The pastor peered out the window through the heavy downpour.
“Where’s Wendell?” he asked.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Billy replied. “He had the chili.” He went back to digging in his ear, his finger making a squicking sound that could be heard over the rain.
Drella tried not to let her fear show – it would be a mistake around scum like them, but it was there, tightening her throat and tasting of acid on the back of her tongue.
And before she had time to think about it, he strode off to the wheel deck. Rina stood with her fingers on lips, still feeling the burn of his mouth on hers.
She was too fragile right now to think about that. Too hollow to allow herself to feel his words that were echoing through the emptiness inside her.
She was beauty incarnate, and he knew why she loved storms. There was a wildness in them – a freedom of being thrown where the waves take you – that called to her.
From: Eight Nights At Sea
It was the middle of the night, his phone was ringing, and there was a cat on his head.
There was a cat on his head, and she wasn’t going to budge.
“Get off, you sodding feline,” he grumbled, pushing her off the pillow.
Like she could close her eyes and pretend that she mattered to him, just a little bit. Moments like that gave her hope and she clung to it.
The girl’s hands gripped the edge of the bar, and her knuckles turned white.
“Yes,” she agreed. “A blessing.”
Topic: “Black” or “White”
The sky was a riot of color and Rina turned her face into the wind, savoring it all.