StAnne
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Maybe he should give it a minute’s rest before he lights another. He turns his back to the stairs and leans over the railing again, hot under his forearms, eyes closed.
She’s holding a book, flipping through the pages from thumb to thumb like she’s shuffling a deck of cards. She looks up, bright-eyed and sparkling and questioning. He shrugs, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Well, what is much?” And when she grins at him, something warm and golden drips like honey down the inside of his ribcage
He pushes off the railing, crosses the fire escape in two steps and fishes out the next cigarette. It’s lit, it’s between his lips, he draws and it’s burning his throat, his lungs, his mind, the memory. He spits the smoke back out, rubbing the back of his neck hard with his free hand just for something to do with the jitteriness. Fuck it.
The Subsect is finished at last. Now all Jess has to do is write the dedication.