Highest ranking
#1 in utopia
-•-
"It's about how your hips move," the hand that sits on my waist finds my hip, his fingertips trailing lightly along the fabric of my skirt. "When you arch your spine," he continues on, letting that same hand migrate...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I just - You'll know when to play the song. I'm sorry that I'm a sucker for ambience.
———
Perhaps I should have engaged in some brief reconnaissance before deploying into the black of night. Now, unawares of where security lurks, I'm shuffling among the shadows, my senses hypersensitive to even just the slightest noise or trick of the light, my paranoia so overwhelming I'm positive I can smell it.
And, let's not ignore, I truly have no idea where I am. I've never ventured even close to the border, yet here I am, looking for somewhere that I can practically vault over to escape into the unknown. Perhaps rash behaviour is a trait which I should highlight to be my biggest downfall.
I find the fencing - ten feet high, give or take, with bladed pickets lining the very top, sharp enough to slice through skin and bone of anything, or anyone, that dare try to cross. My hindsight has been beneficial; choosing to dress in cotton leggings and a wrap around coat with very little excess fabric leaves me assured the chances that I will be caught are very minimal. Not entirely impossible, but certainly less probable.
A shuffle resonates from behind me so I melt against the trunk of a tree, subconsciously holding my breath as I wait for the footsteps to pass. They do, albeit slowly, and I gasp for oxygen once I'm sure I haven't been compromised.
I turn left, off put when I all but collide with the fence, but then my eyes narrow. Looking up, this tree leans over, offering out a perfectly solid branch, on which if I'm careful, I could quite easily use to have me find my feet on the other side of this fence.
So, bracing one foot on the fencing and the other into a jutted crevice of the broken tree trunk, I hoist myself up, trying to keep my grumbling to the minimum. I won't lie and say I managed it first time - I'm hardly athletic and I'm certainly not nimble - but eventually, when my hands sting with the promise of blisters and my rear aches from numerous impacts with the hard ground, I find myself sat astride on the branch.
I scoot, rather ungracefully, on my bottom to the other side, minding my legs as I edge over the threatening fencing. The drop is particularly daunting, so I try to lower my body as much as I can, though the landing, much like the rest of this excursion, is far from elegant. Kian certainly needs to give me lessons on how to be so beautifully capable when it comes to arboreal travel.
The fence guides me, leading me around towards the main gates before I head off in the direction where my destination is a certain brown haired, honey eyed boy.
Honestly, I'm not sure what it is I desire to earn from this impromptu trip. Ultimately, I want to let Kian know about my new curfew - in fact, house arrest might be better fitting - because now, the next three months have had a darkened shadow drawn over them and suddenly seem bleak. However, it's hardly as if I can ask Kian to become nocturnal to appease me. Even if he did, it would be redundant; the market will be closed, as will Yonda's pub. My parents have truly ruined my life.
