ihavebeenfloated

I love the sound of women running. The clickity, clickity, clickity of their heels on pavement. Music to my psyche. The chase, exhilerating.

Brown hair, bouncing across her shoulders. Back and forth, back and forth, so many individual strands all acting as one, waving to me, beckoning.

She’s got a good lead on me, but I can still smell her on the breeze. This isn’t a mistake, she didn’t get away. I told her.

From behind, I quickly wrapped the tape around her arms, pinning them to her sides. A little over her mouth. Then, “Run,” between my teeth, lips barely parted, my eyes empty.

And she was off, stumbling over her heels. It tastes a little unfair but I can’t risk any screaming. Three in the morning and even with all the lights off in these houses, she might get someone’s attention. Besides, if I just sapped she wouldn’t have had any chance. At least now, she’s got misguided hope of escape.

There was a woman once who didn’t budge after this dance, didn’t run. She just looked at me, trembling, but her eyes were defiant. It was a good act, but it didn’t help.

But this one is running. Good for her.

Clickity, clickity, clickity. Ah.

I catch up to her easily. I grab her forearm and spin her around mid-step and she falls backward. She falls right on her ass and tilts her head forward trying not to fall backward. Her hair covers her face, but I pull it back.

I just stand there, waiting for her to get up to run again, but she just looks at me, as if confused. I’d wonder what she’s thinking right now but it doesn’t really matter to me.

I smile, “You can get back up, you know?”

Confused, but she struggles to get back up. I catch her arm and pull her up, close to me. I turn her around and give her a slight push away with an added smack on her ass.

This is foolish, but I can’t help it. Once there is blood, I can’t savor it, the chase is officially over. The chase is already over. It’s all ceremony. As superficial and foolish as Sunday mass. Either you’re saved, or you’re not, she certainly isn’t.

Her eyes are blue. That’s strange.

I stand there, arms crossed, watching her run awkwardly down the street. Porchlights light her up when she moves out of the shadows. A bad step, and one of her heels is broken. That’s sad, a little premature.

I run up to her as she’s still hobbling and spin her around toward me again. With a movement of my arm, I break her nose. It’s lights out, but not for long. Before the blood can flow, I cover the top of her head with plastic wrap, leaving the mouth free to breathe, and pick her up in my arms and turn back the way we came.