SEVENTY TWO

I growl while my arm hurts like hell. I go numb in my arm where the bullet hit, and the heat of the blood flows on my skin like warm and thick metallic oil.

"Aphrodite," she snorts as I watch her eyes grow wide and buggy like a madwoman on drugs. "Why would your parents name you after a goddess? I find that very funny because you are not much of a beauty. I mean, look at you. You are all mar with scars. You are not just ugly but pitiful. Oh, don't worry, you won't suffer long looking like a scarecrow."

Heather ran a finger down her gun with the same expression most women reserve for chocolate. She carefully waits and caresses the weapon as if it were a live pet. Heather ran her hand through her hair and let a giggle slip, soon followed by a snort. "My god, Effie. I can't handle that look of yours. It's just so," her tongue shot out to kick her thin slips. "Makes my skin crawl. Weak, fragile, and miserable. I love it!" She moans of her pleasure and giggles again with amusement, glaring