
But the heat is starting to get to her. She brought water, but in her concern has been using most of it to cool down her escort. It feels as though every few seconds, she’s wiping her forehead, and wincing at the sweat-slicked feel of her hair as she brushes it out of her face. Even touching the raven curls is too much, as they frizz and tangle in the heat.
She glances at her bag. It would… only be for a short while. There’s no harm in it, surely. Lillie isn’t sure why she feels so ashamed, even as her common sense takes over and she opens the bag, removing the hat and straightening it out a little. It’s far too big for her. She’d be lucky to even see anything while wearing it.
Cautious of the placement, she places it on her head, and tilts it back to see. As she thought, it would almost cover her eyes if she let it sit naturally.
So in a desperate compromise to escape the sun and avoid having the hat fall off her head and get trampled, she adjusts it back, and holds onto the rim the entire duration of her journey.
The half an hour ride turns out to only be twenty minutes with a horse, but still feels just as long when the sun is beating down on her the entire time. When Milton Farms comes into view, with a sweet wooden sign introducing her to the property, she’s amazed by the sheer size of it. It’s no corporation farm, but it’s a lot bigger than most of the Oakfield local farms she’s seen or read about. Spread across the property are three large farmhouses, and smaller ones scattered between. John Marston, if he’s here, may not be the only person who lives here.
Lillie rides along the side of the farm when she encounters the first person. A woman with thick black curls neatly tied up in a white headscarf sits on the other side of the fence, reading a book. When the horse draws near, and Lillie rides closer, she looks up with a start. Then smiles, and waves, and sets the book aside.
“Mornin’, stranger.” A sweet, timid voice greets her as the woman walks with her horse. “What brings you out here?”
The shame creeps up Lillie’s neck again, and she tries not to sound too sheepish. Really, all this for a hat… No! She’s doing the right thing by bringing it back. Even if it’s a little ridiculous, and she still has a hangover.
“Somethin’ came into my possession that isn’t mine, ma’am.” Lillie tries to talk about it as if it isn’t on her head. “The tag said to come here.”
Interest piqued, the woman skips a few steps excitedly to keep up with the horse.
“Oh? What was it? You came all the way out here for somethin’ one of our boys lost?”
She nods, reaching the turn-in and entering the main farm. Lillie waits on her horse somewhat awkwardly, and removes her hand from the rim of the hat.
“This hat, ma’am.”
The woman looks again, staring up at the top of her head, and Lillie watches something in her face change. The smile gets a little tighter, like she’s trying to keep a noise from coming out, and suddenly she’s looking away and hurrying down the pathway. Still stagnant, Lillie waits as the woman rushes across the path and steps up onto the first farmhouse’s decking, then pauses at the door.
“Wait here, miss!”
And disappears.
Left in the heat, hungover and sweaty and already hungry again, Lillie wonders if this was worth all the hassle. The overpriced bus ticket to the edge of town, the eccentric Davies brothers, the terrifying beast of a stallion that she’s got no idea how to get down from, and now a huge farm full of strangers. More of them seem to pop up in her peripheral vision, working the fields or sitting outside drinking water and tea. They all seem friendly, to their credit, but Lillie’s thought that about plenty of people before. Hopefully, hopefully , she can return the hat peacefully, and this will all be worth it.
“Hey, missy!”
She turns at the call, and sees three people stood on the deck. The woman from before, amusement written all over her face; a tall, broad man standing next to her with a smug look on his face and a hat on his head; and a slightly skinnier man with longer, fussed black hair, large scarring over his right cheek, and no hat.
Oh my God.
Suddenly, Lillie is back in Châtenay’s Cove Bar, sober enough to stand but drunk enough to lean her head on her hand and giggle every time a slightly-more-sober John SomethingorOther tells her stories of him and his brothers getting into trouble. How she got there is a mystery, and how she ended up is a blur, but she slurs something, and John looks so taken aback that she thinks she’s gone too far. Then he laughs, and covers his face with a hand, and laughs again. In a slow, thoughtful movement, he removes his hat from his head and drops it onto her’s, and laughs again when it covers her eyes entirely.
“Hold this for me, sweetheart.”
His voice is gritty and grainy and reminds her of gravel pathways and crunchy leaves and the ice in her drink. Her heart’s in her throat, thumping in time with whatever shitty love song is being blasted over the outdated speakers. But when she pushes the brim of the hat up to see him again, he’s suddenly disappeared. She shrugs and leans against the bar again, to order another drink.
And then nothing. Then she wakes up, finds his hat, pukes, and immediately comes to his house to bring it back. As if the sun wasn’t enough, her blood decides that her face needs to be warmer, setting her cheeks aglow with a rosy red.
“Uh.” Her voice momentarily forgets how to be a voice. “Jo- John Marston?”
“That’s me.” His voice doesn’t do much better, either.
“I… have your hat.”
“I can see that.”
And then silence. At least the farm is alive, with enough ambience to fill their awkward silence with birdsong and horses and the sound of somebody snickering .
The three strangers approach her horse again and Lillie hesitates, still shaky on how to get down from the thing. John, apparently noticing this, puts his hands out to help her down. To her surprise, she doesn’t fall off the thing completely, but she does get a little stuck and needs to hold onto his arm while he untangles her foot from the stirrup. He mutters about the thing being broken, but she’s too distracted by the muscle under her fingertips and the same smell of dirt and nicotine from last night. Of course, he’s probably had no time to recover either. She’s surprised he doesn’t stink of sweat as bad as she does. No amount of deodorant would ever make this salvageable.
“Nellie,” John calls to the first woman, “Bring her horse to the stables, get ‘im out of this sun.”
Finally, both her feet are on the ground, and Nellie is guiding her horse towards their stables, which goes entirely against Lillie’s plan of giving the hat back and leaving in less than a minute. Maybe that two hour thing was a good idea after all.
She is still holding John’s arm. And wearing his hat. As her brain catches up, Lillie nearly jumps away from him, but settles for a slow step back. John retracts his hand from her side, and she hadn’t even realised it was there until it was gone.
Oh, this is awkward. This is really awkward. Lillie almost doesn’t want to take the hat off, it’s the only thing keeping her safe from really meeting his eyes.
But isn’t that what she came here to do? Extending this any further will put her mental stability at risk, as well as her impending debt to Clay Davies.
Slowly, Lillie lifts the hat off of her head and gives it a little wave before sticking it out in John’s direction. For a moment he seems confused, but he takes it from her just as slowly as she gave it to him.
“Here’s your hat back.”
John doesn’t meet her eyes when she says it. She’s … almost disappointed.
“Thanks.”
Just as the horrific terrible world-ending awkward silence starts back up, the broad man from earlier decides to chip in.
“You came all the way out here for that old thing?”
John turns to look at him at the same time as Lillie, but the man doesn’t bristle under two hungover stares.
“Arthur.” John warns.
The man - Arthur - takes absolutely no notice of this warning.
“Oh, man, either she really likes you, or really wants nothin’ to do with you.”
He laughs as he says it, and Lillie did not realise it was physically possible for the human face to get as warm as hers currently is. It’s so warm, in fact, that when Nellie rejoins the group and ignores John’s incoherent bickering, she puts the back of her hand to Lillie’s forehead.
“Dear, you aren’t lookin’ so good.”
She isn’t feelin’ it either. Lillie manages a nervous laugh.
“Have you eaten today? You brought water with you, right?”
“I… uh… used my water keepin’ my horse cool.”
The three of them are silent, staring at her. John and Arthur share a look, but don’t get a chance to voice the thought before Nellie speaks over them both.
“That’s very kind of you, and I’m sure your boy appreciates it, but you do realise it’s… over a hundred degrees out, right?”
Lillie nods.
“And you haven’t drank any water on your trip here?”
Lillie shakes her head. Oh, what a bad decision that was.
Lillie wakes up on a couch. The two men from earlier - John and Arthur - are bickering in the hallway. The woman, Nellie, squeezes past them both and comes to Lillie’s side with a wet cloth.
“Oh, thank Heavens.” She sighs when she notices that Lillie is awake and not dead. Still, the rag is on her head not a moment later. “How are you feeling, dear?”
Hungover. Embarrassed. Moronic.
“Hot.”
Nellie tries not to laugh. “Yes, well… yes. That makes sense.”
She sits up with the older woman’s help, and has a cool bottle of water at her lips not a moment later. Which, honestly, is better than a miracle at this point. Half the bottle is gone in just a few gulps, at which point Nellie gently scolds her for drinking too quickly. Lillie stops with a gasp and takes a few deep breaths.
Really, she feels better already, sitting in a cool, shady room. But she’s already made such a fool of herself, she doubts the three of them will believe that she’s just having a really off day. John and Arthur get bored of their bickering and join the fun in the living room, where Arthur presses an appreciative kiss to Nellie’s temple and John pointedly ignores it.
He lingers awkwardly by the side of the couch, biting his lip like he wants to say something but is waiting for permission. When Lillie looks up at him, though, he looks away, and she’s not really sure how to work with that.
So she pats the space on the couch next to him. And that… works. John’s a little nervous, clearly, but he only hesitates twice before sitting down.
It’s silent again. There’s no farmwork to fill it this time. Lillie opens her mouth to say thank you, to apologise for the mess she’s caused, but when she looks up, Nellie and Arthur have disappeared.
John’s looking at her. When she turns, though, he swivels his head like he’s going to get in trouble if he’s caught staring.
So Lillie doesn’t back down. Eventually, he has to meet her gaze.
“Sorry I stole your hat.”
That’ll do it. John turns back as quick as he turned away.
“You didn’t steal it. I gave it to you.”
“Yeah, for a minute. Pretty sure you didn’t expect me to take it home with me.”
He opens his mouth quickly, like the words were going to come tumbling out, but he rethinks it at the last moment and closes his mouth again. Both of them are like fish out of water, constantly gasping and flopping hopelessly through this conversation. And it’s only been five sentences.
Lillie decides to keep staring. John is obviously aware of this, aware of the way her eyes curiously try to peer into his for any hope of reading his thoughts, and he bristles more and more under the attention. Eventually, just as Lillie decides that he’s quite handsome, he ducks his head down completely.
“Why’d you come?” He asks.
“To… give you the hat back.”
“You didn’t have to. I could’ve gotten another hat.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be silly. That hat is years and years old. It’s probably tailor made for you, ain’t it?”
He doesn’t answer. She’s right.
“I couldn’t just keep it as a souvenir of a night I don’t remember-”
John’s face is next to hers. She tenses as he huffs. “You don’t remember ?”
The mood has shifted completely. Where John had been anxiously tittering back and forth, he’s now deciding on forth , and has her cornered between him and the arm of the couch. The toned arm she’d been clinging to earlier leans across her lap to grip the couch’s arm and lock her in place. Lillie’s breath catches in her throat, something hot in her chest, and then it’s over. John pulls back quickly, looking just as shocked with himself as she feels.
“I’m- that was- I’m sorry, Miss Lillie-”
“You know my name?” She whispers, still stunned.
He pauses, and gives a breathless laugh. “Yes, I know your name. You told it to me last night.”
She did? Oh my God, she only knew his name because of his hat, but he’d remembered hers?
“What else did I tell you last night?”
With interest, Lillie watches his face begin to burn with the same flushing embarrassment she’d felt before, and John chuckles hoarsely as he leans back away from her, like he doesn’t want her to hear her own words.
“Told me all about your job as a dancer, ‘n’ how much you hate it. ‘Bout your friends who ditched you. Then you told me you had a cat named Rosie, an’ how badly you wanted to go home and pet her.”
Oh. Embarrassing. That’s all so horrifically in character for her that Lillie doesn’t doubt him for even a second. As he recites her stories back to her, the images of the night before drip back into her memory. Soon enough, while they sit on the plush couch and sip at cold water, she’s finishing his sentences as he recollects their conversations.
“- And then I told you I’d never met a fella with a … with a sexy wolf scar, yes, I- I remember.” Lillie covers her face, which is already nestled uncomfortably between her knees as she attempts to curl into herself. And John has the nerve to laugh at her, and pat her on the back.
“I was very flattered.”
“I’m glad you think it’s cute when girls respond to traumatic events with horrific flirting.”
“I don’t think I’m much different. You remember what I said when you told me you fell off a stage?”
Lillie pauses. “It wasn’t the ‘Fell from Heaven’ pick up line, was it?”
“God, no.” John physically shudders, then grins. “It was worse. I asked if you woulda fallen for me.”
“How did I reply?”
“‘ I broke my ankle, John ’.”
She breaks into a laugh and swings back, hard enough to almost bring her nausea back, but it’s placated by John’s laughter joining alongside her. It’s like they’re watching a terrible romcom and mocking the terrible flirting, but it’s themselves, and the terrible flirting is actually the best attempts of two drunk morons.
When they’re giggling, and then sighing, and then quiet again, it happens. John’s arm had already been slung around the back of the couch, tilted to face her as they spoke, but he adjusts to run his fingers through her hair. He’s visibly tense doing it, so Lillie makes sure to sigh as contently as she can, and doesn’t jostle or flinch. She opens an eye to take a peak at him, and is surprised by the soft expression on his face. He tries to toughen it up as soon as he knows she’s looking, but she saw, and he knows she saw.
“Thank you for stayin’ with me.”
“You passed out, Lillie.”
“Last night, I mean.” She gently hits his chest and tries not to look too embarrassed. “I wasn’t lyin’ when I said my friends ditched me. They’d gone off… somewhere to do… somethin’. And I was alone, and drunk, and it could’ve gone a lot worse for me.”
Relaxing, she smiles at him. “I’m glad it was you who found me.”
His eyes are wide, and he appears frozen in place, like he’s buffering. John eventually manages to choke on a breath and turn away, covering his face again, the same way he did before.
“You did that last night.”
“Did what?” He manages to even his voice out.
“That. Looked away and covered your face. I thought it was cute, but I don’t for the life of me remember what I said.”
John pauses in contemplation. After a moment, he has the strength to look back at her.
“That was just before I gave you my hat, wasn’t it?”
Lillie nods. She wonders if, somehow, the sentence was what prompted John to give it to her. If maybe she’d said something so outrageous that he needed to take a moment to really think about how stupid she was.
His fingers are still in her hair, twirling locks around his blistered fingers. He has the skin of a man who is coarse, but treats her delicately. She doesn’t remember a single time, in their whole evening, when his touch had been anything other than gentle.
“You told me that broken things are still valuable, they just need extra care.”
John tries not to laugh when Lillie squints and raises an eyebrow.
“Well, in more words than that. It was more like,” In anticipation, she cringes, prepared for another of his horrific imitations of her, “‘ Nooo, nono, see, broken m- like, if your favourite hat got trampled, ya don’t just- juuust throw it away, no ! You, um, uh, you’d get it… taken care of. You’d make sure it’s okay, ‘cuz it’s your favourite.”
His impression loses the comedic dramatics as he continues, her sentiment still resonating with him. Lillie listens, though it had been hard to sit through his squeaky woman-voice, and stops writhing in agony when he slows and quietens.
John is still thinking her words over, mulling it through his thick skull as he tries to avoid her gaze.
“I told you I was a broken man. And you told me that don’t make me … I dunno. Undeserving of love. Of bein’ cared about.”
Without thinking, and without hesitation, Lillie reaches over to take his hand.
“And I mean that.”
They sit in silence. It’s… okay. Awkwardness clings to the edges, a new kind of nervousness that brings the red in their cheeks back a little stronger, but it’s okay. They’re okay.
“I’ll meet you at the station next time.” John helps Lillie off of her horse, and follows her as she leads the stallion back into the Davies’ stable. “And you won’t have to fork over twenty dollars for a broken stirrup.”
She laughs, far too caught up in her conversation with John to spare Clay even a moment more than handing him his money and walking away. Even as he hollers.
“I can ride with you?”
John pauses.
“I mean, we, uh… have a truck. But if you want to, sure, I can bring you a horse.”
Embarrassment flushes her face for what must be the thousandth time that day. As she panickedly takes back her suggestion, trying to claim whatever dignity she has left, John chuckles and pats her back.
His hand does not leave her, instead sliding down to rest at her lower back as he guides her back to the bus station. It’s far too hot for it, but it’s respectful, and gentle. So, so gentle. Lillie really hopes the sweat on her back doesn’t put him off.
The bus sits in wait, with give or take five more minutes until it restarts the route and takes off. Any later, and Lillie would’ve had to wait another hour for a bus home.
“You.. uh… you’ll come back, right?” John is almost inaudible, but Lillie has been tentatively listening to him since they got off the couch.
She softens, nodding at him.
“Of course I will.”
He chews his lip, and opens his mouth. The bus driver calls for any passengers to hop on. Lillie looks towards it, and then to John, and smiles. For how desperate she’d been to leave two hours ago, suddenly she’s finding it difficult to move.
“Next week. I promise.”
Lillie steps once, twice, beginning to turn away. She feels John’s hand leave her back, and she’s surprised by the way she immediately misses it.
John’s voice calls behind her, a bit unnecessarily loud considering how close they still are.
“Just to make sure.”
As she turns back, she’s greeted with a weight on her head, and a leather band over her eyes.