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Heavy combat boots clack against the concrete walkway. Their rhythm is unsteady and slightly apprehensive with each wary step towards their destination.
The gleam of the setting sun shines against the smooth, wrinkled leather of the boots as they crease with each step. The luminous array of flowers are still there, trying to hold their ground as they waver with each flutter of wind that causes them to sway back and forth, helplessly.
The presence of the Sun deceives while a cold front overcomes the town as the evening sets in. The fading haze of the Sun leaves a butterscotch yellow tint over the silent neighborhood, mingling with the cloudless baby blue sky.
Soon, the heavy boots refuse to take more steps, standing still a few inches before the 'Welcome' mat lying before the large door, ceasing further movement.
A steady chill swarms from within the black boots, arising through the cuff of the tight black leggings tucked in them, and up around the cropped leather jacket that covers the trembling brunette from head to toe. The attire protecting the girl from the harshness of the winds that don't bother to spare her tonight.
Her head hangs low as her sock-covered toes restlessly wiggle in the confines of her boots. She stares down at her boots as if they hold the answers to life. As if they will respond and tell her whether to pursue or not to pursue. But of course, the inanimate objects don't respond, leaving the brunette to her own devices.
Her teeth chatter, accidentally nipping at the flesh that she was ripped open earlier today. She flinches briefly, trying to soothe the mouth wound with a swipe of her tongue.
She composes herself again, clasping her hands in one another, placing them in front of her thighs. A solid, but pathetic puff draws out of her mouth as she tries to control her heart rate.
Before she can further contest her intentions, her shaky finger wastes no time in hurriedly tapping the doorbell once. Only once.
If they don't hear it, I'll just go back home.
This probably isn't a good idea.
I can't do this to myself. This is embarrassing.
The door flashes open. The familiar scent of smooth cinnamon and flowers invade her nostrils almost immediately, keeping her affixed in her stance. Jade's eyes blink as she slowly draws them up.
It's almost as if everything slows down for a second like one of those corny romance movies. Her eyes latch, not onto Kinsey's eyes as she usually would, but onto Kinsey as a whole, in all of her unavoidable allure. Jade is keen on taking in the entire site that is Kinsey Scott, the girl that is worth taking a $40 Uber for.
