How's about a teensy teaser of my Work-In-Progress??
Liz's mouth hangs open in a little 'o' of shock. Her eyes are wide, deep blue pools of panic. Everything about her expression shouts imminent shut down and I can't do this alone.
"Liz," I say, and tug on her hand.
No response, except breath hitching in her throat.
"Liz, come on." I run my fingertips up her cheek and into her hair. She meets my gaze, fear leaking off her in waves. "I need you to think."
A minute shake of her head, her hand flutters to her throat, her glance darts from riveted metal to the floor beneath us.
I can't stand to see her like this. She's been so vibrant, so alive--to see her retreating somewhere I can't follow hurts in places I shouldn't feel pain yet. I feel like I'm fighting for breath, too. Desperate to get my girl back, I crush my lips to hers, kiss her hard and breathe for us both.