College football is coming.

It's a season Charlie lived for. Katherine didn't grow up with a love for the sport, but knew her way around the football vocabulary. When she and Charlie first started dating, he couldn't wrap his brain around the fact she didn't live and breathe football.

It took less than a month. She was watching games between unranked opponents, games with Top-10 upsets, games from two years ago. He called her "Sponge" a few times in the early days, but he much preferred her given name and the way her eyes glittered when he said it. 

It's August first, and football is less than thirty days away. Charlie would wake up with a huge smile on his face.

Katherine stares at the ceiling of Russell's bedroom, the comforter drawn halfway over her face to shield it from the high speed fan overhead. 

It looks like it's about to fly off the ceiling and into the wall. She doesn't know how Russell sleeps with it on all the time; her throat is killing her.

She woke up with guilt in her gut. She didn't even do anything...except sleep in another man's bed.

She supposes, though, if it meant that Russell had a good night of sleep then it's all right. The means justify the ends.

And he kissed you.

"You're thinkin' real hard about somethin'."

His voice is thick with sleep. When she rolls her head to her left to look at him, Russell's eyes are closed, but he's on his stomach and facing her.

"It's too early to be thinkin'," he sighs.

Her sapphire eyes dart over his face. Observant mother fucker. "Just thinkin' about how loud you snore."

His face wrinkles. Eyes are still closed. "Nu-uh."

"Yes huh."

"'s not even a thing," Russell grumbles, pulling his pillow over his eyes, and sighs heavily. She can still see the soft outline of his jaw, the stubble that lines it and snakes up to his mouth.

The mouth he used to kiss her just yesterday. Was it really just yesterday?

It feels like half a lifetime ago, somehow. Like yesterday and last night are light years away from each other. 

It felt nice to talk to Jackson all night. He didn't want to talk about her past, what she did for a living, why she's so damn mean. He just wanted to talk. And she doesn't think herself much of a gabber, but...she didn't mind nonstop talking to Jackson.

Katherine is still staring at Russell's mouth, watching his thin pink lips press together as he clears his throat.

Why'd you kiss me?

The look on his face as he came through the door was one she could only describe as relief. She didn't know why, but he must've deduced she left the house...and she'd been drinking. He was home far too early—not that she was even thinking about it then. 

She didn't...mind Russell kissing her. It was kind of nice, even though the energy of it was a little urgent. And as strange as it sounds, having Russell's hand at the base of her throat was the safest she's felt in months. 

Jesus Christ, you need to find a therapist. A really cool therapist. Maybe Bobby knows about a retired hunter—

"You're doing it again," Russell mutters. Her eyes haven't left his face, and his head is still under the pillow.

"You're not even looking at me," she retorts. Fucking telepath.

"I don't have to be looking at you to feel those laser beams through my pillow."

Katherine scoffs and flicks his hand. "I don't have laser beams." Russell lets out a wry laugh, lifting the pillow from his face. Her eyes shift to the wall over his shoulder in a brief moment of consideration. "Okay, maybe I have laser beams."

"Thank you." He rests his head on his pillow, smiling some. She loves his smile. When he shows all of his teeth and his eyes are all scrunched. He didn't do a whole lot of it last night. Come to think of it, he doesn't really do it at all anymore.

Russell doesn't smile anymore.

And there's another five pound weight on her chest. A burden to everyone you touch. Katherine settles into the mattress and pulls the duvet up higher, like a kid hiding from the monsters in her room. As if it'll shield her from the world outside.

Not a burden to Sam. Almost a comforting thought.

Sam, who gets her. Sam, who hasn't called anyone. Sam, who might be dead.

The thought forces tears into her eyes and lumps in her throat. 

God, how everything's gone to shit.

And what was wrong with her? It has to be some old Donovan curse. Past her grandmother, she doesn't know much about the family history. Aunt Louise never talked about relatives, and all Dad ever said about the Donovans was how pissed off they were when Louise left, and if they ever did anything to piss off the others, there'd be hell to pay.

But think of it: Lois Donovan's husband dies under suspicious circumstances. Her oldest child is basically excommunicated after she refuses the bloodline, rejects the family. And her son's wife and three of four children are missing or dead. And the only one anyone really knows anything about got cheated on right after she got engaged, she got married to another dude who wound up getting murdered, and another flame was brutally murdered in front of her as well.

If that's not a cursed track record, what the fuck is? Someone up the chain had to have pissed off another witch. It's the only logical explanation for all of this misfortune, right? She remembers her dad saying something about the witch trials in Salem...

"Okay." Russell sighs and props himself up on his elbows. "Why are you thinking so hard? It's nine in the morning on a Saturday."

"Just thinkin," Katherine murmurs, her gaze not meeting his. "You think Jack's awake?"

Russell shrugs a little. "Prolly not." He rubs his cheek and turns to sit up. "You two seemed to get along well. Learned to play nice with others?" She breathes out a humorless chuckle. "Did I tell you how great that cobbler is, Kat?" She smiles a little, finally turning her blue eyes to his.

His chest tightens. Twin pools of endless dark blue glitter at him, almost bashfully. Really?

"Really," Russell murmurs. "It's spectacular."

"It's pretty standard peach cobbler, Russ," Katherine chuckles. 

"No, it...it's just like my mom's." He absently scratches his arm, dark eyes going somewhere far. 

"I just really wanted cobbler I guess," she hums. "And I'm still pissed at you for not telling me it was your birthday. The fuck is that?"

Russell shrugs. "Birthdays just...aren't really my thing anymore."

"Yeah," Katherine mutters. "Mine either." She pauses. "I got possessed on my birthday."

Russell's eyes swing to hers, blown wide. "You fuckin' what?"

"It's...a really, really long story," Katherine sighs, shaking her head. "Honestly, I haven't worked through it at all and if I start talking about it I might throw up or something."

"Please don't do that, I just washed the duvet." She mocks him in a dumb voice. "Oh, you're rotten." He shoves her, grinning, before settling down again. After a few minutes, he asks, "Did Trina talk to you last night?"

"Who's Trina?" Katherine asks. Behind her closed eyelids, all she can see is Charlie's blood on their kitchen floor. Her hands feel slick and warm all of a sudden. Her stomach turns upside down.

"The bartender." Russell looks at her even face, closed eyelids, puffy pink mouth. "The one you punched in the nose."

"What are you talking about?" Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at Russell, blue eyes burning...is that annoyance?

Russell scoffs incredulously, almost smiling in disbelief. "You don't remember?" Katherine sits up and crosses her arms, turning her gaze to the door. A light pink hue begins to brighten her tanned cheeks. "When we met at Frankie's?"

After a moment, her eyes brighten, almost as if she's remembering, and she looks down at her right fist, fingers flexing and extending. 

"Oh," she murmurs. "I was wonderin' why that bitch was staring at me last night."

Russell chuckles quietly. "I can't believe you forgot about that."

She swallows, shame bubbling in her chest. If she forgot about that, what else did she forget about?

"You know, I wasn't really in a good place a few months ago," she murmurs. "Hell, I don't think I'm in a really good place now." Russell's glittery dark eyes lose their humor. "You gotta remember, I...was crushing up oxys and drinking in the same minute or two, so..." A self-depricating smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, just for a second. "I don't really remember the whole thing, I just...remember remembering why my knuckles hurt the next morning."

"She said something awful," Russell murmurs, turning his gaze from her. "She kinda deserved it." A few moments of silence pass again. Russell doesn't know what she's thinking about. He reaches over and pats her leg through the comforter. "You comin' to practice today or what?"

"Why do you guys practice on Saturdays?" Katherine asks with a wrinkle in her nose. 

"Because you play during the week. Duh." Russell swings his legs from the bed and pads off into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Katherine stares at the bedroom door for a few moments, palms still feeling slick, before she shakily pushes herself up and heads for her room. 

Jackson is still asleep on the sofa. She passes him without a sound.

She doesn't have any missed calls or texts. No emails. 

Anxiety churns in her blood, turns her stomach, as she pulls at her lip, waiting for Sam to answer this phone call. 

The number you have dialed is currently unavailable, and the voicemail box is full.

Katherine slides her phone away from her and stares at her feet on the floor. She wiggles her toes. There's blood everywhere. 

She closes her eyes, face screwing up as the feeling consumes her, the thoughts blow through her skull. 

She would never wish Charlie to be stuck here as a spirit, trying to get revenge for what happened to him, haunting her for what happened to him. She deserves it, though. She deserves every sleepless night, every night filled with nightmares, every gut-wrenching feeling, every ounce of guilt. She deserves it all.

She only wishes he could feel how sorry she is. And it feels lousy, because that night, and everything else he suffered through for her, is so much more deserving than a sorry.

She even sees his marred face with her eyes open, hands digging through her duffle bag in search of...

Shaking fingers push the safety tab down, twist the cap off, and dispense two white tablets into her palm. One in the mouth. She chews this one. She sits against the bed, and waits. 

The sun is really bright, even through her sunglasses. The dizziness from the car ride has gone away.

She doesn't usually get car sick. 

The kids are having fun this morning, she thinks. They're getting a lot of hits, and Jack and Russell have done their fair share of jumping around—

Jack Russell.

A chuckle pushes through her lips, and she rests her head against the wall of the dugout.

Parents are in their lawn chairs lining the backstop, drinking out of decorated cups, cheering their kids on, chatting amongst themselves. There are even some girls who could be Katherine's age, if not a little younger. No way they're older sisters of the kids out here, so who the hell are they?

Katherine's hand runs down the front of her stomach, and in surprise, she looks down at it, like it betrayed her somehow. And then she's staring at her stomach. 

She remembers feeling the blood run down her leg, slow and creeping like molasses, as she stood at the doorway with Sophia staring at her. 

"Katherine, you're bleeding."

When she looks up, tears welling in her eyes, she's almost expecting Sophia to be standing there with her container of apology fried chicken. That's how real it sounded. 

But there's a little girl in front of her, with green eyes that glitter like emeralds, flushed tanned cheeks, and two sandy brown braids running along either side of her head. 

She offers Katherine a beautiful shy smile before extending one small hand towards her. Tiny fingers offer a single dandelion to the blonde woman strung out on pain killers. 

"Coach Jackson said you have a headache," she whispers. "And a flower might make it better."

This girl...this girl may have been her baby. The green eyes, the hair, the perfect little smile. 

Tears that stayed in Katherine's eyes flow over now, spilling onto her cheeks. Long, shaky fingers reach up to take the flower from her, but her eyes never leave the girl's face. 

"Thank you," Katherine whispers, and sniffs. "My headache is going to be so much better." She finally looks at the flower, and the little girl just grins, putting her hands behind her back, and twists a little. "What's your name?"

"Genevieve," the little girl says in a sing-song voice. Katherine's chest tightens, and her eyes dart back to that little face.

"Gen..." The name gets stuck in her throat. She can't breathe. "Genevieve," Katherine finally says. "My name is Katherine."

"I know," she giggles. "Coach Jackson told me."

Katherine smiles a little crookedly, completely awestruck by this beautiful little girl. By the universe. It's almost a little cruel, too. But maybe it's a gift...time to heal.

"Genevieve, can I give you a hug?"