relishing in the aftermath...

raked across hot coals:

was how it felt. a foreign, unapproachable sting, a white pain. the House was mostly dark; swayed by flecks of streetlight which came in at the corners. House left her to her work on worry & suffering, which were both as plain as any-old-day, and visible from all angles of the room.

she wiped the kitchen counters, shook the crumbs to the floor. sat down, crosslegged, and swept them into a neat pile with her hands. from there, she pressed her fingers into the mess, which was really not a mess at all but a very ordered thing instead, and raised her hands to her mouth, ingesting each stuck crumb individually. she took care to bypass all things which did not, (for whatever reason), fit:

stray bits of hair & pocket lint. dried snaps of mud tracked in on her lover's big shoe.

the little voice in her head went on screaming, as always.
demanding a recount which quite simply
did not exist.

"if no one had been looking,

she would have acted

differently.

he'd cry over it all, and she knew it.

oh, he'd be a big blubbering mess

on the floor alright,

if he'd have had any idea regarding

those things she was

capable of.

don't be disturbed, though,

it's quite alright.

a girl is entitled

to her secrets."