Metal prongs of the fork scraped against ceramic, causing Charlie to wince slightly. She managed to get a small bite of biscuit, bringing it up and into her mouth without managing to grimace. In all truth, food hadn’t tasted quite the same since Sam had died. She’d always been conscious of calories, not wanting the home cooking on a farm to go straight to her waist as it had a habit of doing, but she’d never turned down a meal before. 

[I]Friends[/I]. She had an inkling that Anna had wanted to be more than brushed off high school interactions. Charlie would run out of fingers on both hands if she counted all of the women’s hearts Luke had broken, at least per Sam’s report. It didn’t surprise her; he’d always been less than eager to stay in one place for too long. She briefly wondered how serious he was about spending his few months of leave here. Most of their previous visits had been a few weeks at their lengthiest and he always seemed to be itching to get away towards the end.

Her eyes briefly glanced up at his movement, knowing that what mess the farm had turned into in such a short span of time would be more than enough work for a while. Charlie’s utensil continued its fruitless motion of stabbing and moving food around as if she were a child trying to get out of eating dinner until she heard the clatter of Luke’s own fork drop. 

Her eyes widened and she could feel her heart flutter in the worst way. Was he having a heart attack? She needed to call someone, but it would take half an hour for anyone to get here. Should she get the keys to the truck? Hell, the battery could be dead and the tires flat for all she knew. As much as she wanted to leap into action, the woman sat there petrified as she listened to the whispered curses. 

She couldn’t do this again. She couldn’t watch another man she loved die on this fucking farm. Couldn’t see the tattooed arms gripping at his chest and the island go slack, couldn’t see his body to the floor, couldn’t see him turn a garish color as the life drained from his body. [I]Move,[/I] she begged herself, frozen in panic as the palpitations continued, getting worse. She couldn’t even ask if he was alright, tongue suddenly swollen enough that it made it difficult to breathe. 

All she could do was stare. His words didn’t even register, running together in a way that sounded like a different language to her. She couldn’t do anything for Sam - couldn’t save him - and now she couldn’t do anything for his brother. Any tear that she’d held back from minutes earlier began to cloud her vision.

[I]Nothing bad is going to happen to me.[/I]

She couldn’t focus. Every fiber of her being told her that wasn’t true, that this was the last time she’d hear his voice. 

[I]I promise.[/I]

Sam had promised never to leave her, and look what had happened. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this. She hadn’t birthed cows, or seen combat, or ever had experience to fight the adrenaline and terror that kept her rooted in place. 

[I]Don’t leave me.[/I]

Pain. It was just pain. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, his eyes begging her not to lose her shit. “Tell me what to do,” she croaked, her own words thick with emotion as she wiped her face. “Tell me what to do to fix it. I can’t —“ As if speaking had finally broken the spell, she moved quickly to where she kept medication, grabbing a handful of pill bottles. They scattered as she nearly threw them on the island, searching frantically. 

She never used to have so many medications. Tylenol, ibuprofen, and Tums were about the only thing she’d ever needed before Sam’s death but now she had to sort through things meant for anxiety, depression, panic attacks. “What do I do?” Shaky fingers grabbed ibuprofen, twisting the lid before pills littered the island. “Take [I]something[/I].”