She snivels softly, begging please and why why why. The look on her face is priceless, her twisted expression, her trembling lips, the tears in her ey...s. I’ll explain the reasons why, but not before my fingers return to her swollen nipples, tickling them, tugging them, laughing as she twitches with panic against the beam, locked from head to foot with no way of moving, no way of hiding from my fingers.It’s so easy, this simple touch, and she erupts in a series of frenzied cries, screaming. He didn’t know what they were talking about but he could tell Yardman was flirting with Mel, 20 years his senior. Mel turned, pointed towards the house, and was talking non-stop. Yardman looked down and checked out her ass when she turned. Ricky’s jealousy burned in his stomach. He watched as they laughed and continued their conversation. Yardman turned, went to his truck and grabbed what looked like a tape measure. He followed Mel to the front door and they disappeared inside. Ricky cussed. ‘Why … yes, of course,’ he said slowly, ‘but I think you had better not.’ Her face slid into disappointment, he explained: ‘Anna, you have never been on the field of battle yet you are a pacifist. It will be … very terrible.’ His eyes turned down in sorrow, he pushed the memories of screaming and blood and death back out of his mind. He had to go back to it, he would have done anything to avoid it but it had been brought on his head again. She put her hand on his arm. ‘I am not a baby girl,’. A thin sheen of sweat covers her forehead, matting some tendrils of dark wavy hair to her slick skin. “Are you there baby?”She blinks her eyes and rubs them, trying to focus and adjust to the darkness. A small glimmer of ambient light hovers in the room, casting silhouetted outlines for her to make out. The clock on her bedside nightstand reads 4:19AM. Her brain, still foggy from the Ambien, wrestles with the strictures put on her subconsciousness by the drug. Ever since the accident, she is.