Carrie grew up in a small Southern town tucked somewhere between the piney woods and the muddy riverbanks. The kind of place where the train runs slow and Sundays smell like fried chicken and cheap perfume.
@DarkMeatMaster "Who said that was about me? No, sugar… the daughter of the snake, well, she’s someone else entirely. Someone you sure as hell don’t wanna meet in the dark."
Claws in so deep they're ripping through the other side.
Lured into this trap with broken promises and lies.
Conceal the taste of turpentine and serpent's kiss.
On and on and on, it never ends, this fucking mess.
At least in my own ship, I have authority. I'll carve a future with my own bare hands.
But where is the rain? Where is the rain that's supposed to wash away my pain?
I want to come home. It's been so long since I've been away.
And please, don't blame me 'cause I've tried.
I'll be coming home soon to your love, to stay.
Carrie grinned, running her hand over the car’s frame like she’d just baptized it.
“We’re gonna get you runnin’, Delilah. And when we do, you and me? We’re gonna fly.”
Carrie leaned against the Mustang’s hood, her fingers trailing over the rough, sun-bleached paint. The garage smelled of oil and old wood, the scent settling into her lungs like secondhand smoke. Tommy was halfway under the car, his boots sticking out as he grumbled about
Tommy snorted. “Like the one in the Bible? You plannin’ on betrayin’ somebody?”
Carrie shrugged. “Not unless they deserve it.”
Tommy studied her for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Alright, girl. Delilah it is.”