Rustles

Part 19

She watched him weave his fingers in concrete fist. His hands were different than Alex deep valleys, softer.

“How many have you captured?”

“We’re competing?” she teased, feeling the uncomfortable itch to hit him. “I’ll lose – three. You?”

“All of them.”

His face was still up for a smack, she decided and smirked. “Oh, good, you can give me tips.”

“Perhaps some other time.”

“I’m Margaret.” She offered her hand for handshake.

“Kenneth Bryson.”

He shook her hand only once, but she could tell he hadn’t shaken many hands, for that only shake nearly pulled her shoulder out of the socket. He released it immediately and jumped up.

“Well, twit, time to get up. You don’t want to sit amongst this shit here forever, do you?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“I can call you whatever I want.”

“Well,” she mocked his speech, “I can’t go on calling you an ass, can I? Polite girls don’t do that.”

“Didn’t you just say you were climbing ropes?”

She felt a twitch in her neck. Years went by, but this misconception of circus girls being stupider than blonds was still painful to hear from men you met first time.

“No,” she reached her hand out so he could pull her up, “I climb silk – that makes me smarter than a monkey.”

“Whatever you say.” He pulled her up.

Great, she thought, the only one she knew, who could do what she could, and the only expression he used was whatever.

“Raymond wants to talk to you.”

She dusted her behind clean from the dust. They didn’t have a cleaning lady to sort such things out. Usually the old woman on the second floor got enough once a month and she filled that duty. Hearing her roar was good price compared with paying extra to cleaning service. Apparently it had been two months. Probably she was on a strike again.

“I want to talk to Alex first.”

“That’s what he wants to talk about.”

“Oh?” she pulled the jumper back down and started to go outside, when she felt him grab her right arm and speed up. “Hey!”

“You run out on me first, remember?” He hissed coldly and pushed her further out of the door and over the road to the small bench sitting under blooming lime tree. It smelled like honey and made her head swoon. He forced her down next to Raymond, who was sitting there, hands idly over the metallic back. He sat himself on her other side, entwining his hand around hers and twisting their fingers together.

She tried to free her fingers, but as response, he simply tightened his hold and pressed his thumb on the back of her knuckles. She immediately stopped trying, pushing her fingers straight to show him she won’t try again.

“You’ll ruin your coat,” she started, trying not to concentrate on the pain coming from her palm. “Getting rust out is pain in the ass.”

That received tight squash from the soldier, but she didn’t please him with a cry nor even looked to his direction.

“You can toss it in wash with him.” She added and was again punished with squeezing. She was pretty sure that this one did the trick and she could hear the crack in her small bones, but instead looked at Raymond in the eyes.