10.2 Deliberate

You decide to keep a low profile for the next few days. That night's events still replaying in your mind every time you shut your eyes. You've seen animals cornered by prey before, the look in their eyes is unmistakable. The same look you saw in the dog's eyes, almost the same look shared by its owner. The more you think about it, the more you're reminded of the strange glances you received when you had gone out. Perhaps you're thinking too much into it or perhaps not enough. All you can hope is that eventually some new gossip will take over the town, drawing attention away from yourself. You hadn't thought being in a near **** accident would make you a social pariah. Deep down you know it's more than that. The looks were unquestionably those of fear and apprehension, you're sure of it now.

You've just lost yourself in another deep train of thought regarding this subject when a loud knock at the door startles you. Somewhat reluctantly, you grab your crutches before making your way over. With the cast still on your leg, you're unable to stand tall enough to peer out the peephole. Asking who is there will only reveal that you are home. Seeing no other option, you cautiously pull the door open. You're immediately filled with regret upon seeing who stands on the other side.

"Luke." You greet him curtly, deliberately not stepping aside to let him in.

"Lill."

You wince at the sound of your nickname but remain steady. You're certain there's nothing he can say or do at this point to change your mind. Meaning, there's no reason to try prolonging things. Crossing the lesser damaged arm over the casted one, you give the man a slightly annoyed look.

"Why are you here?" You ask shortly, noting he's still in uniform.

"Why am I here?" He repeats somewhat incredulously before taking a step forward. "Christ, Lill, are you really asking me that?"

You raise a brow questioningly, though you're finding it increasingly difficult to hold his sharp gaze. He seems rather surprised by your standoffish tone and stance. Scoffing in annoyance he takes another brusque step forward. When your brow raises further he swiftly stops before roughly pulling his hat off and raking a hand through his messy hair.

"What I mean is, of course I'm here." He breaths out somewhat irately, obviously trying to curb his frustration. "I know you're mad at me but how am I supposed to feel? First I hear you've been in an accident at an ungodly hour, halfway between here and Houston. Now you're back home, supposed to be resting, yet, all I'm hearing is stories about you going around all about town. You're not answering my calls. Do I need to go on?"

You can feel your face growing warm as his words echo in your mind. You know you haven't been handling things very well. In spite of the anger and contempt you still hold for the man, you can't help feeling somewhat regretful. The pain and concern he holds is made evident on his distressed face. As you continue studying his face, you notice a slightly faded scratch across his cheek. It looks to be only a few days old, just now starting to heal. You find this rather odd as his job as Sheriff typically means he sees less action. Most of his responsibilities revolve around supervision and delegation. Or at least, that's what you've always been led to believe. Despite your more recent thoughts regarding his job, some small part of you wants to let him back in. Even if at an arm's distance. You don't know that you could ever look at him the same way, however, you've felt so lonely and lost as of late. If anyone could be a form of solace and guidance, surely it would be the person you've known the longest. After all, he's yet to look at you with any sign of fear and trepidation. Could it be worth the risk?