My lover's lover [antikvár]

She steps from the taxi, pushing at the metal weight of the door. clutching cigarettes, change and the thorned stems of roses. Sarah says something to her over the taxi roof and she half turns. She's aware too late of her foot catching on the granite curve of the kerb, and the next moment she is airborne, falling upwards. Lily sees the world swivel on its axis, her hair, lighter than her, flowing past her face, her fingers shedding roses and spinning discs of coins. As she arches through space she sees, walking along the pavement towards her, a man. It seems odd somehow that he should be alone because he strikes her, in that split-second shutter-snap moment, as the kind of person who is rarely without others. He walks with a peculiar emphasis, as if trying to leave an imprint of himself on the air. Then concrete and grit smack against her body, and the skin is flayed from her hands. At the touch of fingers, tight as ivy on her sleeve, she looks up. His eyes are a surprising, unambiguous blue. The flowers are crushed beneath her, seeping yellow pigment into her clothes. He is helping her upright, speaking to her, asking her are you all right, are you hurt. Her hands feel 3