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throw that pussy like i'm famous
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Rhory wasn’t sure when she’d started screaming. It must have been somewhere between grabbing clawfuls of the front of the dead boy’s jacket and burying her shoulders and head into his chest. She thought briefly of Kurt and doing the same to him on his bed. Fully clothed, entirely drunk. Inhaling sweat and cologne then when now she only choked on the dull sulfur and heavy copper that came with the first shot.

The boy rattled against her but she pushed against the impact. He shuddered a second time. She was dully aware of mirror shattering above her head and tearing into the back of her neck. A third jolt and something wet and hot smacked the top of her scalp. She felt the boy’s weight start to pull against her grip. She released him and he spun, giving her a full view of his twisted expression and then the knotted gore on his back before she turned and ran.

She felt her heel slam down into a thick and pulpy mass that she only registered as Evelyn when an errant shot sprayed whatever of the girl’s corpse she’d missed on the backs of her legs. Was she still screaming? She couldn’t tell. For all she knew and felt her vocal cords could have torn themselves out and shot from her throat and she couldn’t have even seen them in the storm of glass splinters and gore that she stumbled through. Her arms covered her face, blinding her so the shards wouldn’t, and she felt her way down the hall as yet another shot ripped through the wall of glass she’d been against just moments ago. For a delirious half-second she imagined herself as Rita Hayworth in The Lady from Shanghai. She leapt to the side and slammed her left shoulder into one of the mirrors. She felt it crack under her weight and a nauseating ache shot through her. She stumbled further through her pain-haze, barely registering a yell from behind her as she threw herself through a gap and began to sprint recklessly towards a metal stairwell at the center of this new antechamber.

There was a bit of flesh still stuck to her shoe as she stomped down on the first step and it sent her flying forward into the rest. She caught herself at the last second and began frantically climbing up on all fours. She barely had time to comprehend the wreckage of the second floor before she heard the footsteps and yells roaring up behind her. In the center of her vision here the twisted ruins of a dividing wall of mirrors, flecked with dried bits of what the last few minutes told her could only be one thing. She made a rabid dash for the twisted supports. The layer of discarded mirror made a continuous thunderous crunching as she dove through into the mauled skeleton, balling herself into a pitch-dark alcove and making herself invisible.

She stopped breathing. She waited.
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Laisse tomber les filles · Hall of Mirrors