Status: very, very much incomplete
Throwing Shadows
pretty babies
The ride is long and the scenery is barren. The night sky is just a whir outside her window as dean speeds the car what feels like well past the legal limit. The stars seem to blend together and the moon is suddenly too bright, making her feel nauseous in the large back seat. She turns her attention to the activity inside the car.
Sam is slumped over in the passenger seat. His face smushed against the window. His breathing is gentle and his body is relaxed. Hannah figures he doesn’t get many opportunities to rest. She smiles at the back of his head.
She turns her attention to the man driving. Dean. The man who’s supposed to fix it all. He has both hands on the wheel. 10 and 4. His left elbow crooked onto the window edge. She counts the seconds between each blink of his eyelids. (There are 7 every time.) His profile catches the glare of the moon every so often and her heart flutters when it does. She studies his face. His long eyelashes and the slight bump on his nose. A sure sign it’s been broken and mended on its own more than a few times. The trail of freckles going across the bridge. He’s beautiful. And she guesses he’s been called that more than once, and didn’t like it. There was a hardness about him.
She glanced in the rear view mirror and caught his eyes. Mossy green and perfect. He looked back at the road.
She snapped her eyes back on the blurry night sky. Her stomach fighting her decision.
Sam is slumped over in the passenger seat. His face smushed against the window. His breathing is gentle and his body is relaxed. Hannah figures he doesn’t get many opportunities to rest. She smiles at the back of his head.
She turns her attention to the man driving. Dean. The man who’s supposed to fix it all. He has both hands on the wheel. 10 and 4. His left elbow crooked onto the window edge. She counts the seconds between each blink of his eyelids. (There are 7 every time.) His profile catches the glare of the moon every so often and her heart flutters when it does. She studies his face. His long eyelashes and the slight bump on his nose. A sure sign it’s been broken and mended on its own more than a few times. The trail of freckles going across the bridge. He’s beautiful. And she guesses he’s been called that more than once, and didn’t like it. There was a hardness about him.
She glanced in the rear view mirror and caught his eyes. Mossy green and perfect. He looked back at the road.
She snapped her eyes back on the blurry night sky. Her stomach fighting her decision.