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IT DIDN'T MATTER. It didn't matter how fragile her nerves were making her body. It didn't matter that she didn't know the man she was blindly following. It didn't matter that he wielded the weapon. It didn't matter that one mistake under the circumstances could end her life. All that her brain was saying was go. Lou's dead body was a ticking time-bomb, one that she actually preferred would go off sooner than later.
If he wanted to kill her, he would've already. That's what she reminded herself. West didn't want to get her hopes up, so she decided not to hold expectations. He could be just as bad as any. Instead, she focused on being grateful for the few extra moments that she could live. If it wasn't for the brave man, she would be trapped in a cycle that invited permanent damage. Without him being in the house somehow, she'd be dead. It was a blessing. An opportunity. Blessings usually required payments, because nothing came free anymore. She did her best to analyze the man, learning what she could.
From the way they crept around the roof, she knew he was skilled. Thoughtful. Across his face was bruises and cuts, slightly swollen and in recovery. He had a limp to him, though it was very discreet. He was sweaty, the tips of his hair dripping. They curled up in the back. His t-shirt was white, and he threw his jean jacket on so he wouldn't have to carry it. The way his eyes moved through the windows, the way his hands clutched the gun firm but not tight, the stable crouched position without much effort. It was all calculation, and done with little to no effort. It was instinct. West couldn't help that it irritated her. It was somebody guiding her, taking care of her, protecting her. Her life was in his hands as he held the gun. She was so accustomed to being alone, it felt like a disturbance.
But it didn't matter. Out was all she wanted, and this was the unfortunate way to do it. She felt his blue eyes judging her when her brown ones made contact. He was handsome too, she thought to herself. Under all the grit, he still looked good. A lot went on behind the cyanide blue, she could see all of his emotions making themselves present. All of his judgments were apparent. It controlled a lot of his facial expressions. A few strands of hair grazed the blue. He waved his hand in front of her face gently, because she had zoned out staring into his face. West's eyes followed his fingers and she nodded at him, trying to conceal her warm feeling. How stupid of her. They were seconds away from a shoot out. The man glanced back through the windows one last time.
He inched slowly to the edge of the roof, peering over it, searching for any sign of noise and movement.
He slid onto his stomach, hanging his feet off first. He glanced up at West, nodding his head. "Wait for my signal," He whispered. His accent was obnoxiously southern. She continued to stare down at him, remaining silent. Slowly, he shimmied his body down the roof, until his hands held onto the edge, which shook as if it was going to give. The last thing they needed was a loud, crashing noise. Luckily, he let go and she didn't hear much of a land.
