Survival Of The Fittest

"I..."

This was all just a mess. Such a mess. Violet was alone in the room for just a few moments while Desiree was looking for the broom, and it only took a few moments for the weight of the night to come crashing down on her. Faltering, she put a hand on her chair for support. For some reason, the room looked a little impossible. Tilted, or maybe that was just the way her head was going. How was she getting home tonight?

She heard Desiree's approaching footsteps and stood back up. There it was, the dustpan. This would be a two person job, or just a one person job and Violet would do everything, but that was okay because it was her fault anyways and she was more than willing to help out a friend. She was glad that Desiree didn't know that Violet liked to play pranks, or else she'd think that what happened tonight was a falsification. Violet could and would swear up and down that it wasn't.

Violet wearily smiled and reached for the dustpan, but hesitated.

Her arm hung in the air for a few moments, stiff.

It just wouldn't go any farther.

"Uh," Violet said, "just leave it on the ground. I can pick it up."

A pause.

Violet gulped. Her eyes looked off somewhere to the left of Desiree's foot.

"Sorry," she amended, "that we didn't, uh, y'know, get in contact with who we were, um... looking for."

Desiree waited and waited for Violet to take the dustpan. Then Violet told her to just set it on the ground. Whatever game she was playing, Desiree wasn't gonna have it. She just took the dustpan, set it by the pile of glass that finally stopped growing and began sweeping it up by herself with clenched teeth.

Violet apologized about the failed seance. Desiree kept sweeping. Without taking her eyes off the broom she cut off Violet and said, "I think my parents are gonna be back soon. You should go home."

Desiree getting offended was the opposite of what Violet wanted. Why couldn't she just tell her the truth?

"No, no, shit, I mean, fuck," she stammered, throwing her hands up in frustration, "Desiree, I just, I can't touch your hand, I can't touch people, I get anxious from it and that's flaring up something fierce right now, and, and...you're..."

Why couldn't she tell her the other truth?

"Ugh."

The important truth?

"I'll call my sister," Violet said.

She started to the kitchen in a walk, but was almost tripping over herself by the time she got there.

[Violet Schmidt continued In The Backseat.]

Desiree stammered in shock as Violet yelled at her and retreated from the room. The words didn't come to her until Violet was already out of the room. That one word phrase.

"Sorry."

She swept once, looked over at the doorway. Another sweep, another look. Nothing.

With the punch to her gut, Desiree just kept sweeping.

((Thread concluded))