|champagne and silver bullets
Author: sarahinprogress PM
vignette. Mathilda is grown up, and alone. She lives to forget, but can't help remembering.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Words: 425 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 11-22-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2670660
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Her fingers clicked restlessly over the keys, typing words onto the glowing screen. Her brown eyes, clear and piercing, flicked over the screen repeatedly. There was a cigarette burning in a crystal ash tray near her left hand. The smoke rose in slow, curling tendrils of white. Dreamlike wisps of vapor rose from the slender, pale tube. They evaporated into the room around her, filling it with the haunting smell of her past. She glanced disgustedly at the white cylinder, nose wrinkling slightly in contempt of herself.
The red cap was tilted back on her head, the ends of her hair brushed against her chin. She blew at the prickly ends of the hair subconsciously and typed a few more words.
Her heart was beating calmly and coolly within her chest. She felt no rush of thrill as she might once have felt, at the prospect of cleaning. Her fingers itched to hold the cool metal between them once more, killing was the only time she felt connected to him in anyways. That long lost excitement of the kill, of being with him, of doing what he taught, of learning quickly - doing it right the first time.
Most mornings she woke up next to a baby faced boy. It was never the same boy. They were all in their early twenties, dark hair and light eyed. They all stayed only one night, and she kicked them out in the early morning, without telling them even her name.
A bottle of champagne rested on the bedside table of the empty hotel bed. It was open and a single glass was filled next to it. The young man was watching her through half -lidded eyes, and wishing she would come into the cool white sheets with him, but her cool brown eyes were not focused on him, nor was her mind. Every fiber in her body focused on that screen.
There was a few more clicks of her fingers, then the screen shut off and she pulled the red cap from her head, placed it on top of the laptop, turned and crawled into the bed with the dark haired, light eyed young man. She lay her head on his chest, felt his warm skin against her cool cheek. She looked at that single glass of champagne, glared at it, longed for it. With one smooth motion she lifted her arm stretched out her hand and swept the glass from the table. She pulled her hand back and rested it on the boys chest. And she slept.