“But what do you know?” She is standing and approaching. Her voice has risen sharply. He knows the apartment building. No one would come unless she screamed about fires or bombs or outlaws. No one would care unless they deemed their own lives to be in danger. The walls were like paper. The weird girl who paints is having a domestic argument, but there is no argument to be had, seeing as he is right. “That baby didn’t ruin my life. God or my parents didn’t ruin my life. I did. It was me, me and him.” An idle rhythm sounds in her ears. She remembers the creaking of the dorm room bed. The moment in which everything would change--the carelessness.

“Sex.” The word comes hollow from the masked man’s mouth. He stands solid, unmoving, uncaring. Leah stands in front of him, staring at him, energized, electric, but frustrated and repressed. Her legs are bare. There’s a black tank top under her unbuttoned dress shirt. It hugs her like a second skin. Her underwear is small, and matches. She smells of acrid soap and dollar store perfume. He felt nothing. She breathes heavily; her cheeks ruddy from the rush of energy.

I am putting too much thought and energy into this.. erm... infatuation.

But I am totally hooked on noir. Behehee.. I like how this came out.. and had to put some thought into whether or not I wanted to include to blush. Consulted a friend and he liked it, so I decided it should stay.. It's an important color anyway.

I hope she looks flustered and guilty to you, too.