Rainy Night

 

*make up a context*

To him, the lights were too bright. But he loved watching her stare out the window, admiring them. He would trace her jaw with his eyes and stop and look at her lips longingly. He wondered what they tasted like. He wondered if he would feel the blood from her bottom lip. Probably.

He looked at her hands and her bitten nails. He wondered why she did that. He wondered what she was thinking about. But he probably knew.

His socks were wet and his hands, cold. He wouldn’t dare touch her. She wouldn’t dare look at him.

It was that part where neither of them was brave enough to do anything. Because that’s just how they were. Cowards. Stupid. Irresponsible.

“At least the baby is alright” she thought as she put her right hand on her stomach. There was no ring on her left one.

“Did you throw them all?” she asked him, quietly, so the taxi driver wouldn’t hear. He nodded, a bit shocked.

“I’m so sorry” he said because he was so sorry. She puffed in disapproval and turned away from his hand trying to reach her. The streets were wet. It was raining.

His face was white and sweaty and his collar reeked of cheap cologne. A fake leather jacket covered in meth particles. Her hair was a mess and greasy and her forehead was covered in dried blood. A pair of tight jeans pockets holding two old Nokia phones.

One drug addict. One beaten wife. One accident.