Posted by Gemma Lockhart on June 21, 2004, 5:09 am Her hair was still damp, tousled, and hanging around her face Gemma had been running late, and nearly missed her flight out to Ireland. It hadnt been her intention to nearly missing the show, and she highly doubted that falling asleep in the bath would count as a feasible reason for her absence. This was an important event and she knew, for sure, it would have led to expulsion. She cracked her neck from one side to the other, grinding her teeth until they hurt. When she did lift her head, so slowly, and stared forward, tilting her head, her expression didnt change. Her jaded gaze narrowed, but the expected scowl didnt crawl onto her face. Shes crazy, whispered one of the airplane passengers, a fat woman with a lack of personality and style, who had seen the knife fall from the air hostess food trolley onto Gemmas hand. Oh my God, Im so sorry, Im so sorry, Miss Lockhart yelled the startled air hostess, who, by the looks of things, had applied her make-up in the dark. Should I get a doctor? Gemma closed her own fingers around the handle of the knife. She yanked it out without even looking at her hand, or flinching. The sharp point nicked the edge of her little finger. Accident... Gemma drawled, softly. Excuse me? the nervous air hostess replied, and swallowed hard. It was just an accident, it slipped from your cart. Gemmas voice lacked conviction and the young hostess knew it. She held up the small knife, glossed slightly in red at the tip, as if to admire its reflective surface. She studied her face in the flat of the wicked little blade. A tiny smile curled the corner of her glossy lips before she handed the knife, handle first, to the air hostess. The air hostess accepted the knife then scurried off further down the isle. Slipping on her dark glasses, she leaned her head back, she shut her eyes. This was going to be a long flight and Gemma more than knew it. The last few months had been hard. It had been painful, both mentally and physically. She had been chalking up loses, one after another. It would have been easy to blame her spectacular failures on her now deceased husband, Dominic Rovero, and everyone would have understood, even been sympathetic, but his sudden suicide hadnt rocked her at all. Gemma Hey Chris? Taranis Yeah? Gemma So, when Dominic said he couldnt live without me, right? Taranis ...Yeah? Gemma smirks. Gemma I guess he was right. She had felt nothing... Except an overwhelming sensation of freedom. At twenty-three, she was finally free of him, released. ...And, damn, it felt good. However, her noticeable lost passion for wrestling was, slowly, beginning to return to her. The fire that she once had was starting to burn. She felt a light tap on her shoulder. Slowly, she opened her eyes, raising an eyebrow. Excuse me, please fasten your seatbelt, the plane is about to make its final decent, another young hostess smiled. Were nearly there? Gemma asked, surprised. Yes, Miss, welcome to Ireland.
So much blood, Gemma thought. Amazing that such a little cut into her soft pale flesh could produce so much damn blood. Gemma saw red. But she didnt lose her famous temper. She just stared down at the red releasing from her hand; at the small, silver knife that now pinned her hand to the dull grey pull-down airplane table by blood and skin; at the pale, perfectly manicured hand that held the knife.
Message Thread:
« Back to thread
