ROOKIES

Slowing Down

I just came back from a walk so my body is covered in sweat and my hair is slick against my scalp. I won't tell him but sometimes when Sheriff is not looking I break down and cry about what happened- Now is one of those times. I stand on the threshold, my eyes closed, my heart breaking.

Slowly, I wipe tears from my eyes with the back of my. Hand and walk forward into the half-light.

The house me and Sheriff share, is damp and filled with yellowed lights. One day we'l get the lights fixed but then again, one day, we might both just learn to fly.

I walk further in and then stop- Something is off- Something is different- Sheriff is not here. He's not lying on the coach. He's not listening to music. There is no trace of him nor his gun.

And then I see it.

A blue suit shaped for Devils has been draped over the back of a wooden chair. It's like a puppy dog, lying there with patient weepy eyes, waiting for me. There is a palette of eyeshadow on the table near it.

I pick the suit up with light fingers but when I do a piece of paper slips from the pockets.

'Bad boy,

Slow down if you have the intention of being caught.

I'll beat your crazy hot rodder ass at Flo's.

Can't turn that down,'

I squinted and laughed under my breath. Dear God, Sheriff, what are you doing?

I'll do my best to look good just for you.

The neon illuminations, of Flo's Cafe, The Cozy Cone & Casa Della Tires, are all the light this place needs.

I almost think I'm alone and then I begin to feel foolish until I see him there.

He's wearing a stained white shirt, tie, jeans, suspenders. His gun is tucked into a shoulder holster and his hair is slicked back. God, how the Hell does he manage to look that good without even a jacket?

There are two bottles of my favourite whisky beside him and about - five? - trays of donuts.

I lean over the table and stare at him, "How do I look?" I ask. He looks up at me, at my smoking blue eyeshadow and suit- I'm still struggling to adjust the cufflinks- and I swear I can hear his heart beat quicken, "Absolutely bloody fantastic."

I smirk, "Is this a date?"

I've caught Sheriff unprepared, I know it, "It's- Uhh-," he mumbles.

I'm still smiling, "Have I really brought you so low?"

"Shut up, boy," he grumbles, "I have a gun and I'm not afraid to shoot you,"

"Oh darlin'. You wouldn't be able to catch me," He goes quite and I can see a deep rouge spread through his cheeks, "So...," I press, "Is this a Date?" I reach over to lay my hand on a bottle, take the cork out and press the glass against my lips. I'm about to take a big swing, straight from the bottle, when he lowers my hand.

"Rookie," he whispers. A song picks up from nowhere. It's uncontrollable and fast like him- I mean not like him, obviously, I'm faster, "It's a dance," He slips his hand in mine. His calloused skin against mine, soft, "I can't dance," I explained. Sheriff only gave me a quite laugh, "But I can," he says, "And I want you," He leads me out into the middle of the floor. There are no tables here, only lights that glow upon our skin.

Sheriff's hand drapes over my shoulder, "Lean into me," I step forward, "And your hand," My hand on his shoulder, "There." And I know he's drunk on this love.

The music blares then, so loud, so god damn loud. We move slowly at first then fast as if one with the gods.

I know this song.

Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

Darlin', you give love a bad name'

We are both reckless prisoners, drunk on this burning love.

'Shot through the heart

And you're to blame

You give love a bad name

I play my part and you play your game'

God, there's no cage that can hold us. There never will be.

The music swelled and dived. Tumbled and tossed.

"We're both going to hell," I whisper. My lover and God I'm so blessed to even think it, smiles.

"I'm already there," he says, "And it's beatiful," 

yes I've already written this scenes but I rewrote it so I'm putting it here