His voice is low.

"Do you have any idea how insanely impossible it is to do anything quietly at half past one in the morning?"

Blade against skin and back against wall. His eyes are bright like headlights and she is terrified.

His hair is cropped: military, ruthless. Hers is (and has) dyed (Nutrisse means nourish) and it glints. so much it makes a sound like a dripping tap. in the light as orange as Malaga in July.

"Enlightenment can only happen between the hours of one,"

Two three, one two three breathe - his lips scald just behind her jaw and her heartbeat murmurs with his words.

"and five. Tick tock."

She blinks and the tears carve bloody gashes in her cheeks. Tick tock, goes the sweat rolling down her forehead and the sweet ice in the back of her throat, tttick tock.

"Hush," he croons, "hush."

little baby, don't you cry.

His hands are shaking and the knife nicks her neck but she will bite through her own tongue before she will feel the pain.

"Don't say a word!"

Wind crawls over her ankles but she cannot feel it on her face.

His eyes are blue.

"You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town."

Laughter not so much like a drain as what goes down it.

"The condom is the glass slipper of this generation..."

do you know? will you remember, two years ago, a basement, scratched DVD?

Scars shaped like lips.

Two minutes later, she would have realised he is crying.