#passequeen

“Christ. You hear that?” 

     Scarred knuckles rub against tired eyes, and he struggles       to wake up from deep sleep. Tentatively, and reluctantly, he       sits up, peeling her up from his shoulder. Someone’s knocking       on the door. Stay here, he mumbles, standing up and reaching       for his gun on the night stand. It’s a quiet evening, save for the      rampage going on outside. Careful steps lead him out to the       door, though he’s sure she’s following somewhere behind him;       she never could stay away for long.