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Jason swiftly finished tying the ends of his silk tie to the brass bedstead before drawing back, panting, to finger his bruised jaw.It was only then that real, dark rage washed over her. Jason saw it swirl into her eyes, the power of it exciting to behold. She was now a truly dangerous woman."You will pay for this", she promised softly, dangerously. "If it takes forever, you will pay for this." Jason's eyes swept slowly over her body, sending blood rushing to the surface of her skin."Right at this moment, my dear", he answered derisively, " I don't give a damn."He backed away and started to finish undressing. Cheeks flaming, Daphne closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her face impassive. She had never felt so defenseless as she lay there tied to the bed, clad only in her underwear. But the one thing that had her cringing was that she was already moist and ready for him. The fact that she had been so physically aroused by their tussle humiliated her almost unbearably.Jason was. I had really been sitting here peacefully contemplating the skeleton and ruined flesh of what had been, until very recently, one of the great cities on earth. Just imagine how foreign it is to me, thinking of Los Angeles that way. Most of the time the only thought I had given the place was cursing the bad traffic and wondering why they didn’t just build some more damn freeways!Now, like a bad horror/sci-fi post-apocalypse movie, I was regretting my lack of gratitude for all of the things that civilization had made available to us all. Theaters. Restaurants. Grocery stores. Museums. Even the opera down at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion that I only attended under protest to please my wife. Well, ex-wife. Damn. I’d actually grown rather fond of ‘Nessun dorma.’I picked up my water bottle (lots of bottled waters left at every 7-11 store) and took a swig.Initially I had been hitting the liquor stores and drinking up the really expensive stuff. You know you can get a really bad hangover, even.
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For the first time I looked to assess what kind of condition he might be in. He’d obviously crawled under head first, his legs extended nearly out from under the wing. He’d managed to get his parachute off, his head was pillowed on the pack, the silk pushed for the moment off to one side. I wondered if he’d tried to use it as a blanket last night. His left leg — no, I corrected myself — that’s his right, my left, was very obviously broken. A large bruise was visible above his eye. ‘Can you tell me where it hurts?’ I asked, deciding that crammed under the wing remains like we were I really couldn’t do a head to toe assessment at this point in time. He looked at me and attempted a smile before he said ‘Everywhere?’ His grimace told me as much as his answer. ‘Yeah, I can imagine. It looks like you’ve got a broken leg?’ I questioned. ‘Yeah, maybe both.’ ‘Anywhere else?’ ‘I may have broke some ribs, it hurts to breathe.’ ‘Yeah, that sounds like ribs. Anything else?’ ‘Isn’t that enough?’.

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