[ It's a little like a pendulum in sand. Her heart resists the motion of it, but not by much, and the steady, even rhythm of it carves a soft line in the uncertain landscape. Easy, easy. As he speaks, the tightness of her grip eases back; the race of her pulse eases back; the strain and the horror sink back into darkness, where they belong. She exhales, and some of the fear goes with it. ]
Later? Not tonight. [ She doesn't want him to go. ] ... It's a holiday. I don't want to risk it.
[ It's an excuse, flimsy and transparent, but she keeps his hand pinned. ]
no subject
Later? Not tonight. [ She doesn't want him to go. ] ... It's a holiday. I don't want to risk it.
[ It's an excuse, flimsy and transparent, but she keeps his hand pinned. ]