SKIN (WATTYS UNDISCOVERED GEM)

Chapter Sixteen: We Were Born Sick

Long chapter is long.

PAY ATTENTION, TO EVERYTHING, BECAUSE IT IS ALL IMPORTANT. LIKE REALLY PAY ATTENTION.

Cosby's Dine-and-Dash is the common small-town hideout. Built between two tall Oaks, it looks almost like an abandoned cabin in the middle of literal Nowhere. During daytime, a small trickle of costumers will come through, eat cheap pancakes and sunny side-up eggs for breakfast; come back at twelve to get a bite of waffle fries and greasy cheeseburger- hours later, the bone-deep need for good barbeque will be quenched by fried steak, ribs and homemade potato-salad.

During the day, it is the pinnacle of life in Nowhere, Oklahoma. Now, beneath the thinning shower of rain and thickening curtain of night, it looks as if it has been a sliver of time saved, abandoned in its own somber existence.

"This isn't a good idea, Jez," Schuyler whispers, maybe if she wasn't shivering with the Ford truck barely rattling as a sign of life, she would have remembered the road-trip her dads took her to Cosby's to stop her from crying of an empty stomach when she was eight. She doesn't though, all she remembers is that at the moment, she wants to call her dads and tell them she very well may of 'dun-fucked-up'.

Jezebel stares at Cosby's from the corner where the truck is parked, her teeth worrying the bottom of her lip, "I shouldn't've brought you here, Schuy; you're the Luna for God's sake..."

Schuyler shakes her head, "No, not just a bad idea to bring me, but to bring you too, Lennox told us to stay if anything back home goes South...and now we're like, five hours away from the pack borders, or whatever."

Jez lets out a dry laugh. In her hand she holds a Glock, the .45 a matted black in her hands as she loads the ten bullets, she locks it all in place before taking it all out, as if she's anxious to get trigger-happy, "We just got a treaty, our ass is covered for a while, Schuy."

Schuyler gulps, considering her words, before her attention strays to the pistol. "You gonna use that?"

"Oh, no," Jezebel grins as if her Luna had said something funny, "honey- you are."

"What? What- what are you going to use? Do...are we going to shoot up this place?" Schuyler's eyes are wide in question, her own fingers are itching on the steering wheel to grasp the grip of the gun, but she doesn't let her hands stray. Inside, Cosby's dead, no sign of life except for the humming Ford truck.

Another dry laugh comes from a mouth of cotton, "I'm such a bad influence, I love it."

"Do you have a plan, Jez; are we going to become America's most wanted?" She tries to keep the doubt of her voice, but it echoes in the back of her throat.

Jezebel rolls her eyes at Schuyler, but her fingers prick on the trigger-guard. Her hand goes in front of her, and the Beta's pupils are staring out of the front sight. "I'm going to shoot him between the eyes and if all goes downhill, you run like hell but not without giving him a face full of metal, alright." As if safety wasn't on, and Seely was pressed to the muzzle of the pistol, she squeezes the trigger. An imaginary gun-shot goes through the air, Schuyler swears she can hear it ringing her ears and chattering her teeth together.

Schuyler's eyebrow shoots up, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel before turning off the low volume of the radio so they can hear the low hymns of their loud shuffling and obnoxious breathing. "And what are you going to use?"

"Oh, I got a little girl I'd like to call the Glock 22 Cutaway, military issued and Schuy," The femme fatale gives her a grim smile, her bright eyes and steady breathing caused a wrinkle in Schuyler's heart to thump out of beat from the nonchalant killer who didn't bother to keep her lethal skills a secret, "I've got perfect aim."