Rhapsody for a Wolf
I taste the blood of vengeance, hot and salty on my tongue.
I see it all, hear it all, taste it all, but it hasn’t happened. It will, if I don’t get out of there, now. I stagger out of my chair, jogging the little table so that coffee sloshes out of the cups and my abandoned pastry slops off the plate into the puddle. I blunder past the pasty, too-shiny boyfriend, and he staggers but doesn't fall. I push through the crowd, shouldering people out of my way and uncaring of their complaints. As I barge my way through the door, words finally resolve into sense.
The boyfriend. The man who has unintentionally made himself my deadly enemy. “Was he bothering you, babe?”
“No. He was no bother at all.
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