red's fingers are light on her skin, following the dip in her back with relative ease. molly can hear cicadas in the distance, and the whispers of other people's thoughts have quieted in her mind. if she breathes in, she can smell the cigarette still burning out on the bedside mingling with the smell of the woods outside. the blankets beneath her on the motel bed aren't half bad; they're not too scratchy or cheap, but still aren't at all like the ones at home. her feet are still pushed against one of red's calves, one of her knees pressed against the inside of one of his.
it's been weeks. her bruises have faded, and they've gone back to boston and back, still tangling themselves up in each other when they can.
telling red things that are nothing in particular, talking with him about the cars and bikes, exchanging a few glances before falling into bed together is so much easier than everything else. if she stops to consider what she's doing, if she thinks for a moment of telling him what's really going on, the weight of it starts gnawing and tearing at her.
she doesn't want to face reality. she doesn't want to go home, she doesn't want to tell the truth. not yet.
"stop thinking so loud," he says, breath making gooseflesh break out against her back.
"someone's gotta fill your head up," molly murmurs back.
red huffs out a laugh and his nail scratches carefully at the small of her back. she sighs into it, not even needing to slip into her own thoughts to get his meaning.
there's a few minutes more, a truck passing and then the sound of a train.
molly shifts in the bed, turning to face red. the peroxide blonde hair he has is down to his nose now, blue eyes focused on her face. she can see his pulse beating against the tattoo on his neck, and some stubble on his cheeks.
he's the only guy she's met who hasn't hurt her. the only one.
that knowledge is a hurt all on it's own, but there is trust there. she knows that if she said anything, if anyone could believe outside of the bubble of people in boston it would be him.
molly reaches up, pushes his hair out of his eyes.
he smiles at her, full of warmth--and there's no expectation there, of this being forever. just an appreciation of the now, the here.
so she let's it stay that way, chooses the contentment over the potential future.