Little Eva

By Stultiloquentia

Eve watches him from across the bonfire. She likes long-haired guys, and this one's delicious, fey and whiskey-voiced. He's flirting and talking bluegrass with Mel, though, humming and laughing over fumbled chords. Eve sips her drink, wishing she'd learned guitar instead of doing musicals at school, and worn a halter-top like Mel instead of her sweatshirt.

"Going to law school next year, hon?"

Eve smiles for her aunt. "No, that firm where I'm interning offered me a position."

Mel grins. "Jeez, Eve, loose the modesty. 'That firm' is only the biggest law office in L.A."

Suddenly he's looking at her.

*

Stone heaves. Flashlight strobes across pale hair, sharp pretty features, girl jumps down. Callused fingers skim her body, stone heaves, her ankle's free, she groans with a dry throat, girl calls, "I need your shirt, Spike," black drifts down, and the dull pain, spilled and smeared, snaps — bam! — back into agony, but her socket's full of shoulder, held with a ripped tee. She's lifted like a doll into arms strong as tigers, through the hole, into arms safe as houses, her enemies' safe arms. "Still alive, Eve?" Spike's night-eyes sparkle darkly. The city smells like rain. "Lucky you."


December 18, 2004
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