Ficly

Running

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Jas please don’t do this. Not now.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re already done with all of this, this town, these people.”
“Does it look like I’m done?”
He ceased fire for a moment and turned to look at me. His eyes said everything that his mouth wouldn’t let him. His pity disgusted me, almost as much as the ketchup stains on my apron.
“You know I feel bad for you, but you brought this upon yourself.”
“Don’t you dare say that to me.”
He knew he had crossed a boundary that was better left untouched. Something that we knew should be avoided, like it was not in existence.
“You think I want to be here?”
He turned back around and continued to empty his drawers. I grabbed him by the shoulders, feeling his bones underneath my fingertips. Everything was trembling; my hands, my lips, my words.
“You think I want to be here, you son of a bitch?”
“You had your chance to run, Scarlet. You didn’t take it.”

View this story's 2 comments.