Danielle sat on the sofa, her feet up next to her. It showed off her gorgeous legs, encased in screamin’ blue boots, and black stockings. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She had on headphones, and was listening to her music again. Her right hand keeping time with it, her eyes closed, and her smile melting the ice in my drink. Gods, she was hot.
On most Friday and Saturday nights she stayed at our house, where she was safe.
Sometimes I wished I could load up with assault weapons, and oceans of rounds for them. And hunt down the slimes that had hurt her. The ones that treated her like a princess, and then took her home and raped her.
Her music, her smile, the way she dressed, was all artificial help she used to distract herself, so she wouldn’t have to feel the wounds in her heart.