81...
She pushed up off the Cadillac's bumper and felt a wheeling in her stomach for a moment when her body, perfectly balanced, defied gravity for the briefest of seconds. She let that stubborn gravity grab hold and pull her roughly down on the trunk. With her cigarette clenched tightly in her lips, Alexis used her hands to push herself up to the back window. There she leaned back and pulled the smoke from her mouth, twin streams of demon steam curling from her nostrils.
She turned and laughed at the sky. She knew that the sudden tsunami of adrenaline, followed by the unnaturally fast evaporation of it, had left her feeling this giddy, dopey daze. Let it roll, she thought.
"There's nothing for it," she whispered and again laughed.
Alexis softly banged the back of her head against the window three times, and then once more for good measure. She carefully placed the cigarette back in her mouth, took a final drag and pitched it into the darkened street.
She thought back to the Davis job, closed her eyes to help place her back at the moment. She tried to feel that hot air on her skin, tried to remember the dried, chuffing sound of the cinders knocking each other between the ties while she and the professor walked the rails.
Alexis could remember the way her skin had crawled, the intense inward shiver she had when he had placed his hand on her back and the intense fortitude and focus it had taken to stare up at him with a disarming smile. She could see his mouth moving to say something but it was as if her mind her vacuuming away the sound, keeping the words sealed somewhere else.
Performing a sort of instant replay in her mind, Alexis watched again and again the scene of his speaking to her. There was the lascivious smile and the white, slightly crooked teeth. She watched the mouth form the words over and over again, certain of something. She could even remember that the words had come out a bit sluggish from what she had added to his vodka tonic in the restaurant about half a mile away. Then, as though disconnected from the memory, as though coming from somewhere else, she heard his melodious, lecture hall trained voice.
"Who's my pretty, little girl?"
And it was with those words that she had lost control. She felt herself kick him in the balls as his hand caressed her cheek, knew well enough that she was punching him in the throat as he knelt down, choking. She sort of had control of her hands as they went to unclasp her deadly necklace and she looked down at his writhing form on the ground. But it was about that time the she felt as though she were being taken over by someone else, her conscious mind suddenly locked in a pile of red, ragged mess. She barely registered the rock that her own hands picked up.
Alexis was unable to clearly remember the work she actually did on his face and head, but she could remember the gleaming mass that was left as she knelt over him, panting with exertion.
“What the fuck did I just do?”
She turned and laughed at the sky. She knew that the sudden tsunami of adrenaline, followed by the unnaturally fast evaporation of it, had left her feeling this giddy, dopey daze. Let it roll, she thought.
"There's nothing for it," she whispered and again laughed.
Alexis softly banged the back of her head against the window three times, and then once more for good measure. She carefully placed the cigarette back in her mouth, took a final drag and pitched it into the darkened street.
She thought back to the Davis job, closed her eyes to help place her back at the moment. She tried to feel that hot air on her skin, tried to remember the dried, chuffing sound of the cinders knocking each other between the ties while she and the professor walked the rails.
Alexis could remember the way her skin had crawled, the intense inward shiver she had when he had placed his hand on her back and the intense fortitude and focus it had taken to stare up at him with a disarming smile. She could see his mouth moving to say something but it was as if her mind her vacuuming away the sound, keeping the words sealed somewhere else.
Performing a sort of instant replay in her mind, Alexis watched again and again the scene of his speaking to her. There was the lascivious smile and the white, slightly crooked teeth. She watched the mouth form the words over and over again, certain of something. She could even remember that the words had come out a bit sluggish from what she had added to his vodka tonic in the restaurant about half a mile away. Then, as though disconnected from the memory, as though coming from somewhere else, she heard his melodious, lecture hall trained voice.
"Who's my pretty, little girl?"
And it was with those words that she had lost control. She felt herself kick him in the balls as his hand caressed her cheek, knew well enough that she was punching him in the throat as he knelt down, choking. She sort of had control of her hands as they went to unclasp her deadly necklace and she looked down at his writhing form on the ground. But it was about that time the she felt as though she were being taken over by someone else, her conscious mind suddenly locked in a pile of red, ragged mess. She barely registered the rock that her own hands picked up.
Alexis was unable to clearly remember the work she actually did on his face and head, but she could remember the gleaming mass that was left as she knelt over him, panting with exertion.
“What the fuck did I just do?”
posted by P. B. Nomer | 12:02 PM
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