"Hey, Hargrove," the chief calls, and the body that's been dragging itself seemingly away from its place of residence freezes. With a hiss, Billy slowly turns his body to face the car, and under the golden streetlights the bruises spanning across his chest and jaw and cheek - are pitch black yet glow a faint yellow. "Fuck off, chief," he grits through his teeth, "I didn't do anything wrong this time. Didn't smack around a poor bastard, and I wasn't speeding because if you haven't noticed; I don't have my car. So move on." A piece to fill the 'Bruises' square on my prompt bingo card.All Rights Reserved
1 part