her hand hovers the button it’s her choice this time & her arm is heavy like a guillotine ready to drop & she waits, watches. like a fish in a bowl, swimming back & forth.
she’s been underwater for so long.
a mouthful of whiskey & a lung-swallow of bourbon, a long pull through a clear lake of vodka & a purple haze of self-doubt, self-pity, remorse... it all ends here with electricity just waiting in the bottom of that tank.
she clears her throat as if his gift is hers.
SHE has the power this time.
what would jessica jones do?
no tremble in her voice, she lifts over the microphone as he comes to. birch street, higgins drive, & cobalt lane fade into the distance like some other person’s coping mechanism. a hint of levity works its way into the edges of her mouth for the first time since she can remember. drawling, dry, she speaks: ❛ SMILE, kevin. ❜