This one is largely dialog. And crap. I wrote it in half an hour, and haven’t bothered to revise it. I don’t know if I will. I just needed to get something out of my system, and here it is. Enjoy. Or flame it mercilessly. Your call. =]
She broke me. I lost myself inside of her; her eyes, the curl of her hair, the curves of her delicate hands. In that night, I had known her, held her, kissed her, fucked her. It would be wrong to say that I loved her as a man loves a woman. I loved her body, but not her soul; her lips, but not her heart.
I loved the idea of her.
But in those quiet morning moments, I felt almost attached to greater things, brought from the wastelands, in to an oasis. Though, outside in the arid desert, reality haunted us. I was with her though, and slowly, in a roll, I draped an arm across her middle, letting my fingertips drag so lightly across that flawless flesh… and her breath hitched. She was awake. I felt a perfect, delicate hand curl around my— throat.
I grinned. “Good morning, beautiful.”
A pistol was cocked near my right temple, and I couldn’t stop myself from snickering.
“You always had a terrible sense of humor, Declan,” she murmured, and I heard her free hand rummaging around in my things, thought, amused as I was, I didn’t dare look. There would be no hesitation in that pretty little trigger finger.
“Always about the money, isn’t it?” My hands felt no need to stop caressing her, drifting down her belly, and over the gentle mound of her sex.
“You and I have nothing to do with money. Stop touching me,” she snapped.
“Don’t sound so cold.” I was still grinning, and it earned me a swift crack from the butt of her gun. Gold and green stars exploded in my right eye, the taste of copper flooded my mouth. “Fuck,” I spat, smearing my hand over my lips.
“You’re worse than a toddler,” she murmured, unfazed as she tugged her skirt over the swell of her hips.
“Does this mean we don’t have time for another go?” The look she gave me stung, but her hesitation told me she was considering it.
“Next time, Declan!”
I smiled a bloody-toothed smile, and she rolled her eyes, pulling on her shirt and tucking the bills she had just folded into her waistband. “You’re getting to be an expensive whore, Dove.” I winced and waited, but the pistol never fell. Testing the waters, I glanced up, and she was gone. Leaping from the mass of blankets on the tent floor, I burst through the flaps to find Dove settling into my horse’s saddle. My horse.
“Sorry, Dec.” No she wasn’t.
“We’re in the middle of the goddamn desert, Dove. Be reasonable.”
“She can’t carry both of us. I’ll send a coach this way.”
“Lying bi–” She took off like a bat out of hell.
Heaving a sigh, and with the sand scorching my bare feet, I headed back into my tent to escape the sun. I’d rather sweat my balls off in layers than stand in the desert naked for any length of time.
Tugging open a small wooden box by our makeshift bed, I brought a tightly rolled cigarette to my lips, letting the bloodied tip rest there while my hands sought out my pants. The pants that contained my lighter. The pants that were not there. A pang of panic punched me square in the sternum and I started fumbling about with the swathes of fabric tangled about the floor.
“Bitch! Made off with my lighter….” I huffed and snapped the tobacco stick in half, pitching it roughly to the ground, as I once again exited the tent.
And by ‘tent,’ I mean my new canvas dress.
She broke me.