Jesska-Jesska

She was ready. At least, she looked ready. A swift sideways glance at the clock let her know that she had been waiting around for almost twenty minutes, perched anxiously on the edge of the cheap leather sofa. She lowered her eyes and surveyed her neatly polished fingernails with careful scrutiny, pretending that there were no butterflies fluttering about in the pit of her stomach. No, they weren't butterflies. She was writhing inside, her soul thrashing about like a thousand serpents captured in a thousand different strangleholds. Twice she felt the muscles in her legs twitch in nervous agitation. If he had owned a cell phone, she would have