Every Night, the Worst
The date was shit. All night they'd prattled about politics and music and their families and growing up in small towns, but all Petra could think was,"I once stuffed a clove a garlic in my father's mouth so I wouldn't have to hear him scream when I put the torch to him."
She lingered at the cute painter's door and waited for him to invite her in, but he just smiled his dopey smile and said good night, said that he'd see her next week, said that he'd had a nice time. Petra was left alone on his porch.
She trekked back through stinking alleyways to her car and all she could think was,"Ten years ago, my dates always seemed to involve someone sinning against God. Everything ended in tears, but at least there was always fucking like our lives depended on it." It was true. Dawn would come and she'd pick herself up off the church floor, brush the soot from her boots, wrap bandages around her bloody knuckles, and stumble home. She'd be numb for weeks afterward while her bones healed.
She unlocked the car. There were hushed voices behind her and then someone demanded her wallet. She glanced back at the two kids, no older than eighteen. One held a switchblade. The other's eyes darted around and tried to not to belie his fear. Petra knew both their stories. There had been a time when she would have broken their arms for sport. There had been a time she would have taken the knife and given over her wallet.
Now, she sighed and got into the car. The tough one barked at her as she buckled. She drove off. "Fucking Christ," Petra thought,"The only thing worse than angst is pining for it."
http://shawnmain.tumblr.com/post/215261781/every-night-the-worst
She lingered at the cute painter's door and waited for him to invite her in, but he just smiled his dopey smile and said good night, said that he'd see her next week, said that he'd had a nice time. Petra was left alone on his porch.
She trekked back through stinking alleyways to her car and all she could think was,"Ten years ago, my dates always seemed to involve someone sinning against God. Everything ended in tears, but at least there was always fucking like our lives depended on it." It was true. Dawn would come and she'd pick herself up off the church floor, brush the soot from her boots, wrap bandages around her bloody knuckles, and stumble home. She'd be numb for weeks afterward while her bones healed.
She unlocked the car. There were hushed voices behind her and then someone demanded her wallet. She glanced back at the two kids, no older than eighteen. One held a switchblade. The other's eyes darted around and tried to not to belie his fear. Petra knew both their stories. There had been a time when she would have broken their arms for sport. There had been a time she would have taken the knife and given over her wallet.
Now, she sighed and got into the car. The tough one barked at her as she buckled. She drove off. "Fucking Christ," Petra thought,"The only thing worse than angst is pining for it."
http://shawnmain.tumblr.com/post/215261781/every-night-the-worst