"I can't do this," she whispered.
"If someone comes through that door, you won't have a choice though."
The wooden chair that Sara had been sitting in for the past two hours clung to her bare, shaking legs. She stared at the doorknob the whole time she talked, not noticing Alex's strung out appearance as he conditioned her to kill. Sara's head pounded with decisions while her fingers traced the cold metal on her lap.
"Here, take some of these," Alex advised, tossing her a bottle of blue pills. Xanax.
She snapped out of her daze just in time to catch the plastic bottle whirling strait to her abdomen. The pills sang two notes as she shook the bottle twice and Alex kissed her sweaty cheek.
"You know I've never shot a gun," Sara said a-matter-of-factly. A bead of sweat brimmed her brow for several seconds and then rolled down her fevered cheek slowly like a slug leaving a glossy trail. "Well?"
"It's going to be okay," he breathed into her ear.
In a swift motion she opened the bottle, shook four little blue pills onto her clammy palm, and threw them into her throat without a drink.
"It doesn't matter anyway," she retorted. "Get some sleep."
"Sleep?" Alex puffed. "You know I can't. Want to smoke?"
A single nod was all she could conjure.
He swung the baseball bat off of his shoulder and sat it on the couch beside him.
No comments:
Post a Comment