*
Luminous
The first thing he sees is her collarbone: flimsy bones thrusting upwards against taut ivory skin, and he can't help but think of it as a sort of fragile stateliness.
He taps his foot absently on the flecked linoleum floor, watching this collarbone shift and swing (his mind has its owner partaking in some demented jig). He tilts his head and leans forward, but the beige-coloured blinds, halfway closed, refuses to accommodate him in his quest for a glimpse of her face (or any part of her, he's not choosy).
So he imagines. He observes a wispy lock of dirty blonde hair resting on the soft swell of breast, and he closes his eyes and sees voluptuous, feather-soft golden curls, shining with a brilliant radiance as if the sun itself has taken refuge within. Her skin is pale, and by that he doesn't mean lifeless, sallow, or paper-white – no, if he has it his way, this is how the angels would look: creamy white and unabashedly luminous.
All she needs now is a pair of wings, weightless and limitless, and he thinks he can give them to her.
The door opens with a muffled click, and he is abruptly snapped out of his daydream. Into a real one, he thinks, as she of the ethereal collarbones glides out of the office… past him, and out the front door. He manages to steal a glimpse of oval eyes, pale and blue and sky-filled, and catches a muted swish of softly rustling skirts before she disappears.
"JJ," the doctor barks. "You're next."
*
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