Thread: This Skin is Stained

Son of a bitch, Daniel repeated, his voice monotone, if a bit heavy. Not you? ...The fuck? He didn't know whether to stare daggers at her or just shake his head in confusion. The latter seemed more appropriate. Also, he was half standing, still leaning over his desk. When had that happened? Daniel sat back down, eyes locked on her. On the face of his friend. On her whorish attire. That top...that skirt...the way she was done up, it was enough to make a man sin. But all that was lost on him right now. In an instant she'd stopped being some whore in late-night lockup. She was a friend, and as he sat back into his chair, Daniel's soft brown eyes did their best to look into hers, or her face, or any part of her he might recognize, as his chin just shook in a slow confusion. What in the world. ...Since when? And yet here she was, all decked out before him, like a slutty princess ready to go to her skanky ball. Cigarette and everything. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find any words. He tried a second time, eyes narrowed, peering to what of her face he could see while she kept it lowered, and still he found nothing. It was a stark eventuality that his thoughts drifted to Danica's late fiance, a man he'd met her through, and one of his better friends. It'd been eight months since the accident... Driving down in deer country, he'd had to swerve to avoid hitting a moose. They were getting a start on the long drive back home after a long night of partying, and he'd been the only sober one of the three the other two were in the back seat, too trashed to even be wearing seatbelts. It was early. So early. Or late. About forty minutes before dawn, still a bit foggy out. He'd had to swerve at the last second, then ended up rolling and smacking into a tree. It was a mess. A really bad mess... Worse still, the first ambulance that came was a small one. He'd been fine. Scraped up, yeah, but he walked away from it. The other two...there was only enough room in that initial ambulance for one. The next one was still a few minutes out, and he knew if he let them take Rafe away before his fiance, his buddy would never forgive him. It was a weird few minutes. Awkward. Surreal. So much blood... Who was in worse condition? If he'd forced his friend to go in that first one would he have lived? Would his girl had lasted until the second one got her to the hospital? How much was he to blame for it all? Completely? Nothing at all? Somewhere inbetween? Like a fucking plague, it'd haunted his mind for the first couple months following the funeral. Should he have done more to console the girl? Maybe. But avoiding her had been a large part of not letting this thing slowly eat away at him. He'd blissfully ignored the fact that she must have been going through some shit too. And here she was, a right mess. Fallen from grace, he didn't even recognize her anymore. Daniel wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. Of all the shifts... His palm found his mouth. His eyes peered down at the clipboard, reading it off in his mind. Picked up for prostitution. First time offense. She'd been mouthy to the arresting officers - yeah, that was Danica alright - but hadn't put up any significant resistance. Had an unusual amount of prescription pills in her purse, and hadn't been able to accurately name what half of them were for. He stopped reading the report and pulled open the top drawer of the desk. There were a few clear, heavy Ziploc bags inside, with one of them containing all her pill bottles - evidence. Daniel sighed. He took his hat off, set it on the desk, then just ran a palm through his short, dirty blonde hair and he sighed. The fuck had happened to her these past months? His gaze lifted back up and with it his hand fell to cover his mouth again, eyes still wide with disbelief. Or, a lack of desire to believe, if that were much different. I...don't think we're going to avoid this conversation, he began, his voice now loud enough for them both. I think you should be the one to start. ...We've got all morning.