Re: Outside the Drive
The grin vented the pressure mounting between her ribs, the pulse-pulse-pulse of a rabbit's heart jack-hammering up against the cage. A grin that was the choirboy asking for a cigarette, a start-over straight out of the store over the way and she took a step back on the shoes, eyes notched on the gun.
"Yeah," she said, the foreign mouth fighting for fortitude and the smile. Easy, like it was cool, bailed out from a moment where the thin hands spidered in the saffron skirts for something to hold onto. "Wait - what?"
Bang.
Her eyes were tacky, lashes stuck tight like cheap mascara from the back of the drawer layered on too heavy. Her skin felt damp and then tight and she didn't open her eyes. Not until it dried tight and stiff over saffron and when she opened them, each eyelash pried apart with the deliberate blink, she didn't look down and she didn't look but once at the wall behind, shockingly arterial bright.
She stepped carefully, rattle-rattle-click at her wrists, swimming inside the sticky skin and the shoes, the bright red satin heels with the colored-in heels, she slipped one off, and then the other and she let them drop, the gold eyes unseeing and straight ahead as she walked away.