Impulsive Excuse
She listened, listened real hard.
But there was no sound, nothing.
No wind in the trees, no people on the streets, no insects chirping, no breathing.
She turned to the man next to her. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
It was the worst kind of silence, because she was losing him, and when she opened her mouth, nothing came out either. She was falling into an abyss of silence where she could do nothing to stop the pounding in her ears.
She jerked awake, her eyes snapping open, and sat up with a hand over her heart.
When she could hear the sound of her breathing (gasping, panting), she relaxed. But only for a moment.
The silence in her hotel was still deafening.
She rose from her bed, slid her coat on, and grabbed her key from the table. She glanced around the room and located a familiar box of cigarettes.
It was weak, but she needed an excuse to show up at his place in the middle of the night.
(She didn't need an excuse, not really. But it smothered her fear of rejection.)
When he opened the door, he didn't wait for her to explain herself, didn't even look surprised. He merely opened it a bit wider, and she slipped in, the box of cigarettes never leaving her coat pocket.
.
.
.
xx Not your typical Temari. Ah, well. (: