Tight Rope

A grey cloud took away his smile like a gangsta in a movie. I remained calm while sitting on the cold metal chair. He leaned in slightly, revealing dark green eyes with a spit of brown. Unusual in his beauty, I found warmth in his cold demeanor. His questioning tore at my soul yet I wanted more. A tug of war played out as I kept tugging at the rope around my wrists. Loose enough to get away, I sat there like a criminal taking in his powerful words. Then at a crucial point we became silent. He watched my lips tremble as I watched him take a slow drag off the cigar. Breasts emerging from a tight shirt, longed for his touch. Then he said, “You are free to go Miss.”