the come-home

Marigold’s eyes flitted about nervously. She’d have to move eventually and the camera trained on the wall burned into the back of her head. The keys lie heavy in her palm.

Climbing the fire escape and crawling through the window was second nature, so why was she here, at his door? The keyhole an ominous gateway to a new future was the only company in the dingy hallway as it glared her way impatiently.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured. “I’ll go in, soon.”

There was no reply, though a simple ‘He’s waiting.’ tolled in in the back of her head like a church bell. Marigold sighed, her free hand running through the pristine black locks, pausing to fuss over her bangs. She hadn’t really stopped to think of how important this was. Someone wanted her around— long-term. At least, long-term enough to copy his key and give her a spare so she’d stop risking her life every night crawling through his bedroom window a sad and boozy mess.

The only thing she had to do was put the key in and turn the doorknob.