Killing Her Softly

It's been over two months since that night.

New Year's Eve.

You and Maca, a few drinks, an awkward photograph, and dancing interrupted by four party crashers and a corresponding number of holes dug in the dirt.

Afterwards, it was just the two of you again, alone in the RV. A single lick of bitter white powder each. Strands of Christmas lights blinking soundlessly from one color to the next. Warm hues playing over flannel and gray cotton and soft, soft skin. And loud, ethereal music drowning out the distant booms of fireworks as an inquisitive finger traced gentle lines over your face just before two pairs of hands and lips were suddenly everywhere all at once...tongues dragging along earlobes and necks, teeth teasing over breasts, and fingers digging into tender flesh and finding their ways into mouths and underwear, pressing deep inside wanting bodies.

Dios, how the feel of her breath ghosting over your skin and her palms running everywhere sent the most unexpected and wonderful chills up your spine.

You can still feel them now if you allow yourself to.

Yet, you couldn't help but make a dig about sex with women not being all it was cracked up to be. Maybe you needed to regain some sense of balance or maybe you just said it to be an asshole. Either way, you weren't surprised when she immediately returned the favor by calling out your inexperience and insulting your prowess in bed. You were careful not to let even a hint of indignation register on your face though, and just casually changed the subject to the next heist. You didn't particularly care what she thought, anyway.

Still, you felt a little better when you poured that puto tea out onto the ground as she walked away.

The two of you never talked about it after that.

But sometimes you still think about it.

/////

At the moment, however, you aren't thinking about enticing smiles or captivating green eyes or sexy blondes dancing around half-naked just out of reach. No, tonight you are cold and tired and cranky. The rain has been coming down nonstop and without the benefit of shelter or protective clothing you've been taking the full brunt of the downpour since it started this afternoon. You're soaked from head to toe; even your thick-soled boots couldn't prevent the water from leeching down your socks and you know you'll have more than a few blisters in the morning from wet fabric rubbing against sensitive skin.

The temperature has been dropping steadily too, ever since the sun went down, and it has only gotten harder to navigate over the muddy terrain with just moonlight to guide you. Your back and feet ache from hours of walking, you're bleeding from a fresh abrasion across the front of your chest, and the newly formed bruise decorating your ribcage is making it difficult to catch your breath, puffs of white mist gusting from your mouth in irregular intervals highlighting every laborious exhalation. On top of all that, your empty stomach keeps growling and your only pack of cigarettes fell victim to the rainwater hours ago.

But the cold and pain and hunger and even the nicotine craving all pale in comparison to the utter exhaustion that's pervading your body.

All you want to do is to get to the damned RV, fall into bed, and sleep for about twelve hours straight.

/////

You checked out of the motel before dawn this morning, not that you'd slept more than twenty minutes all night anyway; the relentless throbbing inside your skull, courtesy of the alien residing there, had made sure of that.