A dress of white silk richard matheson pdf to jpg

#A dress of white silk richard matheson pdf to jpg skin

The spray splashed across her chest, spiced the fire spreading from her nipple. The next wave had lifted her clear of the sand shifting beneath her feet, and sheвЂ™d heard her mother shouting from the beach, Far enough, Niki, thatвЂ™s far enough.

Her hands moved to her right breast, lingered there, and the water had rushed hard against her knees, enough force to push her back a step. The first wave had broken apart around her ankles, foam and unexpected warmth, and sheвЂ™d realized dimly that she was moving forward, the headlights throwing her long shadow ahead. вЂњI fuckinвЂ™ dare you, motherfucker!вЂќ each syllable punched into the blurring indigo sky, perfect blows driven by the blind red momentum of all the days and weeks and goddamned years and the emptiness waiting at the end.

She held the ring up against the sky, caught the moon inside and clenched it tight in her bloodslicked hand. And that pain she had felt, pain so fine and honest that it had taken her breath, had left her gasping the salt air in great, helpless mouthfuls.

#A dress of white silk richard matheson pdf to jpg skin

Niki seized the left ring, worked both index fingers through and forced it open, tearing skin and flesh, until the tiny hematite ball that locked it closed popped free and fell to the sand. SheвЂ™d never been able to remember whether or not it had hurt much, if it had even hurt at all, could remember laughter and the piercerвЂ™s latex hands, the commingled aromas of disinfectant and sandalwood incense, but not so much as a sting as the needle had passed through one areola and then the other. SheвЂ™d had the piercings done almost two years ago on a dare, her birthday and she and Danny wasted on rot-gut champagne, and heвЂ™d said I dare you, thatвЂ™s all, I dare you. The moon had flashed along the steel rings piercing both her nipples, and Niki had stood, looking down at her small, firm breasts in the pale light. No one to see or hear, no one to give a shit, and sheвЂ™d tugged the smelly Speed Racer T-shirt off over her head and tossed it onto the hood of the Vega. SheвЂ™d eased the door shut, like whispering in a library, like someone might hear.Д«ut there was no sign of anyone else, nothing but the lighthouse a mile or so to the south. Then Niki had opened the door, unlaced her tennis shoes and pulled them off her sockless feet, had set them out of sight in the passenger-side floorboard, and stepped onto the damp, nightcool sand. Yeah, thatвЂ™s what I thought youвЂ™d say, and sheвЂ™d turned Jimi Hendrix down so that the surf had seemed to grow louder. The waves were pretty in the moonlight, and the sand silver below the stars, but there were no answers here, and no more comfort than could be found in loneliness anywhere. Well, how now, brown cow? Dumbass Danny Boudreaux thought, her mind speaking in his voice, something he said that had always made her cringe a little, and of course sheвЂ™d had no idea what came next.