It had been a silent morning. Ara had stolen two wooden cups of tea, silently. Chrys had cleaned up her bloody mouth, silently. Ara had delivered a telegraph to New York, silently. They had walked aimlessly around the streets of New Orleans…..silently hand cuffed together. How Ara had lost the key, she wasn't sure. All the two women knew was that they hated each other, they were handcuffed together, and there was nothing they could do about it. So, they sat in an alley way, the same one that they had beaten each other to a pulp in. It was eleven am when,
"He's a friend, alright? We don't have anything between us." The thick, silent air seemed to snap when Ara said it. "We just had a lot of history." Chrys remained quiet, looking at the brick wall across from them, her eyes puffy with grey circles that sagged pathetically underneath and a bun, once perfectly in place, that had been pulled and teased by hands and sleep until it was stringy and frizzy. Her dress had a blood stain on the white lace collar and dirt along with some sort of black substance that smeared itself around her now crinkled dress.
"I'm going to use the first swear that I've ever said out loud….on you." Chrys said with a quiet and raspy voice. Ara stared at the brick wall with her, the two of them like limp rag dolls, waiting for it to come out.
"And what shall you use for your first swear?" Ara asked with a sigh.
"You're a slut."
"I'm going to say one back now." Ara responded with a tone that Chrys couldn't distinguish as neither acceptance nor irritability.
"What?" Asked the young lady.
"You're a spoiled bitch."
"You're a neet."
"You said that last night." Said Ara.
"It needs to be repeated for emphasis." Chrys replied quickly with a tired annoyance in her voice. There was a quiet moment and then she whined, "Arabella Porter, there's something wrong with my wrist."
"It's cuffed, you aristocratic twit."
"No really," Chrys whined on and so Ara made the worst mistake she had made in a while at this very second when she looked down and blacked out as cold metal slammed up into her forehead. And when Ara woke up, that was the punch line that hit her funny bone right where it hurt. Chrys' cuff was opened and lay empty next to Ara's hand. She had been waiting for the opportune moment. It was the moment that hell was supposed to freeze over for and Ara felt it like ice that ran her blood like a fast running river under an icy bed in the winter time. It made her stomach fight through her skin and her lungs fill with helium. She had been tricked, pick pocketed even, by an aristocrat. The key she had been holding onto so tightly had been stolen by some high born, posh little prat. Ara stood with an angry laughter that echoed through her insides and thoughts that gave herself a headache. That little girl wasn't going to stay in the city. Oh no; Ara had to get to the goddamn train station as fast as she could.