The Strong, The Broken, The Weak

Allison inhaled sharply like she had been unexpectedly burned, and then her features relaxed. Her face became neutral, the image of poise and beauty, but with somewhat disheveled hair. She swiftly smacked Jocelyn's hand away and fixed her clothes, pulling her bra back over and buckling her vest, and when everything was situated, she slipped off her robe and tossed it over the back of the chair. Then she wrapped her hands around Jocelyn's neck and squeezed, crushing her windpipe and knocking her to the floor where she straddled her. She pressed her weight down on the girl and throttled her, watching her struggle with dispassionate eyes.

Jocelyn stared at Allison with a smirk on her face as she watched Allison seethe. She had gotten tot he blonde and gotten to her good no matter what kind of airs she put on. It made Jocelyn feel superior.

And then the hands came around her neck and she was throttled to the ground. She began to buck and kick and tried to wildly ball her fists and slam them into Allison's face.

She gagged and sputtered, making awful noises as her body convulsed. She wasn't going to last at all with the expertise in which Allison choked her. However, witht he last glimmer of consciousness, she forced her lips into a cruel smile.

"Ju..hck... tlike... hckgn... old... times....gnnck!"

Jocelyn sputtered while her face turned blue and her hands finally went limp.

Allison's hands stayed clamped over Jocelyn's throat for several long seconds after the smaller girl finally went out. Slowly, one finger at a time, she loosened her grip until her hands hovered over Jocelyn's face.

Her left hand closed, and opened again. Her shining, blood red nails and her smooth, creamy skin seemed so ill-suited for the work to which she put them. It seemed so foreign. Ten years ago, as a girl, her hands might have looked the same, but it wasn't her hands that she used to fight then. She wondered, just for a moment, if she wasn't really the same kind of masochistic idiot as Jocelyn.

She placed the palm of her right hand softly against Jocelyn's cheek, her thumb laying across her lips. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she shoved the limp body onto it's stomach and tied her arms with the robe, a very specialized knot forcing the elbows together and arching the body uncomfortably. When she was done, she lifted the thing and dragged it out of the dressing room and down the hall, where she left it in front of the lockers, where the situation would sort itself out.

She didn't go back to her dressing room to change. She went straight to the parking lot, to her black Maserati, and then back to her historic, fifth floor apartment where she could drown herself in red wine and prose.