[ Shit, he thinks, and he straightens, arms going lax at his side.
Shit, he thinks, and he feels like the ground falling away from him. ]
Shit.
[ he says, dread and uncertainty and the oddest sense of fear knotting in him. ]
I—
[ Shit, he thinks again, for good measure.
If this were any other time, he'd find something hilarious in this. Wouldn't be the first time he's been caught with someone else's wife, but it would be the first time he's been caught without anything having happened.
Not really, anyway.
... But knowing that, knowing he and Emma have done nothing to be ashamed of, why the hell does Faraday feel so damned guilty?
(Probably 'cause you're in love with her, you stupid son of a bitch, he reminds himself.)
He swallows, licking his lips, and his gaze flicks to the graveyard down the road, where Emma sits beside the little cross, every Sunday. Where Faraday leans against the wrought iron fence, facing out toward the town to offer her privacy, lets her pray over the remains of her late husband.
And here the man is – not in the flesh, not as Faraday lives and breaths, but calm as anyone could goddamn please.
no subject
Shit, he thinks, and he feels like the ground falling away from him. ]
Shit.
[ he says, dread and uncertainty and the oddest sense of fear knotting in him. ]
I—
[ Shit, he thinks again, for good measure.
If this were any other time, he'd find something hilarious in this. Wouldn't be the first time he's been caught with someone else's wife, but it would be the first time he's been caught without anything having happened.
Not really, anyway.
... But knowing that, knowing he and Emma have done nothing to be ashamed of, why the hell does Faraday feel so damned guilty?
(Probably 'cause you're in love with her, you stupid son of a bitch, he reminds himself.)
He swallows, licking his lips, and his gaze flicks to the graveyard down the road, where Emma sits beside the little cross, every Sunday. Where Faraday leans against the wrought iron fence, facing out toward the town to offer her privacy, lets her pray over the remains of her late husband.
And here the man is – not in the flesh, not as Faraday lives and breaths, but calm as anyone could goddamn please.
After ages, Faraday finally rasps out, ]
You're Matthew Cullen?