Déraciné

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fearless Fantasies” and  “No Apologies”. “Read more” because kids roam the internet freely and this is a feeble attempt to keep them safe.

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‘Thanks for tonight.’

The woman picked up the scarlet stiletto off the concrete floor. There was a scratch on the side, an aftermath of the chaotic manner she was in when they were discarded. Pity – they were her favourite. Guess she would have to get the new ones later. After all, tonight’s deed should be enough to cover a proper pair.

The perfectly-manicured hands fumbled in the dark for the doorknob. She clicked it open. The light from the corridor seeped into the room as she stepped out barefooted, flinching as the cold stung her soles. She liked to keep the room pitch black every time she leaves. There was never any merit in looking back. They demanded anonymity, fun, even mystery – but never familiarity.

No gazes, just glances. No kisses, just contacts.
Nothing personal.

A hot tub and fluffy bed were the only things in her mind when the door opened wider, revealing a pair of eyes looking at her mischievously. The ones she weren’t supposed to look at more than mere seconds. He pulled her arms playfully and pecked her lips. There was something that sounded like a faint “See you,” but before she knew it, she pushed him away and bolted.

She ran and ran and ran, out the building into the rain. Her feet bleeding, her hair soaking wet, her breath fogging in the air.

Don’t.
Don’t look into me.

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