Her palms were sweaty from pulling the rope too tight that cut right at his Adam's apple. He must be in pain. NO! She was not to spare this ruthless sun of a gun this time. This seemed so surreal, yet it was happening.
Her heels dug into the mud as she tried to make her petite body rise to standards, putting in all her strength and imagining all the pressure her cuticles must be being subjected to. The air was damp and that probably explained her wet back under her new strapless, red jumpsuit, one she planned on pushing at the back of the closet to never let the memory torment her.
She wished she had worn gloves. Nobody enjoys washing blood of their hands, do they? He was struggling for breath and trying to speak at the same time, bringing some heads up for mockery if there was anyone around.
''Please don't.'', he managed to utter, and she tautened the rope more fiercely, partially fuming.
Even in such a dim light he looked elegant while trying to fumble out those words that tasted like an odd form a familiar cold fire. She had experienced them enough and more times by now. Getting rid of them was her utmost desire that would send her to hell with satisfaction.
It seemed ludicrous to her how even now he was trying to get his way out, how even now he reeked beauty, how even now he could make her heart skip a beat in his moments of barfing out blood. Making her loose her balance a tiny bit, he breathed, ''I'll miss you.'', making her instinctively pull the rope harder one last time before he took his last breath.
There she was now, an official CBI suspect from hereon, and there he was, the victim, who even in his last moments wanted to bid farewell by spraying his charisma in the most alluring manner because he knew how words always took over a sword when it came to her. Even if the root cause of the damage had now disappeared, the damage was irreversible. She closed her kajal smothered eyes and let out a sigh.
Her heels dug into the mud as she tried to make her petite body rise to standards, putting in all her strength and imagining all the pressure her cuticles must be being subjected to. The air was damp and that probably explained her wet back under her new strapless, red jumpsuit, one she planned on pushing at the back of the closet to never let the memory torment her.
She wished she had worn gloves. Nobody enjoys washing blood of their hands, do they? He was struggling for breath and trying to speak at the same time, bringing some heads up for mockery if there was anyone around.
Even in such a dim light he looked elegant while trying to fumble out those words that tasted like an odd form a familiar cold fire. She had experienced them enough and more times by now. Getting rid of them was her utmost desire that would send her to hell with satisfaction.
It seemed ludicrous to her how even now he was trying to get his way out, how even now he reeked beauty, how even now he could make her heart skip a beat in his moments of barfing out blood. Making her loose her balance a tiny bit, he breathed, ''I'll miss you.'', making her instinctively pull the rope harder one last time before he took his last breath.
There she was now, an official CBI suspect from hereon, and there he was, the victim, who even in his last moments wanted to bid farewell by spraying his charisma in the most alluring manner because he knew how words always took over a sword when it came to her. Even if the root cause of the damage had now disappeared, the damage was irreversible. She closed her kajal smothered eyes and let out a sigh.
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