think, think, think --
You should have gone to that bookstore, the one with the turtle, or crab painted on it.
The guy there, the writer, he seemed nice, bet he doesn't drive a Camaro with hair-dice and an 8-track tape deck...
What was his name--
(Not Eddie)
" No, probably not, " she giggle-hissed, smiling crazily.
(probably not)
"Just keep going. You put the man in a vindictive frame of mind, is all." Her feet throbbing... thump- thump -thump... gimpy shocks of electric, ravaging...
aaarrrghhhhhh...
... oooh, whatever.
(give up, what's the point, why-why-why bother, you know he's right behind you ... right BEHIND YOU --)
And in the night, in the breezy, gasping whirlwind ... a gimpy thump- thump -thump...
Her foot suddenly hit something, a rock probably, and her ankle twisted, she just knew, just knew she broke it...she was sure she heard toe-bones POP... her leg suddenly jerked...well, this is it, girl, you're done, you're gonna get it now, this is how it happens, yo momma was right, messing around with boy after boy after man after man was going to get you in the end, and this is where you're --
"Uhhhnnnn..." She grit her teeth and bit her lip, and somehow, impossibly, kept running. More pain, but at this point, really-- a teaspoon of water in an ocean of agony.
Oh, and by the way?
He's. Right. Behind. You.
That thought gleamed, bright and unbidden.
"Maybe so, maybe ... no," she managed, in an airy grunt. "But just keep going, girl. You got no chance, but if you stop, you got less than no..."
(Hey, I still got two feet, and I'm still in a high-kickin' mood--)
Thump- thump --
Kirsten felt a crimp in her wounded claw-of-a-hand... the one that broke his car window... oh boy, if he wasn't out of his mind angry before... then a burning sensation, that sparked wild, a flame-torch, from flesh down to the bone... her fingers were curling, gnarling, like a spider's corpse on a gridle...
She thought she heard him, thought ... no, knew that Eddie was behind her, right behind her... no, he's not, he's back at the car, nursing his poor boot-heeled round ones...
You should have gone to that bookstore, the one with the turtle, or crab painted on it.
Kirsten tried to increase her speed, but it wasn't happening...
He seemed nice.
(pay attention now)
(here comes eddie)
He doesn't have to catch up with you, you know. All he has to do is get close ... wait for you to drop, to fall--
(Maybe so... but trust me -- this time, Mr. Edward, Mr. Slob Knob, I ain't going down easy--)
--wait for you to drop, to fall--
Closer--
Closer--
~ ~ ~
Eddie was mean.
But, man, he was a really mean drunk.
And now he was a mean drunk with a busted-out car window.
So, right about now, Eddie was officially: out of his freakin' mind.
~ ~ ~
Slowly, she turned. Even then, after what must have been a good half-hour of running and climbing and pushing through weeds and stickers and thorns-- I am soooo drunk --steep hills and wadding through muddy pebble puddles, even then she expected nothing less than to turn around and see Eddie standing right there, all fists and alcohol-blistered vengeance, his tattooed arm up and high in wicked-bright pre-swing --
But no: nothing.
Nothing but horizon.
My. HOW BORING.
She laughed loosely. I've gone delirious. Well, she mused vaguely, if you have to go nuts, this is the time to do it...
She couldn't even see the makeout hideout, or the road that had led to it -- or the twisted escape path that led away from it-- couldn't see any of it-- which for an instant set off a manic burst of static in her chest -- pure jolt of panic, with a hot anger chaser -- that she had lost track of her way, and perhaps was not as far away as she'd hoped --
Kirsten stood there, hanging by an invisible thread, bobbing and weaving from her hangover of bad choices and pure pain. Her skin was hot, and seemed to be peeling off in her mind. She wanted nothing more than to just ... let go, tumble to the ground and