Happyfest is GO!
HAPPYFEST III
Yup, this is it, folks, the complete list of prompts for this year's Happyfest. The rules haven't changed from last year, the first of which is:
READ THE RULES BEFORE WRITING!
(there are notes about spoilers that I NEED you to read)
( The rest are under here )
Yup, this is it, folks, the complete list of prompts for this year's Happyfest. The rules haven't changed from last year, the first of which is:
READ THE RULES BEFORE WRITING!
(there are notes about spoilers that I NEED you to read)
( The rest are under here )
Afterwards she lay perpendicular to him on the giant hotel bed, some ridiculous sense of irony inducing her to choose the honeymoon suite. They didn't look at all like they were on a honeymoon. They looked like a prostitute and her pimp, or maybe two tired old blue collar workers going to a funeral. They had the room, of course. All those amenities they'd never touch. It was depressing. The sex had been good, though. Real good.
His fingers brushed over her shoulder, up and down, up and down. It was tender. That surprised her somehow, she wasn't sure why. He had been tender right up until he wasn't, until she'd said no, the almost-first time. He was capable of something other than his laughing, smoky brutality.
"Whatcha thinking, Sal?"
He sounded like he meant more than the usual small talk, which meant either he was feeling as trapped by the silence as she was or she had somehow let him know what she was thinking. He could read people sometimes. He wasn't smart. Not like Adrian or Dan, but he was good enough to read her.
"Just thinking about us. Not," she added, half turning so that her cheek was on his ribcage and she could look up at his face. "That there is an us."
"I knew that." But his warm brown eyes were sad. See, as well as he could read her, she could read him too. And right now she was reading sadness and rejection.
Sally pushed herself up onto one elbow and leaned over him rather than on. "Good," she told him, walking her fingers up over his side and onto his chest. "Just so you're clear on that."
It wasn't a conscious decision. Part of it was; she'd made him feel bad and she felt responsible for that. Like some kind of bitchy shrew who'd sleep with a guy and then cry rape. She knew the difference between sex and rape. He'd tried once before, after all. Part of it was that. Part of it, the subconscious part that she didn't admit even to herself, was that she did have feelings for him. Strong ones.
He just wasn't smart enough to help her out with that.
Smart enough to see where she was going with this, though. He grinned, waited until she was leaning over him just right and then picked her up with his big, heavy hands, setting her astride his waist. "That's my girl," he said, and she didn't correct him. In a way, maybe she was happy to be his girl, even if it was just this once.
"You better behave yourself, Eddie Blake," she told him, waggling her finger at him and not expecting anything better in the least. Besides, if she'd wanted him to behave she would have gotten off the bed and put on clothes. "Or I'll slap you stupid."
"Too late for that," he replied cheerfully, enough to make her laugh too. She saw his eyes focus on her chest and then rise to her face, which surprised her. He'd always looked down over her shoulder for a reason. But now he was smiling and looking her in the eyes and she couldn't help it. She smiled back at him, feeling her whole body rise to the occasion with a pleasant warm glow.
"Damn right it is," she leaned down over him, folding her arms just below his chin and smiling. "You were born stupid."
"Ain't you a charmer," he chuckled, running one meaty hand through her hair. His palm was hot against her cheek. "That's my Sal."
She didn't argue with him. She was more comfortable as she was, curled up against his chest, being held. Petted.
Loved.
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