[@Ace of flames01]
Night was just beginning to fall when Saoirse was alerted to an unexplained sound coming from her bedroom. There was some soft shuffling cut short by a cry as a slider was pulled against its elements spreading open the teeth of a zipper. A loud 'clink' gave way to more shuffling.


'Saoirse' 'Saoirse' oh 'Saoirse'...

She had just turned his world upside down and he still didn't have a negative thought towards her. He felt his concern and worry for her weakening him. His clear, precise analytical thinking was now interrupted as his consciousness constantly demanded a trail of thought be given to her.
There was a toil of emotions arcing throughout his body. Teasing and taunting him with numerous possibilities stemming from the deep dark unknown. There were just too many factors that Dorian could not see. He hated being in this position, the great uncontrollable. 


He was swelling on anger confused about how most people could live like this, under the illusion of freedom and guise of control when so much was uncertain. Then an image of Saoirse stole his thought, everything else faded away and he could again taste the residue of her soft luscious lips upon his, the sweet scent unique to her. 'Why had he kissed her like that?'
He looked down at the bed where she lay night after night. Beyond the unrolled sleek black leather pouches lined with the glistening sheen of various protruding metallic objects, the array of numerously sized ammo boxes, the neatly folded clothes, a large suitcase and an extravagant locked brief case, all of which Dorian had just recently placed out neatly. On Saoirse's bed.
The same bed that only hours ago she shared with him. 

Dorian was supposed to be counting stock and packing but as his eyes fell to the indent of her pillow he couldn't help but picture her head in that space, body all tucked away in the blankets cozy and tight.  
'This is why' something whispered out to him in answer. The whisper came from something small, something hidden and something very forgotten. It sung out from a place far beyond the buried recess of his missing soul. 'This is why and this is how people go on living this way.' 

It wasn't something new, just forgotten. Perhaps deliberately. But now resurfaced. 




[b]"Pack your things, we are going to New York.[/b]
His head never lifts up from the bed as his hands resume shuffling around his stock.