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I wrote this a long time ago. I don't like it but maybe you will.
She was sitting on the small couch in the "living room". It was not really much of a living room. The carpet was soft, cigarette smoke wafted in the air. That's all anyone could ever smell. The sun was quietly creeping through the see-through curtains on the window behind her. It brightened her hair. Hard-rock-metal played on the stereo. It wasn't that loud. She likes the way it feels on a day like this. 'Things go better this way.'.
Burnt out fragrance fills the air. Empty bottles and cans crowd the table. One, four, six of them. Jeans and a shirt on the floor in the corner. A stairway enclosed between two white walls. Walls that are now yellow and gold because of the glorious Sun. The air is cool. It's humid too. The summer has been. Depressing, yet somehow she loves it, in her own way. It’s the time when she quite literally blooms. An orange tiger lily. Pointed petals. Dusty yellow insides.
She drinks, leaning back. He stalks down the dark stairs. He asks her how she is doing, she nods meaning fine, smiling and talking about how she is so excited that she doesn’t have work today because it is Thursday. He smiles also, coming closer. She stands. Fear streaks through her veins. She is hoping that her dreams don't come true. He is not going to, lips touch, arms embrace. Thank god. If she wanted to die now, she would have done it on her own. She didn't need the help from someone she fucking loved.
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