Beloved Ch. 07

Author's Note:

'Beloved' is an actual story, with *le gasp* a real, honest-to-god plot and character development. So if you haven't read the previous chapters yet, you will be entirely lost if you try to read this - For optimal enjoyment, please go read the rest of the series first. I promise it's worth it!<3

As always, I would like to remind my readers that the events in this story are fictional and should never, EVER, under any circumstances be attempted or reenacted in real life. Like most of the works under the Non-Consent/Reluctance category, the things portrayed here are a fun fantasy to explore in a book or piece of erotica, but would be abhorrent and incredibly illegal/immoral in reality. Please enjoy it as the work of fiction it is!

Thank you SO MUCH to my absolutely amazing friends who are proofreading this story for me, catching all my stray commas, and cheering me on from behind the scenes!

If you enjoy my work, please consider following, commenting, or leaving a rating - It really helps me out!!! - You may have noticed I don't generally reply to comments (this is because there's only so many ways to say 'Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked it', haha!) but I do READ them all, so please keep them coming! : D

Also, I was told to give fair warning that this chapter may, in fact, make you cry - You have been warned.

Happy reading! ; D

xoxo,

G. M. Gardner<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have to get up, puppydog!"

I pulled on Grant's hand for what felt like the millionth time, trying in vain to shift him from where he was laying in the dirt, his placid expression made all the more eerie by the way his vacant eyes were staring unseeingly towards the sky.

Maybe an hour had passed since I'd woken back up to find the world exactly how I'd left it - Brilliant blue up above and cool earth below, Grant's body protectively pressed against mine as the sounds of destruction mingled dissonantly with his quiet, broken sobs.

My little 'nap' had likely only lasted seconds, but it had been long enough for my sense of self-preservation to surge back full-force, the fires of rage smothered into submission right along with the rest of me.

So instead of fighting, I'd held on tight to Grant as chaos echoed through the cornstalks, letting my mind drift away into pleasant memories of better times as we waited for the danger to pass.

And, eventually.

Inevitably.

It had.

The fields had long since fallen quiet, the house gone still, the sound of a car retreating back up the driveway now only a distant memory. I had zero doubt that it was as safe as it would ever be to go face the reality of what had happened and try to regroup somehow.

The only problem now was...

Grant was gone.

Yes, he was still breathing, but other than that he might as well have been another cornstalk for all the life he was showing, and I was getting more worried by the minute that the shock of losing Rand had broken his mind entirely.

Shaking him had had no effect. Yelling hadn't gotten past that blank stare. No amount of appealing to logic or reason or any threats I could come up with had done a damn thing to rouse him.

At one point I'd even tried slapping him across the face - more out of frustration than anything - but all that had accomplished was giving him a rapidly developing bruise across his cheekbone to match the rest of his disheveled appearance.

I was quickly running out of ideas on how to snap him out of it, but I wasn't about to give up.

Not a chance in hell.

Because while Grant might be a fucked-up lying little puppydog, at some point in all of this madness I'd apparently decided - for better or worse - that he was my fucked-up little puppydog, and I'd be damned if I was gonna let him just lay down and die.

So I grabbed the front of his shirt again, shaking him roughly as I pleaded, "Please, will you just look at me?! Do something!!!"

Grant's only answer was the barest of blinks, not even a flicker of recognition in his hollow eyes as I cupped his face in my hands, staring down at him desperately. "Come on," I whispered, fighting against the threat of useless tears. "I know you're in there somewhere! Please come back, I-I need you!"

Nothing.

Not a trace of acknowledgement crossed Grant's face, and I pulled away with a cry of frustration, leaving him to continue staring blankly off into space as I paced fitfully back and forth along the narrow cornrow.

"C'mon, Kate, think, think, THINK!" I muttered frantically, tapping the side of my skull. "There's got to be something you haven't tried yet! What would the Boss-"

I didn't get to finish the thought before I choked on a wave of grief, nearly doubling over with the force of it as I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately pushing back against the sickening slideshow of intrusive images that flashed through my mind.

Pale skin.

Sightless eyes.

Playing cards scattered like petals across a pool of crimson so dark it was almost black, spreading out like an endless ocean beneath the broken...

Sprawled...

Lifeless...

NO!

I wrestled control back from the carousel of as-yet-unseen horrors, screaming silently at myself to get a grip as I wiped at my damp cheeks, because I didn't have fucking time for this shit.

There was only room for one mental breakdown in this stupid cornfield, and the only reason I should give a single thought to Rand's death right now was what it meant for our own chances for survival.

Because nobody was coming to save us.

No big strong man was going to swoop in and save the day, scoop Grant up off the ground and whisk us both away to safety. Backup wasn't waiting just around the corner, help wouldn't show up in the nick of time, the beacons could burn forever and the aid we so desperately needed would never arrive.

It was all up to me now.

Just me.

I had never felt so small in my entire life, struggling to fill shoes that were ten sizes too big for me as I once again sealed away my own suffering, trading in my panic attack for figuring out another plan of attack.

Much as I hated to admit it, getting Grant back up and running likely wasn't in the cards right now, and it could take hours or days before he came back to some semblance of sanity. That left only one real option left on the table, the hope of at least being able to scrounge up some supplies to help him recover making me brave enough to risk returning alone.

So I went back to Grant's side, trying to give him a smile as I asked, "Hey, puppydog? Will you be okay on your own for a minute while I go-"

See what happened to Rand.

I shook away the unwelcome thought, finishing awkwardly, "-Go check the damage?"

Of course Grant didn't answer, and I shrugged his jacket off my shoulders, covering him up as best I could and whispering a promise that I'd be back soon before heading towards the house.

The first thing I saw when I emerged from the cover of the corn was the patio.

Or rather... What was left of it.

All of the furniture was in splinters, the cushions slashed and tossed about, Grant's coffee mug reduced to sticky shards and shattered glass from the ruined back door turning the smooth stones into a sharp, sparkling minefield.

"What the hell, Lin?" I breathed, navigating carefully around the twisted obstacle that had once been my favorite lounge chair. "Why would you..."

My voice trailed off as I stepped through the gaping hole that was once the back door and stopped dead, too stunned by the sight laid out before me to go any further.

It looked like a tornado had gone through the house.

Bits of broken furniture were strewn gruesomely across the torn carpet, the poor couch overturned and bleeding stuffing, what remained of the end tables bent grotesquely. The kitchen was completely demolished, flour scattered over the cracked marble and what was left of the cabinets, the entryway barely recognizable with the front door torn clean off its hinges.

While the walls were still standing, every single one had red spray paint slashed violently across the ruined drywall, scrawling words so cruel they didn't bear repeating, threats and slurs that I instantly added to my list of reasons for wanting Lindy six feet under.

The only boon that there was no body in the wreckage - Not a single sign of Rand's fate to be seen in the sad scene, and I was counting my lucky stars for that when a soft sob made me look up in surprise.

I should have known that the secret to getting Grant to wake up would be to leave his clingy ass alone for five seconds, but as he shakily stepped forward to stand by my side, my already weary heart sank even further.

Because he didn't look calm, or even angry.

He looked devastated.

Grant's despair was tangible as he stared at the destruction, his distress a sobering reminder that while I'd viewed this house as nothing more than a very comfortable prison, this was his home. That this violation went far deeper than just having to repaint and replace the coffee table, and I reached instinctively for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm so, so sorry," I whispered, taking a careful step into the chaos. "Come on, we need to go and-"

I cursed as Grant crumpled, struggling to keep him on his feet as I steered him away from the worst of the broken glass, half-dragging him to the carcass of the couch so he could collapse on the ruined cushions.

"This is all my fault," he breathed, once again staring blankly ahead as tears trickled down into his beard. "I did this. Why am I so stupid? Why did I think that I could... That I would ever be able to... Why would I deserve...?"

As Grant kept rambling on in half-formed sentences, I was forced to face the fact that he was in no condition to even make it down the stairs - let alone witness what was waiting at the bottom of them - and I looked around for ideas, my attention landing on the bookcase.

It was just as ruined as everything else, but there was no sign that Lindy and her goon had found the room behind it, Rand's casual comment about it also being a panic room suddenly sounding less like a technicality and more like a saving grace.

That'll do.

"Okay, sweetie, I need you to stay with me!" I said, tapping Grant's cheek to try to get his attention. "I don't know the code to the panic room, okay? So I need you to-"

"Phone number," he interrupted, without looking at me.

"That doesn't really help?" I admitted, glancing uncertainly towards the hidden door. "I don't know your number, so..."

"No, Ra-" Grant choked on the name, his expression going placid as he whispered, "He wanted to make sure you could get in, if there was an emergency? So he added your phone number to the codes. Just in case."

I was opening my mouth to ask how in the hell Rand would have expected me to know that when an offhanded remark the giant had made while we were having our little nerdfest popped back into my head. I'd been flipping through a book, admitting how nice it was to be able to browse instead of making do with whatever was handed to me, and he had nodded towards the door.

'Welcome anytime, kitten,' Rand had said, with one of those tiny smiles of his. 'Just give it a ring.'

I'd thought at the time that his room had a doorbell for some weird reason, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how incredibly on-brand that subtle hint had been. I made a beeline for the bookcase, single-handedly shifting the heavy remains of the shelves to unearth the hidden panel, quickly typing in my phone number and breathing a shaky sigh of relief when the keypad flashed green.

It wasn't until the door swung open that I realized I'd still had hope.

A tiny sliver of belief that maybe - just maybe - Rand had made it to safety. That we would walk in and he would be waiting for us. Safe and sound and worried sick, ready as ever to let our tired souls take shelter in that eternal steadiness of his.

But all that was waiting was darkness.

Inky black and a deathly silence that brought along with it a tidal wave of despair so powerful I staggered back a step, covering my mouth to stifle a sob.

"Pet?" came a hopeful call from behind me, Grant's voice cracking as he asked, "Is-is anyone in there?"

I scraped myself up once more, flipping on the lights and making a show of looking around the unoccupied room before shaking my head.

"Nope, we're all clear!" I said brightly, as if this was good news. "Come on, puppydog, let's go!"

Grant's answer was to go catatonic again, but luckily this time all it took was a bit of coaxing to get him back on his feet. I helped him stumble from the ruined couch to the overstuffed one, making sure to conceal the keypad before shutting the door securely behind us.

God, I hated being in here.

After walking through the aftermath of Hurricane Lindy, the perfectly pristine contents of Rand's room were jarring, his absence looming larger than the man himself. It made my skin itch to even exist in his space, my bones hollowing out as I looked around at the leftover fragments of a life.

The soft, well-worn gray hoodie, tossed over the back of the couch.

A smudged pair of reading glasses, folded neatly next to a novel with a bookmark barely halfway through its pages.

That pretty pink controller with just a trace of wear around the edges of its buttons.

I could hardly bear to stand witness to how all of Rand's beloved belongings were waiting so patiently for their master to return. Sitting so still, already collecting dust as they held their breath and watched the door, longing for him to step through and grant them meaning once more.

To give them one of those sunshine smiles.

Boop their nose and-

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Grant's quiet question was so unexpected, so far out of fucking left field that a knee-jerk reply of, "I'm sorry?" was out of my mouth before I even knew what was happening.

"Love at first sight," he repeated, my skin prickling at the wistfulness in his voice. "Like in the movies, the whole 'seeing someone across a crowded room and knowing that they're the one' thing. Do you believe in that?"

Yes.

I didn't say it, managing an awkward laugh as I lied, "I guess I've never really thought about it."

"I do," he said simply, still staring blankly straight ahead. "Always have. Ever since I was a little kid, I just knew that someday it would happen to me. That I was going to meet someone and know that they were mine, just like that."

Grant snapped his fingers, and I flinched at the sharp sound, staying silent as he let out a shaky breath and continued, "So when it finally happened, I wasn't surprised. Excited - thrilled, even - but not surprised. The only surprising part was... that it was a man."

Oh no.

Please no.

I'd thought that grief was mixing with guilt into a potent cocktail, making Grant drunk enough to allow the truth to finally roll off his tongue. Had been bracing myself for a flashback to that fateful day in Lindy's backyard, for him to declare his undying love and confess why I was here.

I wasn't prepared for this.

I fought the urge to cover my ears, feeling more like an intruder than ever as Grant's face spread into a nostalgic smile, his voice so soft I could barely hear it.

"God, he was perfect. So fucking tall. So handsome it felt like I would burst into flames if he so much as touched me. I couldn't understand why I was the only one staring, why nobody else could see how special he was. How they didn't notice that the love of my life had just walked in the door."

Grant swayed tiredly, and I hurried over to sit beside him, letting him lean on me. It seemed like a good plan to try to keep him talking, and I asked hesitantly, "So... What did you do?"

"Oh, I panicked," he said, with a faint laugh. "Made a complete fool of myself, fucked the whole thing up. Spent the next bit of forever thinking I'd never see him again, kicking myself for missing my chance, and then... One day, there he was. Standing by my car. Waiting for me."

"Did he toss you in the trunk?" I attempted to joke, and Grant instantly burst into tears, burying his face in his hands.

I hastily tried to apologize, and he shook his head, sobbing brokenly, "N-n-no, I'm the one w-w-who should be s-s-sorry! I'm a t-t-terrible person, I'm so s-s-stupid, why can't I do a-a-anything right?! I'm such an i-i-idiot, why am I l-l-like this-?!"

As Grant kept up a steady stream of self-loathing, I attempted to calm him down by rubbing his back and only succeeded in making him yelp in pain and cry even harder.

Fuck.

I'd completely forgotten about Grant's existing injuries, and as he began spewing some nonsense about how if Rand had just beaten him more often, none of this would have ever happened - an assertion I sincerely doubted, having known him for more than five minutes - I gave a quick, "Stay, puppydog!" and hurried off to the attached bathroom.

I hadn't been in here before, surprised to find it was large enough to have a full bathtub and shower. I was far more interested in the medicine cabinet over the sink, rummaging through it in hopes of finding some pain meds.

It didn't take long to locate the ibuprofen, but sitting right next to it was a small orange prescription bottle, and I peered at the label curiously.

"Who the hell is 'Shigemitsu, Takashi?" I wondered out loud to myself. "Don't tell me there's another fucking guy hiding around here somewhere?"

The bottle didn't have answers for me, but according to the directions this medication was meant to be taken 'as needed' for anxiety, which made it infinitely more valuable right now than the painkillers.

Okay, so if it's half a pill for a panic attack, I thought, twisting off the top without hesitation. How many to stop a full-fledged mental breakdown...?

According to the label you weren't supposed to have more than four in a day, so I made an uneducated guess and hurriedly tapped two of the small pills out into my palm along with a pair of ibuprofen, filling up the cup sitting beside the sink with water.

"Alright, puppydog, got you some meds!" I chirped, returning to plop down beside Grant on the couch. "Think you can get them down?"

"I d-d-don't deserve-" he hiccuped, and I shook my head firmly.

"Gonna need you to fuck right off with that." I pressed the pills into his palm, praying he wouldn't examine them too closely as I waggled the water at him. "Come on! Down the hatch, let's go!"

And, miraculously.

Grant obeyed.

Popped the pills in his mouth without so much as glancing at them, downing the entire cup of water as a chaser before going back to sobbing brokenheartedly. I held his hand and kept one eye on the clock hanging on the wall, crossing my fingers that whatever the hell I'd just given him was fast-acting.

It was.

About ten minutes later, the flow of Grant's rambling started to slow, running together as his face settled into a different sort of blankness, an artificial calm that was distinctly different from his usual flavor of placid panic.

"How're you feeling?" I asked, as he held one of his hands in front of his face, examining it with a vague sort of interest.

"I forgot to put my ring on this morning," Grant murmured, each word slurring a little bit more. "What a day for it, hmm?"

"No, it's right here!" I said quickly, turning the hand I was holding over to show him the black-and-silver band. "See? You didn't forget, puppydog."

Grant nodded slowly, deliberately, as if he was moving through syrup. "That's good. At least I can be buried in it without you having to sort through... All that."

As he waved vaguely in the direction of the destroyed house, I shook my head in confusion. "Wait, no, you're not going to die. You're fine, you're just-"

"Yes, I am." Grant looked at me, his eyes dull and unfocused. "Happens all the time. Pandas. Lobsters. Swans. One mate dies, the other..." He gave a faint, sad shrug. "Just fades away. Can't go on. Already happening. No stopping it now."

It was oddly reassuring that his usual flair for the dramatic had survived all the trauma, and as his shoulders began to droop I said kindly, "You're not dying, you're just really tired. You'll feel better once you get some rest, I promise."

Grant weakly shook his head, his chin dropping to his chest as he whispered, "No... Can't... Hurts... Too much..."

As he began to collapse forward, I caught him, easing him down onto his side on the couch. I started to settle him in, and he caught my hand, gripping it with surprising strength.

"Please..." Grant breathed desperately, fighting a losing battle against the chemicals flooding his system. "Please... Don't go..."

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'm not gonna leave you," I promised, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. "I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

Grant tried to say something else, but whatever I'd drugged him with clearly wasn't messing around, the words scarcely more than a sigh. I stayed by his side as he drifted off, murmuring my own apologies as I returned the favor of saving him from himself, praying that he'd be just as understanding when he woke up.

When he finally went still I checked his pulse to make sure I hadn't knocked him out a little too hard, breathing a sigh of relief when I found it beating slow and steady.

Sweet dreams, puppydog.

I fussed with Grant's pillow and tossed a blanket over him, whispering one last promise that I'd be back soon before dragging myself back up and heading determinedly for the door.

I only made it a few steps before the room began to spin, my attempt to brace myself against the coffee table ending with me slumped in a heap on the floor. "I don't have time for this!" I muttered mutinously, trying to force myself up again. "Will you please just fucking work?!"

That last comment was aimed at my legs, who had evidently decided that holding me up was optional activity. I took quick stock and found - much to my frustration - that the rest of me wasn't doing much better, the adrenaline I'd been running on draining away now that I'd made it to some semblance of safety, leaving nothing but fatigue in its wake.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to summon up more disturbing thoughts. Attempted to shovel enough coal in that fear-fueled engine to keep it rolling down the tracks long enough to do what needed to be done.

But it was no use.

Instead of serving up sadness, my mind chose to conjure up a vivid image of Rand with his arms folded sternly, raising a disapproving eyebrow as he watched me trying to struggle to my feet.

Not worth it, kitten, he seemed to say. Sit back down.

I kept trying to get to my feet as I said exasperatedly, "But I have to get up, Boss! I have to go... I dunno, check your pulse or something!"

Dead is dead, commented the imaginary Rand, with his trademark bluntness. Ten minutes? Twenty? Not gonna matter.

I pointedly ignored the fact that he was right as I countered, "It might! What if you're still breathing?! I could call an ambulance, or-!"

Nah. Can't call anyone. The giant cocked his head, giving me a pointed look. No phone.

I reached back to pat at Grant's pockets, cursing under my breath when I found them empty, that particular Hail Mary apparently having gone AWOL at some point during our little cornfield adventure.

See? Rand gave a tiny shrug. Go on, kitten. Rest. I can wait.

I was about to retort again when I had the startling realization that my sanity might not be faring any better than Grant's, considering I was sitting here arguing with a ghost about the merits of self-care.

"Fiiine," I sighed petulantly, settling on the floor with my back against the couch. "But I want it noted that I'm doing this under protest, Boss, and only so that you don't haunt me forever. You got that?"

The specter's only answer was a quiet chuckle, the sound echoing in my mind as Rand faded away to leave me alone once more.

Guess there are worse ways to go insane, I thought tiredly, leaning my head back against Grant's legs. 'Yes, doctor, I'm hearing voices. No, they're not telling me to kill anyone, pretty sure they want me to go take a nap? Maybe eat a snack...?'

At the thought of food my stomach gave a loud gurgle, and I crawled over to consult the minifridge at the other end of the couch. I grabbed one of Rand's pre-mixed protein shakes and took a sip of the vanilla-flavored sludge, grimacing when I found it to be about as pleasant as drinking pancake batter.

"How the hell did you stand these?" I asked out loud, half-hoping the ghost of the giant would answer. "Seriously, I don't think all those muscles were worth... This."

When Rand didn't reappear to comment, I chugged it down as quickly as I could. Praying that it wouldn't come right back up, I retrieved a bottle of water, sipping it as I waited for my strength to return.

I tried my best to relax, but I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was... Off.

Not just in the 'sitting in the middle of a shitshow of epic proportions' sort of way, either, but a fundamental sort of wrongness I couldn't quite put my finger on. It took a few minutes of nervously glancing around the room to pinpoint what was putting me so on edge.

It was too damn quiet in here.

Rand's room must be soundproofed to the high heavens - Not so much as a whisper of wind or the chirp of a bird breached the walls, Grant's soft breathing and my own heartbeat far too loud in the absence of anything else to catch my ear's attention.

I didn't want to risk turning on the TV and disturbing puppydog's nap, and I looked around for some way to distract myself from the eerie silence.

My attention landed on the lower shelf of the coffee table, where a dozen or so books were stacked haphazardly, all far too large and decorative to sit on the shelves alongside all his novels and manga. I picked up the top one, surprised to find it wasn't nerd-related at all, but rather a collection of portraits taken by a famous painter who - according to the cover - had also dabbled in street photography.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I flipped it open to a random page near the middle to reveal a picture of a woman.

I guessed she must be in her eighties or nineties - if her deep wrinkles were anything to go by - and was dressed head-to-toe in brilliant bright red, her scarlet lipstick perfectly matching her secretive, flirtatious smirk.

She stood out from the busy street behind her like a rose blooming in a field of daisies, the shot stunning even to my untrained eye - Striking and evocative in a way that words would never fully be able to describe, but scribbled beside the image was a handwritten note that summed the feeling of it up perfectly.

'A spark such as hers cannot be unseen'.

There was no mistaking the brevity of those simple words, my chest squeezing painfully as I ran my fingertips over Rand's inscription.

"Didn't know you were a poet, Boss," I whispered, smiling sadly back at the woman in the photograph. "Guess it helps to have a good muse, huh?"

As I flipped through the thick, glossy pages, I discovered that Rand had made a careful study of this book. There were notes scattered liberally throughout, from one-line observations all the way up to a grid drawn lightly in pencil over a playful shot of a young boy to illustrate why the off-kilter angle worked so well to capture the moment.

'Joy is rarely symmetrical', Rand had written underneath, and I couldn't help but smile at that eloquent summation of such an otherwise analytical study.

The end of the book came too soon, and I smoothed my hand over the back cover before setting it aside and reaching for the next one in the stack, hoping against hope that he had left more words hidden within its pages.

Soft words.

Sweet words.

Words that might ease the ache of knowing they were the last I would ever get from the giant, an unwitting self-portrait penned by a man who I had known so well and yet not at all.

I was quickly disappointed, because there wasn't a single note to be found in any of the landscape photography books. None in an illustrated behind-the-scenes of a beloved fantasy franchise, and - most surprisingly - not one word in 'The Secret Life of Fruits', which was filled with poignant portraits of LGBTQ+ couples.

I was nearly at the bottom of the stack when I uncovered something that both belonged and didn't belong at all with its peers.

A photo album.

Plain and unassuming, bound in a warm brown leather that was worn around the edges in a way that spoke to it being well-loved. I got the distinct impression that it had been tucked away on purpose, its nondescript cover and inherently personal nature giving me pause.

"Hey, Boss?" I asked out loud, looking around the room. "Could you give me some kind of heads-up if this is, like, your prized collection of creepy foot pics? Pretty please?"

No answer came from beyond the veil, and I crossed my fingers that I'd found Rand's personal portfolio as I flipped open the cover and peered at the first photograph.

It was slightly grainy, with colors that were naturally skewed in a way that spoke to its age. In the center of the frame was a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat, who was sitting on a pier overlooking the ocean with her feet dangling off the edge, laughter painted across her face as the young boy on her lap held a large conch shell up to her ear.

Rand.

Despite his chubby cheeks and diminutive size, there was no mistaking that sunshine smile, my heart shattering into a million pieces as I searched the woman's face, easily finding their relationship in how her nose sat so proudly against her strong cheekbones.

I couldn't seem to look away, wanting to soak in every last detail of Baby Rand and his mother, drink up every last drop of that shared joy that had been captured so perfectly on that long-ago sunny day by the seaside.

Guess even giants start small, huh?

I swallowed against the sticky sorrow that rose at the thought, making a mental note to remind Grant - when the time came for such things - to make sure to call Rand's mom before anyone else.

The next photo featured a gangly version of Rand, proudly wearing a birthday hat with a sparkly '11' on the front. One of his arms was slung around the shoulders of a handsome Asian man - who was already a couple inches shorter than him - and the other was wrapped around the waist of his mom, who dwarfed them both easily.

I'd never added up the little clues about Rand's heritage, his size alone making me assume he was just a white boy with incredibly almond-shaped eyes. The proof was there though, in those matching grins and the way his dad was holding himself with such quiet strength despite his stature.

Another pang of grief hit hard and fast as I added the unique experience of having one white parent and one who was a bit more colorful to the list of things we might've bonded over if we'd ever gotten the chance.

"Sorry for thinking you were just a weeb, Boss," I whispered, looking around at all the anime posters and action figures with a new eye. "So it's Takashi, huh? Was Rand your middle name, or...?"

I didn't wait around for the ghost to answer, taking my time as I made my way through the next few pages. They were mostly filled with happy memories of Rand's parents, but I was next stopped by a picture of him standing side-by-side with a boy I didn't recognize.

The newcomer was barely up to Rand's shoulder, and had an open, friendly sort of face that was more cute than handsome, his curly blonde hair flopping slightly into his eyes. The two were lanky in that awkward, teenage sort of way, wearing suits and matching rainbow boutonnieres as their hands brushed together in a way that told me everything I needed to know about their relationship.

Rand's eyes were full of that softness I'd come to know so well as he looked at the boy, the photo carrying with it an air of intimacy that made me pause.

It didn't seem like the giant's style to randomly have photos of his exes laying around - let alone displayed in a photo album - and I pulled it out of its sleeve to find a note in faded cursive written on the back.

'ShiShi and Brody - Junior Prom'

The date below the caption placed the image a little over twenty years ago, and I glanced at the next photo to find the same boy - Brody - this time sitting next to Rand at a picnic table.

Their arms were wrapped around each other, and Rand was laying a big ol' smooch on Brody's cheek, making him laugh with such genuine joy that I could feel the warmth of it radiating right off the page. It was such a loving scene that I couldn't help but wonder if Grant knew that these photos existed, let alone that his husband had hung on to them for so long.

I carefully returned the picture to its sleeve, flipping the page to find an image that stood out starkly from its fellows.

Because for the first time...

Rand was alone.

Sitting on the steps of a garishly bright pink house, wrapped up in one of those trademark gray hoodies as he stared straight at the camera without a single ounce of expression on his face.

It was clear that Rand had been in a fight, and I was willing to bet it wasn't one he'd won - There were harsh bruises on his jaw, a split in his lip so deep it made my own sting in sympathy, a bright blue cast on his arm and his knuckles swathed in bandages.

I doubted he could be much older than the last few pictures, but he had aged a thousand years from that carefree boy, his hollow eyes gazing out as if they could see straight through the sands of time to where I was looking back at him.

It was haunting.

Heartbreaking in a way I didn't have words for, the emptiness in Rand's face calling to mind images I'd seen of refugees fleeing war torn countries with nothing more than the clothes on their back and hope for a better tomorrow.

I couldn't help but wonder why - out of all the photos the giant could have chosen - he would have picked such an image to save for posterity. I took it out of its sleeve, finding 'First Day at Pops' Place' scribbled in Rand's hand, along with a date that placed the image only a few months after his junior prom.

I thought at first that meant he was with his dad, but as I made my way through the next few pages, it quickly became clear that that wasn't the case.

In fact, Rand's parents and Brody all mysteriously disappeared at this point in the timeline. They were replaced with a paternal-looking man with dark skin and a beaming smile that lived perpetually on his face, who I assumed must be 'Pops'.

Rand, though, had stopped smiling.

There were a handful of photographs from this era, but not a single one featured so much as a half-hearted attempt at a grin from the giant. It was as if his face had frozen into that inscrutable mask, though I imagined his eyes looked a little less dull with each passing picture.

I was wondering when the turning point had been when I turned the page and found a familiar face staring back at me.

Hello, puppydog.

Grant's hair was shorter, his face younger and clean-shaven, but there was no mistaking that fucking smirk. Unlike the rest of the album so far, this photo was printed in black-and white, that artistic choice only adding to the inherent intimacy of it.

Because the picture was...

Well.

Hot as hell.

Sweat was dripping down Grant's bare chest as he stood poised at the ready with one arm curved up over his head, his lower half clad in tights that clung to his muscular thighs and scuffed ballet shoes on his perfectly pointed feet. The graceful lines of his form seemed to be crafted by a heavenly hand, every glorious inch of him laid out in such exquisite detail that I blushed just looking at it.

It was so blatantly voyeuristic, so clearly taken with the intent of 'enjoying' it later that I couldn't resist taking a quick look at the back, a laugh escaping as I read Rand's note.

'Pretty Boy'.

That was all that needed to be said on the subject, and I hummed in agreement, giving the photo one last appreciative, lingering look before moving on.

There were a handful more candid photos of Grant, all featuring varying levels of 'fuck, that boy is gorgeous' and mostly centered around various ballet rehearsals or performances. It took a few different haircuts - and at least two full productions of 'The Nutcracker' - before I finally found the official start of their love story.

I couldn't keep the grin off my face - or the tears from my eyes - as I leaned in to get a closer look at the photo of Rand, once again, with another boy.

Grant's hair was mussed to the high heavens and a frilly pink apron was draped over his clothes, flour dusting his hands as he proudly held up an apple pie to show the camera, his sense of accomplishment shining right off the page.

Rand was lingering in the background, leaning back against the kitchen counter and pretending to look the other way as he watched his future husband out of the corner of his eye.

And, for the first time in a long time.

Rand was smiling.

True, it was just the barest, faintest hint of a smile dancing around the corners of the giant's lips, a whisper rather than a shout of emotion. But it was there nonetheless. A quiet promise of things to come, a tiny ray of sunshine after a storm that had gone on for far too long.

The next few pages were my favorite.

It was gratifying to watch Grant slowly coaxing Rand out of his shell, the montage of soft, easy affection between the two men bittersweet and heartwarming all at once. As they grew closer and closer, the giant's shoulders seemed to grow broader in answer, and by the time they reached the altar he was roughly the size of a brick house.

I had seen Grant's pick of the photos from that happy day sitting on his desk, but Rand's entry was a group shot, featuring Pops beaming by the giant's side and a beautiful woman who could only be Grant's twin sister joining him in grinning up a storm on the other.

I could have - should have - stopped there.

Let the ending of their story be happy, gone out on the highest of high notes without tormenting myself with what was to come.

But instead I turned the page, giving my emotions free rein to go every which way as I soaked in all the snapshots of Rand and Grant's happy married life - Vacations and anniversaries, time spent with family and friends, and all the mundane little moments that had been special enough to make it into the album.

One in particular made my heart ache, a photo captioned 'Kali's First Trick-or-Treat' that showed Rand in floor-length brown robes with a glowing blue sword and a little girl wearing giant green ears sitting on his shoulders.

She couldn't have been more than three or four and was barely the size of his head, but was clearly right at home on her perch, completely trusting that he wouldn't let her fall as she leaned daringly off to one side to grin at the camera.

There was no mistaking the family resemblance to a certain puppydog I knew, and I looked over my shoulder to where Grant was sleeping.

"Make sure to call her second, okay?" I sniffled, wiping at my damp cheeks as I glanced at that pretty pink controller. "She might want something to remember him by."

It took a moment to regain my composure enough to continue, but when I finally turned the page, it was to once again find a black-and-white photo that didn't quite belong.

"What the hell...?" I breathed, leaning in to get a closer look at the vignette. "That's not... I mean, it can't be..."

But it was.

I could tell that Rand had taken this portrait, his style baked into the bones of its simplicity. There was a candidness that couldn't be quantified, a deep sense of vulnerability that made me feel like a voyeur, despite the fact...

That I was looking at myself.

And I looked...

Beautiful.

Captivating in a way that couldn't fully be put into words - My lips parted ever so slightly as the shadows played hide-and-seek with the curves of my face, dark waves of hair cascading over my shoulders and the tears caught on my eyelashes sparkling as I stared plaintively off into the distance.

It was like a still frame out of an Old Hollywood movie, a heart wrenching scene of a woman waiting patiently for a hero who might never arrive, and I forgot how to breathe all over again as I read what Rand had written on the back.

'Study #127 - Woman In Window'

Admittedly not the catchiest title, but I was far more concerned with the date, which placed this photograph at nearly half a decade ago.

I felt dizzy.

Stunned in a way I couldn't explain as I turned the page and found my own face once again staring back at me, my lungs filling with plumes of smoke as every assumption I'd had about which of the two men had been obsessed with me went up in flames.

Because it was all here.

Captured in black-and-white and brilliant color, the story of Rand's quiet infatuation with me slowly unfolding as I followed the trail forward through time.

None of the shots were scandalous - Not a single nude through the blinds, no upskirts, and certainly no creepy foot pics. Instead they were all in a similar vein to the photos that surrounded them, a mix of mundane little moments and special occasions captured with a care that spoke to how important he'd found the subject matter.

One particularly memorable day surfaced about halfway through the album, my cheeks warming as I stared at the picture with a mixture of embarrassment and horror.

Because there, in all its glory...

Was my breakup with Paul.

Paul had been the human equivalent of dating a ham-and-cheese sandwich - Perfectly serviceable but lackluster in a way that made me long for a good curry, maybe a nice bowl of beef stew, or at the very least some mustard to dip him in just to spice things up.

Lindy had set the two of us up originally, insisting we were just perfect for each other, and for a year or so things had been fine.

Sure, the sex was mediocre and I was bored out of my skull every time he started talking about his speculative stock portfolio. However, Lindy had made a point to pester me about how I 'couldn't afford to be picky' at my age, so I'd decided to stick it out and see where things went.

As it turned out, his 'thing' regularly went in - and out of - a pretty little thing that he worked with, and when I'd found out I'd been relieved to finally have a good excuse to lose the loser.

Somehow, Paul had talked me into coming over to his place so we could 'talk things out'. When I'd shown up, he'd been ready with flowers and cake and so much groveling that I was frankly surprised he hadn't actually licked my shoes.

My response was documented here in glossy, vivid color, the shot so damn perfect it really should have won Rand some sort of award.

I was gleefully flipping Paul off with both hands, grinning from ear to ear like I was having the time of my fucking life. Bits of cake and frosting were dripping down the cheating asshole's shocked face, the roses he'd gotten me stuck on top of the mess, their stems sticking up comically as he stared at me with his hands outstretched pleadingly.

"Please have said something nice, please have said something nice..." I chanted under my breath as I checked the back, bursting into laughter as I read Rand's note.

'Bitch had it coming'.

"He sure fucking did, Boss," I said, my voice caught somewhere between sad and smug. "What a dick, huh?"

A few pages later, I found myself once again in beautiful black-and-white, but this time...

I was with a pretty boy.

Grant was standing in Lindy's backyard wearing his usual all-black ensemble, grinning at me like I was the only person in the entire universe as he held up a cupcake that was missing a bit of frosting from one side.

I was next to him in the warm summer sunshine, a few strands of hair escaping their clip to frame my face, giving me a slightly disheveled look that was soft and undeniably sensual. An amber bottle was pressed to my lower lip, hiding part of my smile as the floral-patterned fabric of my dress tangled around my legs in the breeze.

It was the only time our paths had actually crossed on that long-ago day, a minute-long rendezvous by the dessert table where he'd teasingly accused me of licking his cupcake and I'd gotten so flustered by his flirting that all I could do was blush.

The chemistry between us was tangible, the way we were looking at each other like something straight out of a movie. A still frame from the pivotal meet-cute, the moment so sweet I could almost taste the frosting.

I was scared to read Rand's caption, afraid to find out that he'd somehow set us up or sent Grant to that party just to talk to me. But when I finally got up the courage, the giant's title for the stunning image told me everything I needed to know about his involvement - or lack thereof, as it were.

'Happy Accident', he'd called it, my chest squeezing painfully as I traced the little heart he'd doodled beside the words.

The rest of the album was a blur.

When I finally came to the end, it was to find a charmingly domestic scene of Grant standing in the kitchen wearing pajamas. His tongue was stuck out in concentration as he ran his finger down the page of a cookbook, and he was holding a whisk at the ready to attack the assortment of baking ingredients sitting out on the counter.

It was soft and sweet in that way Rand had always captured so well, the date on the back telling me that as recently as two months ago, everything had been completely normal for the two men.

And that was it.

I turned the page to find nothing but empty slots, the last few dozen sleeves waiting to be filled with new memories.

Memories that would never come.

I gave in to the urge to go back through the precious pages one more time, looking and lingering and letting tears trickle down my cheeks as every single snapshot whispered a thousand soft, sweet words in my ear.

Because this wasn't a photo album. Not really.

It was Rand's heart.

Still beating right here in my hands, every single person it had ever cared for carefully collected up and kept safe, cradled in the soft embrace of a man who had had enough room in his massive chest for an entire army.

"You s-s-stupid fucking marshmallow," I sobbed, as I flipped back to the beginning and started all over again. "You had to g-g-go and fucking d-d-die on me, didn't y-y-you?! It's not f-f-fair! It's n-n-not okay! I'm not f-f-fine, I-I-I'm not-"

I don't know how long I went on like that.

Long enough for the water to run cold. To empty myself out like a vase waiting for new flowers. To reach out and take my own hand and swim up to the surface alone.

From the bottom of those dark depths I brought back a simple truth that was curved like a conch shell, clinging to it with both hands and letting it anchor me as I bobbed on the last few waves of misery and slowly came back to center.

Rand hadn't wanted this.

I wasn't blind to his crimes, wasn't going to nominate him for sainthood or try to pretend he had zero involvement in my abduction, but I was sitting on half a decade's worth of proof that he had never planned on kidnapping me.

Hell, there wasn't a hint that the giant had ever intended on so much as speaking to me, his surveillance all so hands-off and oddly respectful that it was difficult to even call it 'stalking' in the first place.

No, this whole mess had Grant's pawprints all over it - Rand's insistence that he be the one to fill me in now making perfect sense - and I was sure as fuck going to get some answers when that little puppydog woke up about when and why and how everything had gone down.

But that was for later.

For now, I dragged myself up off the floor, staggering to the bathroom and forcing myself to flip on the shower. As I opened up the small linen closet looking for towels I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, my attention caught by the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

Because it wasn't a person that was staring back at me.

It was a human-shaped train wreck.

Shadows of fingers were stamped across my cheeks, broken capillaries gracing either side of my nose where Grant had cut off my air. The dark circles under my eyes were so deep they almost looked like they'd been blacked, mascara streaked everywhere, dirt in my tangled hair and my lips so dry they were cracked like parched earth.

My lucky dress was completely ruined, tattered and caked with dried mud, scratches and bruises peppering every inch of skin it hadn't been able to protect. Even though I barely felt it anymore, it was obvious that the shock collar was locked on a bit too tight, digging into my neck in a way that only served to add to its menacing air.

I met the eyes of the stranger in the mirror, expecting to find them as dull and exhausted and empty as I felt. Looking for confirmation that I was at the end of my rope, that what I'd just weathered was only the start of a storm that would wash me away completely.

Instead I found something that made me burst into tears again.

A spark.

An integral flame, an intangible, inherent specialness that could not be unseen. It was as if I was looking at myself through Rand's eyes, that stunning woman who he'd captured with his camera stepping forward to share my skin.

We smiled at each other for a moment in the mirror.

Then I closed the door.

Kicked off my muddy sneakers and peeled off what was left of my dress, tearing a dangling strip off the bottom hem and tying it around my wrist - just in case there was any last trace of luck left in it - before tossing the rest of the rags in the trash without a second thought.

I found a pair of scissors in the first aid kit under the sink, not caring that I nicked myself in the effort it took to free my neck. I let myself bleed as I methodically reduced the shock collar to pieces, leaving its shattered remains laying on the tiled floor where I knew Grant wouldn't be able to miss them.

Getting cleaned up hurt like hell, hot water and soap sinking into every little cut and abrasion on my body. I embraced the sting of it with open arms, walking through the gauntlet of bringing myself back to something resembling human as I let the last tears I had left in me wash down the drain.

I tilted my face up into the flow, letting the heat of it swallow me whole as I pulled up my final living memory of Rand and took a snapshot of my own, capturing that soft fondness in his eyes to pin up inside my chest for safekeeping.

Won't just lay down and die, Boss, I promised silently, hoping that wherever the giant had landed in the great scheme of potential afterlives, he could somehow hear me. Your little kitten's gonna land on her feet.

Just you fucking watch.

Once I was clean and dry, I carefully patched up the worst of my wounds before retrieving Rand's abandoned hoodie from the back of the couch, pulling it over my head and letting his scent steady me as I slid my sneakers back on.

One last check to make sure Grant was still sleeping peacefully, and then I headed for the door without a backwards glance.

It was time to go see what had happened to Rand.

Time to say goodbye.