Raising the Stakes on Your Character



I was talking to my critique 'group' this weekend about stakes. Not the juicy kind you eat, but the type of stakes that your character faces.

I've been re-reading Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass, and if you haven't read this book...then run right out and get one...like NOW!

For those of you who aren't familiar with this man, he is a literary agent in New York who's sold many bestsellers to publishing houses. His book takes your writing to the next level...in all aspects.

One of the things he talks about is stakes -- both public and private for your character. In chapter three of his book, Maass asks you, the author...

"Are the stakes in your current manuscript as high as they possibly can be? Can you define the stakes? Can you point to the exact pages in which the stakes escalate, locking your protagonist into his course of action with less hope of success than before?"

If your answer is no...then you may have a problem. With your plot, your characters, your concept.  You see Maass writes to authors of all genres, not just the suspense or the mystery writer, and low stakes are a common problem with beginning writers.

Ask yourself these two questions: What is my character's goal?  What happens if they don't achieve this?

So...*coughs nervously* let's put this into practice, shall we? Lets take a storyline from my WIP, Bayou Blue.

What does my character want? 
She wants to prove her brother was falsely accused of a terrorist act.
What happens if she doesn't achieve this goal? 
Then a plot to ignite a natural gas tanker will incinerate Boston harbor.

Okay...so private stakes are high, her brother is charged with terrorism and all that entails. And public stakes are high...lots of death and destruction.  Woo Hoo! Now we're cooking with gas!  No pun intended.

I'm off to a good start and with some more tension, character layering, and TONS of hard work...I'll have a story worth telling...

But the stakes also don't have to be as far reaching as mine are. Maass gives an example of public/private on a small scale in his book when he explains how Thomas Harris turned the hunt for a single man into a harrowing psychological ride. I'm talking about the breakout hit, The Silence of the Lambs.

The book, not the movie, is a great example of raising the stakes by deepening the characters. Look at his players...Buffalo Bill a crazed serial killer who skins his victims, Dr. Lecter, a brilliant but psychotic man who alone has insight enough to stop the killer, and Agent Starling, a young woman with a driving need to understand and stop what is happening. 

Harris raises the stakes in his novel, not through formulaic plot points, but by pushing his characters to the edge and beyond.

Agent Starling is so intent on stopping the murder of not just any woman, a Senator's daughter, that she is willing to give up pieces of herself, her most dark and painful memories, to the one man who can help her stop the carnage.

Whew...Talk about high stakes!  And there is no galactic calamity or worldwide plague to deal with here.  One man, one woman and the chase to stop a murder.  But the characters are so vivid, so deeply written, that your emotional investment goes through the roof.

So now I challenge you to take a look at your characters and plot. What are your stakes both public and private...are they compelling or ho hum?

Until next time...Go Write!

A Drink - A Snake - And a Hermit

So here's the thing...I've finished my first chapter of the book I'd resolved not to write. Call it giving in, bargaining with my brain, or just being weak but I got tired of staring at my unmoving cursor and decided to try something other than being stubborn.

I started to write a series of books with a shade or hue in the titles. I already wrote Purple Knot and Ruby Dawn. I was SUPPOSED to start on Bayou Blue but my muse - malevolent head-games junkie that he is - decided that writing something else would be more fun.  I argued, stubbornly refused, and finally decided to give in...but only ONE chapter!

So here it is...the fruit of my frustration.  I hope you like it.

---

The Black Adders

Chapter One - The Hermit

I knew they might die but I did it anyway. The possibility wasn’t remote at all. Still, the need prickled through my nerves, a waning high making my hands sweaty on the steering wheel. The obedience just came. Like all things in my life, I did what my father told me to do.

When the fender-bender scam went wrong and the family inside the crash-car fried while still strapped into their expensive leather seats, I hadn’t regained my mind enough to fully experience the terror of that day. The smell of the flesh and burning rubber and the strangled screams from within would come later in my dreams. On the day I killed the Cutler’s, I stood on the side of the road, forehead bleeding into my eyes from the blow on the steering wheel, and marveled at the pretty colors of the flames.

No one thought me monstrous for this. I was an Adder. The Black Adders, they called us. Ruthless and feared, we are the gypsies of the modern age. Grifters and swindlers; every one of us have hearts as dark as pitch.

I should have remembered that when I turned on them.

I should have known that hair dye and name changes and new apartments don’t keep your past at bay for long. Gypsies understand fate. Its power and peril are twisted with our history back to the covered wagon caravans that meander our past.

I forgot what I was. Thief, con artist, criminal.

A Black Adder whose heart does not deserve to be trusted.

I often wondered if suspicion of my own impulses led me to a place where sin is not only sanctioned, but rewarded. Las Vegas, with its frantic pace and anonymous faces lit up by a million fake stars, seemed a fitting place for me. If I had to hide somewhere, it might as well be a place where everything is false and temporary.

A place that mirrored my own crimson smile.

I walked along the phony cobbled street of the hotel’s lobby. Made to resemble a quaint street in Europe, the resin stones paved a path to blinking slot machines lined with drunken guests. I adjusted my wench costume to encourage bigger tips and strode through the aisles of gamblers with the tray of drinks balanced on one palm, my other arm at my side ready to pat away straying hands.

Big Bob, a name he’d given himself, balanced precariously with one butt cheek halfway off the green stool, and tried to tip his “Female Body Inspector” hat in a shameful attempt at chivalry.

“Hey there, Raven, when’ re you gonna give in to my charms and come home with me?” He winked at me and I tried to smile, but the piece of unidentified debris on his brown mustache made me wince instead.

“You know I can’t date customers, Bob.” I drawled my words like a girl born in the middle of Memphis. The fact that I was from Southern California didn’t change the fact the men tipped me better with the sweet twang. “It’s completely against the rules.”

Bob leaned forward and twirled his mustache. “Well how can I get you fired then, Sweet Cheeks?”

The greased hair of a black and white movie villain flashed in my head and I smirked. Bob was on the wrong side of two hundred pounds and the little burst capillaries on his nose meant tonight’s level of drinking wasn’t something he only did here. I probably represented the bulk of his interaction with females.

Sad, really, but not my problem.

“If you got me fired, you’d lose your connection for the best Long Island Ice teas this side of the Mississippi.” I winked at him and performed the required tilt and knee bend to deliver his drink with as much view of me as possible. The floor manager actually checked to make sure the waitresses did the move. “Besides, wouldn’t you miss me?”

My smile felt forced, but his mirror response told me he liked what he saw. His eyes went suddenly watery. Mouth tilting down slightly at the corners, he nodded. “I – I would miss ya, yeah.”

I blinked, not knowing how to respond. Why did he have to go and have real feelings? I cleared my throat, patted his meaty hand, and stepped back. “Well…I – I’d miss you too, Bob.”

He smiled then, a yellow, jagged-toothed grin that reminded me how broken people congregated here.

“It’s my anniversary on Tuesday.” He said it so low I almost didn’t hear him over the binging machines and din of the surrounding conversations.

“Your anniversary?”

“Yeah, twenty-four years. She’s…something,” he trailed off.

I glanced at his bare left hand. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. “Oh, that’s really great, Bob.”

He stared down at his feet. Encased in black socks and brown sandals, they looked swollen to me. Bob nodded, wiped at his forehead with his hand, and looked up at me with confusion.

“What were we talking about?”

“Drinks, Bob,” I prompted. “You wanted another one?”

He searched my face with unfocussed eyes and nodded. “Oh, yeah, keep them coming, Sweet Cheeks.” He tossed a hundred on my tray and turned back to the slot machine, his face still bewildered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand go up, signaling me for a drink. I turned, making sure to swing my hip in his direction and pose with a smile. It wasn’t a customer. Instead, a young guy wearing too-dark blue jeans and a silver belt buckle large enough to use as a trivet, waved a piece of paper at me. I stood and stared at him blankly, until he sighed and shuffled over to me.

“Didn’t ya see me signaling for you?” He stood next to me breathless a look of annoyance wrinkling his uni-brow.

I eyed the skinny farm boy and raised an eyebrow. Peach fuzz and acne mottled his sallow cheeks. He didn’t look older than seventeen. “Yeah, what do you need hon?”

He held up an envelope and then tossed it on my tray. “A guy paid me twenty bucks to give this to you. He said you’d know what it meant.”

I glanced at the envelope. White with the blue and red stripes of international mail, it looked like someone used it as a coaster for a week before giving it to Kentucky Ken here in front of me. Looking over his shoulder I snapped my chewing gum a couple of times before speaking. I got a lot of ‘offers’ around here that were better left unanswered.

“What did this guy look like?”

“He had a black snake tattoo, kinda coiled up, on his neck.”

The muscles of my arms and legs froze up and I felt wooden as I tried to shrug with an uninterested look on my face. “I – Is he still here?”

The Kentucky shrugged. “He was just walking by, said to find a serving wench with the same exact tattoo on her wrist, and give her the mail.”

“Did he have a—”

Kentucky put his hand up interrupting me. “I didn’t ask his sign or nothing, lady. He just gave me the money and I did what he said.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer before leaving.

Speechless, I sank back into the shadow provided by the fake rock fountain and watched Kentucky shuffle out of the casino. He crossed the street and melted into the throng of walkers on the main strip. I didn’t see anyone meet up with him.

Putting the tray down, I tore open the envelope and held the card up with quivering a hand. On it, an old man clad in a black cloak held a staff in one hand and a lantern in the other; the Hermit card in a Tarot deck.

My family used the Tarot to scam people out of hundreds of dollars. The Adders did not believe in any sort of magic. We believed in the power of lies, and the rewards that come with lying well to those willing to pay to hear them. I knew they held no magic or power to foretell the future, but I also knew what the picture meant.

I flashed on my mother, seated in her long skirts and beaded scarves in front of a table draped with silk. We used to work the carnival circuit whenever my father got arrested for his scams. She’d flip over the Hermit card and pause dramatically, staring at the customer with kohl rimmed eyes wide with fright.

“The Hermit,” she’d hiss.

The customer would always lean forward, breathless with dread. “What does that mean?”

My mother, raven hair like my own, would squint her honey colored eyes and whisper. “A traitor.”

I held the card to my chest and backed further into the dark corner. That’s what I was; a traitor to my family. My actions after the Cutlers died tore my family apart. Swallowing hard, my eyes flit across the room toward the doorways and dim hallways.

Fear thrumming in my chest, I looked at the card again and panted against the suffocating tightness in my throat.

Someone found me.

---

The Gypsy world and the culture surrounding con artists is very interesting to research. I've learned so much already...I should be writing Bayou Blue, but this is too fun!

Hope you liked the chapter. Until next time...Go Write!

Photograph by cauchisavona.

"Don't Believe What They Tell You..."

Tara over at Midnight Ink is having a "Secret" Blogfest today.

I was really excited because my new work in progress has a heroine with a big secret...one that eventually rips the tiny parish of Bayou La Foudre apart. 

I hope you like the excerpt from my latest novel in the works...Bayou Blue.

And be sure to check out the other entries at Midnight Ink.

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Chapter One

Bayou La Foudre, Louisiana

I used to think of the ocean as a place of peace until that night on the black water; when the air heated so fast and so furious that the wet steamed right off me. The dark night lit up with a bloom of raging red and orange. The night the sea stole my brother.

I remember how our lifeboat bucked on the water and I clutched the side with aching, sweaty hands. Members of the crew jostled and jockeyed for position on the craft, tending to the wounded. I noticed absently the paint on the hull melted off from the blast and the sickening feeling in my gut when we capsized in the swells.

Overhead, acrid smoke billowed up from the listing structure blacking out the jaundiced moon. Helicopters panned search lights back and forth lighting up the churning waves with frantically jerking beams. All around us flames flared across the water fed by the oil slicking along the surface. Trembling with fear and loss, my brother’s last words clanged in my head.

Don’t believe what they tell you.

The car behind me honked, tearing me out of my thoughts. I waved my apology and tore through the intersection on the yellow light. Skating around a curve, I rolled across the pebbled driveway of the Roustabout Bunkhouse, and slid into a parking space up front.

The worn structure sat huddled under a pair of large Cypress trees. Spanish moss draped over the branches and hung down to the roof, just scraping it with the faded green tendrils. Low in the sky, the sun angled shards of sunlight through the softly swaying leaves. I shut off the engine and sat staring through the windshield at the building’s faded wood façade trying to find the courage to go inside.

My phone buzzed on the seat next to me, the screen heralding my boss at the paper. Joseph Bradley ran San Diego’s North County Chronicle with an iron fist. The fact that one of his reporters didn’t show up for work this fine Monday morning must be driving him nuts.

Digging in my purse for my press credential, I found it and tossed it into the glove compartment of the rented sedan.

Wouldn’t be needing that out here. The less people knew I was back in Louisiana, the better.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and bit my inner cheek. If I turned around now, caught a flight back to California, and just called the head office…

No. Randy deserved to have his stuff packed up by someone who knew him before his name meant death and destruction. Someone who loved him despite what he’d become. I thought about my younger brother and the breath whooshed out of me with the weight of his memory.

Hand going to my arm, to the still-healing burns, I wondered at how life pulled us in such different directions that he could turn so far into darkness without me knowing. Without me having one clue.

I folded and refolded the letter I received in the mail three days before the tragedy. Stained with tears and mottled with the oil of my hands, I knew the contents by heart. Randy’s all-capital handwriting scratched across the page.

He’d asked for my help. He’d said he was scared. He said he’d explain when I got here. That was it. That is all Randy left me. That and scars both inside and out.

I shoved the envelope back in my jeans pocket. Rummaging in my purse, I pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the mascara under my eyes with one hand and I pulled the key out of the ignition with the other. The mascara just wouldn’t stay on my lashes down here. What with all the humidity and crying I did lately.

Movement inside the manager’s office caught my eye. A pulled back curtain fluttered back into place and the click of the door lock signaled they knew. Despite shoving my long auburn curls under a baseball cap, I’d been made.

“Looks like your fan base is still as solid as ever.” A low drawl next to my opened window startled me.

Gasping, I turned to face Sheriff Ayers as he leaned a hip casually on my fender. Dark hair, dark eyes, shadow of scruff along his angular jaw, Jake Ayers was about the only person in Bayou Le Foudre that spoke to me without sneering.

Of course, it was in his job description to deal with trouble judiciously.

I didn’t notice his patrol car until now.

I flashed on the image of him that terrible night; his hand reaching down to me. The helicopter’s whirling blades above him as he dangled on the rescue tether. Right now, the look on his face matched the one from the night he plucked me from the water. I heard somewhere he used to be with the Coast Guard search and rescue team; that he’d volunteered to help that night.

“How do they know so fast?” I peeled my hat off and tossed it in the back seat. “I just flew in two hours ago.”

He tipped his jaw down and peered back at the office from under the brim of his sheriff’s hat.

“You stopped for gas over at the Snack Shack. Penny called her mother, who called her sister…you know how it goes. Everybody knows your brother stayed here.”

I stared past him to the door of the bunkhouse manger’s office. Tension twisted my gut, but I turned to Jake.

“I have a right to my brother’s things.”

Jake nodded, his eyes searched mine, held them. “I know you do.”

Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of the car and reached into the back seat for two cardboard boxes. I followed Jake along the side of the bunkhouse building. We passed dirt brown doors evenly spaced and numbered with peeling black and gold stickers.

Nearing bunkhouse G3, Jake put his arm out, his hand going to the sidearm at his hip. The door hung from its hinges, the smell of urine fanned out from the doorway assaulting me. Jake shined his flashlight into the room then stepped back out.

“They wrecked it,” he said quietly. “Nothing left.”

Shaking my head, I took a step forward and peered into my brother’s room. The cardboard boxes fell from my hands to the dirty cement floor. I took in the room with teary eyes and clenched fists.

His books, torn pages scattered on the floor, looked trampled and wet. The urine stench floated in the room like a toxic miasma gagging me and forcing my hand to my mouth. Randy’s clothes, their shredded remains, tossed on the floor and furniture like dirty confetti. I ran my eyes over the broken remains of my brother’s life and shook from head to toe.

“They p-peed on his things,” I whispered.

Jake put his hand out to me, but I stepped away from him. Turning in the room slowly, my eyes grazed the wall over the door and I froze. Red spray paint scrawled out what my brother meant to these people; who my brother was to the world.

Murderer.

My fingers found the corner of the envelope jutting out from my pocket and my brother’s desperate words flashed in my mind.

I’m in over my head, sis. I don’t know how to stop this.

Jake watched me silently and I shoved the corner of the letter back down into my pocket.

“Why’d you come back here, Riley?” Jake asked. “Why do this to yourself?”

I wanted to tell him about the letter. I wanted to let him know what I intended to do, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the violent accusation dripping down the wall.

“Because I promised I would,” I whispered.

Jake looked at me, his expression perplexed. “They hate you, Riley. They all do.”

I nodded but didn’t answer. It didn’t matter what they thought.

I knew one true thing. I failed Randy before. I wouldn’t do it again. One way or another, I would make things right.

---

That is the end of my first chapter. Riley is just getting started with all the trouble she's going to cause...Hope you check back on her later.

Until next time...Go Write!

 Photograph by wheat_in_your_hair.  Photograph by dawgbyte77.

Poking At Tigers...Flirtfest Blogfest

The clever gals over at Critique This WIP are hosting a Flirtfest Blogfest today...say that three times fast!  The rules are simple: Post your favorite flirty scene...be it hot, awkward, or sweet.  So I decided to enter an excerpt from my book Ruby Dawn. 

Ruby's clinic was vandalized the night before and Ben, the cop she's just started dating drove her to the scene to inspect the damage.  Tom, a man from Ruby's past recently showed up to work a sting in her neighborhood. Her first love, Tom disappeared ten years ago after they were involved in the death of one of their school mates at a locked-down high school. Lilah is Ruby's receptionist and best friend.

Ruby Dawn

Last night, Ben told me that things were missing. He wasn’t kidding. A lot of supplies, chairs, and yes even the trash cans were gone. I stood in the middle of the ruined room and ran my eyes over everything, shocked. A muffled sob escaped my lips and I wiped at my eyes angrily.

“Ruby, are you okay?” Tom’s voice made me turn.

Startled, I gasped. “Tom, what are you doing here?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What am I doing here, really? I heard about what happened and came to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

I looked at him and flapped my arms at my sides speechless. Tom’s hair was cut, styled in way that made him look like he belonged in a country club. He still had the stubble though. It was a weird look, sort of high-end thug. He caught me staring, licked his pinkies, and used them to pretend groom his eyebrows. It was a move he used to do to make me laugh in class. I smiled.

“You know who did this.” Tom asked and nodded at the paint on the floor.

It wasn’t a question.

“Antonio Llave,” I whispered. “The gang-banger I was telling you about. I think he did this.”

Anger flashed across his face. “I’ve heard a few things about him. He’s busting through the ranks in La Eme.” Tom scanned the damage. “This looks like a threat from them; minimal damage, but a big warning. You’re probably right.”

In the front room, a second voice echoed Tom’s words.

“Minimal damage?” Ben repeated. “Are you serious?”

He walked in through the broken front window and joined Tom and I in the middle of the clinic lobby. My eyes flit from Ben to Tom. For some reason, I felt nervous with them in the same room.

Tom waved his hand at the room and nodded. “Yeah, I’m serious. Who are you?”

“I’m Officer Farrell, who are you?” Ben shot back.

The same height, Tom and Ben stood facing each other in a weird sort of standoff reminiscent of school-yard staring contests. I expected someone to double-dog dare someone at any moment.

I cleared my throat. “Ben, uh, Tom’s the guy from the alley that you helped me with.”

Ben eyed Tom with suspicion. Apparently no longer sure he believed he was in fact an officer.

Suddenly, Tom smiled and put out his hand.

“I never got a chance to thank you for that, Officer Farrell,” he said as he shook Ben’s hand. “Really, I appreciate you keeping my name out of this. I told my lieutenant about how great you handled that situation.”

Ben nodded dumbly, taken aback by Tom’s sudden change in demeanor. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, no problem.”

Tom turned to me, shoved a piece of gum in his mouth, and winked. I forgot how disarming Tom could be if he wanted, from rival to brother-in-arms with one charming smile. I always used to tease him that he could sell ketchup ice-pops to a lady in white gloves.

“Ben, Tom is an old friend from…before I moved here,” I hedged.

Tom looked at Ben’s face, then at my awkward smile and grinned. He knew that Ben liked me. He took a step over to me, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and kissed my hair.

“We’ve known each other for what, thirteen years?” Tom asked me.

Ben ground his jaw.

I blew my bangs from my eyes and frowned. Tom loved to poke at tigers. I pulled out of his arms, strode over to Ben, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you again, Ben for being there, and giving me a ride. I’ll be all right now. I’m going to start cleaning up,” I said.

Ben nodded and then shot a triumphant look at Tom. “I’ll be going then,” he said. Then to Tom, “Try to keep from getting dumped in an alley again tonight. I’m not on duty.”

Tom smiled and nodded. He looked like he enjoyed sparring with Ben. “Oh, don’t worry. Ruby is really good at taking care of me.”

“Bye Ben!” I said suddenly and pulled him toward the door.

“I’ll see you tonight, then?” Ben asked in a needlessly loud voice.

“Yes, Ben. Pick me up here at eight, okay?”

He nodded and left. I watched him leave then turned and gave Tom a stern look.

He flashed me a look of complete enjoyment. “Let me guess, coffee?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed Tom down the back hall toward the rear door.

“Don’t you need to be somewhere dangerous?” I thought about his job and my heart wrenched with worry. “What about your cover, Tom? You’re not even supposed to be here, are you?”

“That can’t be concern I hear.” Tom turned and stopped himself with is arms across the doorway. He smiled down at me and my face flushed. He put his forehead against mine. “You’re not staying here alone, are you?” He whispered, breath brushing my eyelids.

Tom never liked any space between us.

I stepped back, my hands going to my hips. “What makes you think I’m staying here?”

Tom cocked his head to the side and folded his arms. He already knew.

“How…?” I asked.

“It’s my job to know about people, Ruby. I can’t believe you gave up your apartment to keep this place open.”

I took another step away from him and looked back down the hall toward the ruined office. Anger flaring, I shook my head. “I couldn’t just abandon these people, Tom.”

Pain flashed behind his eyes, and I regretted my choice of words immediately. I tried to backpedal, but I only managed to stammer incoherently.

“Shhh,” Tom whispered. He took my hand in his and kissed my palm sending a ripple through me.

“I, I didn’t mean…” I tried, my face flushed.

“Its okay, I know what you meant, Ruby. And you’re right about what you said the other night too,” he breathed and leaned closer.

Barely able to think, I stood frozen by his nearness. “What I said?”

He smiled, so close now that I could feel his lips move. “You said that I don’t know you anymore. That I need to get to know you all over again.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what I said,” I breathed.

Tom’s hand slipped to my face, cupping my cheek in his palm. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip and it sent heat thrumming through me. I gripped his sleeves, my fingers digging into the material.

A wayward warning flittered somewhere in the back of my brain, but I closed my eyes instead of moving.

Tom brushed his lips against mine, barely touching, his breath soft.

Up front, Lilah shouted. “This place is a wreck!”

Startled, I pulled away from Tom. Lilah had either had rotten or impeccable timing. I hadn’t decided which just yet. “I – I’m back here,” I shouted back. “I’ll be right out.”

Tom groaned and let go of me. He looked up at the outer door with frustration. I followed his gaze to Lilah rooting through the debris.

Trying not to show my breath was ragged; I bent and picked up a broken mug off the floor. “I have to get started if I want to be done by eight.”

Tom already taking the shards from me flashed a crooked grin. “You’re gonna break his heart.”

I put my hands on my hips, indignation growing in my gut. “You don’t know that.”

Tom leaned against the door jam. “He’s not your type.”

I scowled. “And you are?”

He shrugged. “If memory serves.”

Anger at his teasing and my own weakness flooded my face with heat. “That was a long time ago, Tom. If my memory serves, we didn’t turn out so well.”

Sorrow momentarily flit across his perfect features but he recovered and smiled winningly. “A lot has changed since then, Ruby. You’ll see.”

I put my hand to my hot cheek and shrugged. “I don’t know if it matters anymore, Tom.”

He looked at me with sad eyes. “Don’t write us off completely just yet, Ruby.”

I shot him a look of shock. Poking myself in the chest I shouted. “Me…you’re telling me, not to write us off…you – you’re the one who left!”

Thrown his hands up in surrender, Tom backed up. “I can see that was the wrong choice of words.”

I pointed to the back door with a shaking finger. “Go.”

“Ruby—”

I grabbed a nearby magazine and hurled it in his direction.

Ducking it easily, he smirked and pointed it at me. “You still have great aim, I see.”

“Tom, I’m serious.” His amusement sent ripples of irritation through me. “Go.”

“And you don’t want my help?” He smiled again, clearly not intimidated by my reaction.

I rubbed tears from my eyes with the palms of both hands. “I need you to leave right now, Tom. I just can’t think with you in the room.” I looked at him with a deep sigh.

His smile faltered. “I’m sorry.” He took another step away from me. “I’ll leave.”

I blew the bangs out of my eyes and frowned upset with myself. I craved Tom. Like an essential component, my body ached for him. “That’s probably the best,” I whispered.

Pain darkened his green eyes, but he smiled at me gently. “I’ll see you soon.”

Crossing my arms over my chest I refused to feel bad. I couldn’t let myself get a taste for him again. Too much rode on my shoulders for me to abandon reason. “Bye, Tom.” I said softly.

“Dr. McKinney!” Lilah yelled again from outside. “Dr. McKinney!”

Reluctantly, I turned from Tom and walked back down the hall to the front lobby. “It looks worse than it is, Lilah.”

“What are you talking about? This place is jacked-up!”

She spun slowly around with her arms out at her sides. Behind me, I heard the rear door swing shut and turned to look for Tom. My heart sank. He was gone.

---

I hope you enjoyed my character's awkward angst.  Please check out the other wonderful entries at Critique This WIP.

Until next time...Go Write!

Photograph by Katie Tegtmeyer, Uploaded on April 6, 2006.