The Small Blonde Girl

Chapter 11: "They're A Rowdy Bunch..."

She'd gotten changed, now wearing a pair of navy blue skinny jeans and a black short sleeved top that rested just one size too big, being relatively baggy and showing off a slight bit of skin, making her form just that much more appealing.

Rose had finished just 20 minutes ago giving an explanation where his hotel was and what room his belongings resided in before handing the tiny girl the key to his sleeping quarters and providing her a haphazard lecture on not losing his key which was being provided useless to him. He spent the majority of his time sleeping with her and resulting in never really using the bed he was paying for. Before she left she gave him a key just in case he was going out - left for the hotel; her eyes captured the keyhole and she slipped the key inside, twisting it 90° to the right and slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her and securing itself.

The floor was littered with glass. There were several shirts sprawled out on the bed, left to their disheveled selves; shoes were sticking out a suitcase sloppily and a scrambled assortment of jeans, trousers, shorts and other leg wear lay to their own devices. His suitcase was also housing aftershaves, deodorants and colons - proving he was willing to make an effort even if she could not smell. Still a small, barely noticeable smile adorned her features. Growing slowly as she realized that despite the hider acne of her loss of scent. He didn't care; he treated that as he would any other person to make himself more presentable and to her liking.

She stepped forward towards the suitcase and stopped only when she heard a sharp crunch making itself known under her foot. Looking down she noticed a few pieces of glass which surrounded something vaguely metallic. Bending down to pick it up between her digits, she felt the smooth edge which at a touch began to pick into her fingers.

"Ow! Shit..." She quickly threw the metal edged product away and began to inspect her finger, for a slight touch the trench now engraved into her finger wasn't deep, but it stung like a burn in scolding water - red rain dripped from the weeping injury; the cold clank that had come from the metal shard had reached her hears and snapped her from her oozing hypnosis. Again, she approached and with far more caution, picked it up between her nails as though they were pliers and lifted it up against the light to be shown the hidden sheen and glint of the dark steel.

A sharpener blade shone with dull sparkle and ungracious glimmer in the dull hotel lighting. Taking in the reality to what she held was a terrifying one at the least. His outlet that scarred him so deeply yet brought him back to her with an essence of normality as he fell unpleasantly from his own psychological mantelpiece. A cold steel blade was his life support that poisoned his skin...

The Golden Girl shoved her way to the bathroom sink, finding a miniature minefield of glass chips and shards that had been scattered as a precarious explosion across the room in the fractured darkness; covered by the silk curtain across the window of light that refracted off the unceremoniously dismissed crystals.

With all shadows on her she dropped against the red speckled bowl and stared at the metal shard before her before triumphantly - although lackadaisical in spirit - tossed the bitter chrome splinter into the tortured fissure at the center of the tainted pearly abyss; never to be seen again. The grim scene; corrupted with malice and dread, as the air became thick, as though the fear that had progressed into nothingness had inevitably returned a puppeteer and it's strings and gripped at her heart. A deep sorrow washed over her body as she inspected the room more closely. Finding a few more specks of blood here and there and possibly a few hand prints pasted onto the pristine ice white tile walls; as though a struggle had taken place and that begged one question: who had Rose been fighting?

Eventually - with thoughts assaulting the corners of her mind and the same questions being asked, presenting themselves without liberty nor virtue. She was unable to stop herself from imagining the terrible onslaught that the evidence had faced her with due to her own personal inexperience. Although with basic conception she had been allowed some free apprehensive skills to understand why. No matter how much it scared her...