Author's Notes : Thank You So Much For The Reviews. It Was Lovely. And I See Someone Added This Story To Their Favorites. Thank Youuu x Go Mee ) I Kidd. Anyhoo, Thankies.
Amy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her head relaxing against the cushioned seat. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions but it was one of the few relaxing ones she had found. Or at least, it would have been relaxing if the seven year old brat behind her hadn't been kicking the chair beside her. The vibrations from the chair were only slight and technically it wasn't that which bothered her. It was the person in the chair that was stopping her relax. Every few seconds she would hear a loud sigh, or a low groan. She peaked open her left eye, watching the occupant of the seat. He was tense, and continuously rubbing his forehead in a way that clearly showed his stress. "What are you gunna be like with our kid?" she asked, her right eye also opening.
"Our kid wont be a brat." Randy replied taking a deep breath. "Shouldn't have flushed it all." He muttered under his breath, hoping that Amy didn't hear him. Unfortunately, she did. She punched his arm, and not all that playfully.
"If you hadn't flushed it all, you wouldn't be sitting next to me. Remember?" she said, feeling slightly guilty again, rubbing his arm where she'd punched it.
"But he's driving me mad. It's worse than Cena on Vodka," he said seriously. Amy giggled. John Cena on vodka was one of the funniest sites she had ever seen. Actually, John on any spirits was quite a funny site. The last time, he had been sitting across from her at the table, laughing his ass off at absolutely nothing. Before dancing like a total ape and then falling on his ass and being arrested by the police for indecent exposure. "Cant you ask his mom to stop him? Or at least give him into trouble?"
"Why cant you ask?"
"Cause you're a woman."
"She'll listen to you. She'll only flirt with me and that's not good."
"You really do think very highly of yourself, don't you?"
"You think highly of me too."
"Sometimes." A beat passed and suddenly it was back to the way they used to be. No fighting, no drugs. Just light hearted talking. "See?" Amy whispered. "It's stopped. He's sleeping. Something I should be doing." Randy smiled before pulling her over to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
The rest of the flight was rather uneventful, Randy spent most of the time watching a small television, with no sound, due to the fact that he didn't want to wake Amy up. He figured he had pissed her off enough over the past few days and he really shouldn't push it any further.
After the flight, Amy found herself in the comforts of her own home. Ok, so technically it was his home. In his hometown. But he had given her the option to move to Atlanta. She just, couldn't seem to find a reason to stay there. And so she had packed her bags and moved to St. Louis. She didn't really mind it there, not that their jobs gave them much chance to be at home, but it seemed more like home than anywhere else ever had. Maybe it had something to do with her grandmother being from there…She never really knew…and nor did she care to find out.
She dropped her bags at the door and walked up the long winding staircase without so much as a "Hold on" to Randy. Something seemed...off. When she finally reached the top of the stair case, she walked slowly into the bedroom, and started to cry. Everything was everywhere, the bed unmade, wardrobes opened, television smashed and the clothes all over the floor. She tried to call out, but the lump in her throat made it hard to speak, let alone shout. She timidly made her way round to her side of the bed and dropped to her knees in front of a small bedside table. She looked around, yet couldn't find what she was looking for. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small white music box. Crawling her way over to it, she rubbed her eyes. It was broken. She picked it up, opening it gently, although she knew no music would play. She had always used it as her jewelry box, but evidently, the jewelry had been taken. It had been her grandmothers music box, over fifty years old and broken. By some…thug.
She looked up, her eyelashes wet with tears to see Randy standing at the door, biting his lip. "Tell me you know nothing about this." She whispered, choking to say the words.
Randy looked at the ground, "Well, yes and no."
Amy took a deep breath, and without thinking, through the music box directly at him, connecting with his head. "Get the FUCK out of my house." She screamed, pointing towards the door.