Ever Since You Walked Into My Life

My fingers absentmindedly tapped along the screen to my phone. A lungful of smoke twirled through my lips, dancing shortly on a dry wind before disappearing. I was jittery, waiting on a phone call that could make me or break me. I had kept in contact with Sandra over these past two weeks, insistent on the well being of our mother. Our portrait of a Saint. Every time I spoke to my sister, Mom seemed to be falling short of breaking her sickness.

I took a large inhale, felt the thick smog burn my lungs on the way down. I had gone through my whole pack within the hour, basically. Now that I was officially gone from Stop and Shop, I found it hard to keep myself busy. I cleaned, I cooked, I played with Sammi and Mingus when Norman wasn't home. Which was more now that the show picked up. But it wasn't enough. I couldn't keep my mind off of what this call might tell me. Things just started to look up. I didn't want bad news.

The glass doors to the patio slid open. Norman stepped out, made his way to the railing where I stood. He had been working on his painting again. Droplets and streaks of paint littered his clothing and boots. But I'll be damned, he could pull it off. I offered him a warm smile and watched as he lit a cigarette. After his first inhale, he nodded to me, "Stop smoking so much. Its not gonna help,"

"I know,"I flicked the butt to the floor and shook my head, "I'm just - I don't even know,"

"Its alright," he gently took my hand and squeezed it, "don't worry so much about her. With all the stories you've told me about your mom - she's a strong woman, Rascal,"

"Yeah, she is," a hint of a smile showed itself, but it wasn't good enough for him.

A mass clash of unwanted thoughts plagued my mind. It was like a disease, in a way. I was thinking of the worst, but only one thing kept a steady beat in my mind; If mom passes, how do I tell Sammi. Norman frowned. His brows furrowed, creases lined his eyes. He looked at me for a moment, rubbed his thumb across my hand, "What's really on your mind?"

I looked up, caught his suspicious eyes in mine. My eyes burned for a moment, but I blinked away oncoming tears. I turned, rested my back against the railing. Norman took the last few drags of his smoke before tossing it out, "Rascal,"

"I don't know how I would break it to Sammi," I whispered softly, "She's our mom. Our rock. I haven't done nearly as good of a job as her with raising Sam. Sammi deserves mom's love just like the rest of us,"

My voice cracked, "She didn't get to spend her life with mom. She got a few years, but that's nothing,"

"Hey," he stepped in front of me, grabbed both my hands in his.

I looked up at him, warm tears swelling in my eyes. I didn't want to do this, not now. I still didn't know Mom's status. She still had a chance to come through, "We're going to visit her in just a few days. I want you to stop worrying, okay? Stop thinking the worst. You won't have to tell Sammi anything, because there will be nothing to say. It's going to be okay,"

I snifled softly, nodded my head. Norman gave me a wonderful smile and cupped my face in his hands. My first tear fell, but with a smooth swipe of his finger, it was gone. I smiled then. Felt a little foolish for getting upset over something that hadn't happened. He leaned forward and kissed me, sweet, passionate, caring. His hands smoothed down to my shoulders and he said, "Come on, let's go inside. Sam and Mingus are still at their friends house. Let's talk,"

"Alright. After a smoke," I reached toward my pack, but Norman pulled me into a hug, dragged me toward the doors, "What are you-"

"No way, you're gonna make yourself sick. Come on, I got something I wanna show you," he slid the door open and with a gentle push, led me inside.

He stopped me right before the kitchen and said, "Alright, stay right there,"

I gave him a smile and waited as he rounded the corner. I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed as he banged around on the side wall. A few moments of silence passed before a bang, "Fuck! Rascal come'er quick!"

He didn't have to say another word. I rounded the corner mid sprint, hitting him full force on the other side. All I could manage was a gasp before paint exploded on me. Norman bust out laughing, dripping brush still lingering in his hand. I wiped at my face, smeared the paint more than wiping it off. I chuckled in disbelief and gave him a playful glare.

"Oh, really now? Okay," I bent down, retrieved a small brush from a red can of paint.

I almost lost it when Norman's face dropped. As if he didn't think I'd come at him after he tricked me. I was covered in green paint, so it was only necessary he was next. He rose his hands and said, "Okay, Rascal, you don't wanna do that,"

"Yes, I do," I grinned.

"I'm warning you," he laughed, "it won't end well,"

"Don't start something you can't finish, Reedus," he dashed to the side when I lunged forward, dodging my wet brush.

He back stepped as I grew closer, laughing as he said, "Did I ever tell you you look good in green?"

It was a paint war. We fell into the island counter, my brush smacking him in the cheek. Norman urged forward, wrapped me in a tight hug and pressed me into the counter. I pushed against him, trying to get out of his iron grasp, but it was no use. He managed to use his right arm to sloppily paint my cheek, neck and shirt, as his weight and left arm held me tight against the counter. A squeal echoed into the house as he continued his torture.

"Ow, oh, fuck, Norman wait!" He released me quickly, eyes widening in slight fear.

"What is it? You alright?" My expression was pained and he panicked.

"No, I think," but I never finished.

I jumped on him, sending both him and I to the floor. With the brush and my hand I smeared it on him, laughing the whole while.

"You sneaky fucking liar!" He yelled.

I sat up, observing my work with a girlish giggle. I dropped my weapon to the side, panting wildly. Norman tried to catch his breath as we relaxed, the fight well over by now. I rolled off of his hips and lied on the floor beside him, breathless chuckles escaping my lips. When he looked over at me he laughed and tugged at my messy hair.

"I'm pretty sure we're done painting for today. You should see yourself," he grinned.

"I think you should take a look in the mirror yourself, Norman," I smiled.

I sat up on my elbows and looked down at my paint stained shirt. I laughed quietly and said, "Thanks, Norman."

"Thanks?" He sat up and looked over at me, "For what?"

"Taking my mind off things," I smiled.

"Well, we're not done yet," he grinned.

I laughed as he got to his feet. He extended a hand and with his help, pulled me up. He drew close, brushed the hair from my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. His fingers toyed at my waist, plucked the hem of my shirt, curled in the thin fabric. I pulled away and whispered, "How much time we got?"

"Sherry's dropping them off in about an hour," I gasped as his hands grabbed at the back of my thighs, pulling my legs around his waist, "Let's go wash off,"

We were like teenagers. Laughing and stumbling over our half worn clothes. Mouths, hands, exploring our bodies under the warm spray of the shower. He was gentle, taking his time as we pressed ourselves against the wall. His right hand curled in my hair, pulling me away from his hungry lips. He nipped at my neck, my collar bone, worked his way to my perky breasts. I gasped, tightening my hands in his hair as he took my nipple into his mouth.

His right hand traveled down my ribs, my side, my hip, before working its way between my legs. We moved in unison, like we had done this for years on end. His touch was warm under the warm water, green and red paint scrubbing from our bodies and twirling down the drain. His kiss was demanding as he stood, his left hand taking my right and holding it against his side. We moved swiftly, easily, as we made love in the shower for the first time.

When we were finished, dressed, we lied on the couch, my head resting comfortably on his rising chest. His hand smoothed through my damp hair, left arm circled protectively around me. After a few minutes of silence, he whispered, "I'm gonna be in Georgia this weekend. Wondered if I could take your car,"

"My car?" I was a little shocked at the question, "I don't know. Its not necessarily safe. I don't want you breaking down or anything,"

"It'll be fine, really," he smiled.

"I mean, if you really want to. Just be extremely careful," I said, "I don't want anything happening,"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," he replied.

"I was talking about my car," I grinned.

"Course you were," he laughed, "I won't be long. Just gonna be doing some zombie killing,"

"Yeah, the life," I chuckled.

Several minutes of silence enveloped us, but it was peaceful. I had completely forgotten about Sandra's call, until dull ringing caught my attention. I sat up quickly, wrapped my thin sweater tighter to my body. I made my way to the patio and grabbed my phone, feeling my heart race as I read Sandra's name. I flipped it open and welcomed her with a hello.

"Rascal," the tone of her voice, the soft way she spoke, "I think you should come out. Mom isn't doing,"

My eyes welled in tears. Sandra tried to find the right words. The patio door opened and Norman stepped outside. He knew what this call meant, he could read it in my face.

"She doesn't have long," she whispered.

The call was short. Words jumbled and swirled together. I felt like my head was full of fog. Maybe shock, because this kind of news does it for you, right? I had lost my father a long time ago. It took too long to get over. But as Sandra told me our Mother was dying, physically, mentally, I seemed to draw out. I stared out at the dulling sky and just nodded. One word answers. I thought the worst, but I still wasn't prepared for it.

"I love you, Rascal," she said, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

I clipped the phone shut. Let it dangle in my fingers for a moment. My heart raced. My vision blurred. I was crying, but I didn't seem to notice. Norman touched my shoulder ever so gently, whispered, "Rascal?"

My bottom lip trembled as I took a deep breath. I wasn't so upset as I was angry. I shouldn't have been so naive to believe that things could go so right for so long. Norman squeezed my shoulder, but my reaction wasn't quite what he was expecting. I threw my phone, watched it shatter against the wall. Its bouncing pieces fell silent against my manical scream. Norman frowned, but he stepped forward, pulling me into a tight hug.

I pushed my hands against his chest. I didn't want a hug, I didn't want his pity. I was angry, almost enraged. My sweet, loving mom was dying. Her pain and suffering was winning. I dug my fingers into his shirt and pushed, but he tightened his grip, "Shh, Rascal, calm down. Its okay,"

"No, get off of me," I cried against his chest, kept at the pushing, "Norman, please, let go of me,"

"No," his voice shook ever so slightly, "No, I won't,"

"Get off!" I winced as he tightened his arms more, leaving me immobile.

I was stuck, frozen on a line between anger and insanity. But his warmth broke through me. Within a short moment, I stopped and wailed against his chest. When he loosened his grip I hugged him. Buried my face into his shirt. He rested his chin on my head and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Rascal,"

He stayed silent. Let me sob and tremble against him. There were no words, no gesture that could cure the pain that boiled in my chest. My sobs fell silent as the patio door opened. I peered up from Norman's chest and eyed the kids at the door. Sammi's face had fallen, terror and disbelief etching her child like features. She stepped out and whimpered, "Rascal, what's wrong?"