---

Somewhere in the garden, the cat was yowling incessantly, mixing with the violent pitter-patter of monsoonlike rain and Mona's inner chant of shutupshutupshutupshutup. The wall tiles were cold as fuck and she was getting a cramp in her leg. Multiple cramps. There was a wooshing sound in her ears and she thought, that's your blood. Her lifeblood rushing through her veins at warp speed, how about that. The glass shards glinted at her from the sink, mocking her, the bastards.

Mona will show you, she mouthed at them. At the room in general. The refrigerator door was open, the unnecessarily bright bulb glaring glaring glaring. She glared back and slowly cautiously very carefully inched her not-cramping foot forward so she could nudge the door closed with a toe. Schnick. Very soft. No more glaring. A picture of Marilyn smiled at her now. She quirked an eyebrow, infinitely sceptical. Safe now? Really?

A key rattled in the lock. Mona's face froze, deer-in-headlights expression so perfect it should have won an award. Then she moved.

Down from the counter, clean up the glass, wipe the fresh cuts. Hide the evidence. Hide hide hide. Smile in welcome, peck on the cheek. Make jokes. Lure the cat back in with a bit of fish.

Mona steps out in the garden to enjoy the rain and thinks, this sounds like your blood. Maybe the rain is her blood and the hot-and-sticky running along her inner thigh is something else. Something sweet. She wants to ask but doesn't. Can't. She tastes the rain. It tastes like blood. The kisses taste like ash.

Mona cries and thinks she sounds like the cat.

---

/ Passages
/ [Linderel]