If he would only take me
use me, break me
abuse me, wake me
He'd make me happy
--Love Song, Cruel Black Dove
She washed her hands and hung her lab coat by the door. Clean and embroidered white. Her thumb throbbed from pipetting all morning. Her head creased in pressure-pain.
In the elevator, she stood taller than the assistant lab director. He strutted his Yale diploma like a cheap leather jacket. She smiled. She also smiled at the receptionist whose children recovered from the stomach flu.
Glances touched her in the streets. Men noticing, but not lingering. She left curbs before the walk sign lit.
She mingled with the lunch crowd inside the market.
Lots of motion to her stillness.
Her stare played with the neckline of a young man. He thumbed the rim of a bottle of iced tea. Echos in her mind spliced into DNA sequences. Base pairs. Unthinking. Like a machine.
Fingers twined in the hint of hair at his collar. Teeth slid over her bottom lip.
Black thoughts. Sweet venom thoughts.
Ripping his scent to her.
Clawing the groan from his chest.
Nails cratering skin....
She took her salad, with dressing on the side, and smiled to the cashier.
"Thank you," she said.