Page 4 of Daring

Abigail's question has stirred such reflection in Gretel that now she's angry with herself.

"I've spent my whole life doing what's expected. A good student, working in an accounting firm because my dad fancied having an accountant daughter when I can't stand math. I let Pol win me over because he was a good man, and his dad was friends with mine. Damn, I've never done anything for myself," she vents, frustrated, while Abigail watches, unblinking. "Do you know I've never even tried weed? Haven't stolen a damn marble as a teenager," she laments, putting the cue aside, grabbing her bottle, and chugging the last of her beer.

"You've been a good girl," Abigail says, devouring her with a look, a smile that leaves Gretel guessing her thoughts.

What Gretel does know is that her legs are trembling, and if Abigail keeps looking at her like that, she might climax right there, in front of everyone.

Gretel's gaze pierces Abigail's eyes, and she swallows hard. "You don't look like the good girl type," Gretel concludes, her words heavy.

"Maybe not as much as you," Abigail concedes, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I've danced with the devil, tasted rebellion. Stole my father's coins from the sofa when he was too lost in the cushions. But, you know, Gretel, my life doesn't feel like mine either."

Gretel, never a fan of her name due to schoolyard taunts, finds it oddly sensual when spoken by Abigail. The air hangs thick with unspoken stories.

"Since I was a kid, they groomed me to carry on the family business. My brothers, they get a bigger share just for being born with a Y chromosome. Yet, here I am, killing myself to keep clients happy, making sure orders are never late. I attend every meeting, work fourteen-hour days to keep the company on top. And where are they?" Gretel vents, frustration lacing her tone. "Dad strolls in to check things, making sure they align with his taste. And it all ticks like clockwork, thanks to me. My brothers? Useless. Always off on supposed client hunts. But what do they bring back lately? Zilch."

Abigail reaches her limit. The fight for a cause that seems to only demand her sacrifice has drained her. Her family fails to see her efforts, oblivious to her need for rest or a break. They assume she should keep doing what she does because she excels at it, a shark in a sea of minnows. But she's weary of the battle. The beer glass empties, and she signals for another round of shots.

Gretel glances at the mounting bill, concern etching her features.

"I can't cover all this," she admits, tallying up their consumption.

"Relax, tonight's on my company," Abigail reassures her, injecting a note of mystery into the statement.

They abandon the game and settle at the table until the shots arrive, downing them in a single gulp. In that moment, Gretel feels like a dragon; a fiery breath could engulf the bar. Abigail can't take her eyes off Gretel. There's an innocence about her that captivates Abigail, and, she admits, she likes Gretel.

"You know what I'd like to do?" Gretel asks, unabashed.

"What?" Abigail leans in, intrigued.

Before entering this bar, Abigail hesitated this isn't her usual scene. But she needed an escape from the numerical chatter, client talk, and contract discussions. She craved a disconnection, and fate led her here. Fate brought her to Gretel, a woman equally frustrated, lost in familial obligations while neglecting her own needs.

"I want to commit a crime," Gretel drops the bomb.

Abigail's lips slowly curve, her gaze unwavering. Now, she's the one studying Gretel, fascination in her eyes, erupting into genuine laughter that infects Gretel, leaving her surrendered. Gretel can't help but think about kissing Abigail, a notion that triggers a coughing fit, nearly choking her.

"Are you okay?" Abigail asks, maintaining that intense gaze.

"Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe," Gretel responds, feeling like she's wearing too much clothing.

"So, you want to commit a crime. We better make sure no one overhears," Abigail continues smiling.

"Wait, don't think I want to murder someone," Gretel corrects hastily. "But, I don't know, something wrong, something to feel that rush of adrenaline," she confesses, a sparkle in her eyes that captivates Abigail. "Of course, without hurting anyone."

"Of course, I get it," Abigail replies.

Abigail lets her hair down, a symbolic act of liberation. Gretel can't help but stare, mouth slightly ajar.

"Let's do it," Abigail decides, leaning forward, causing Gretel's heart to race uncontrollably.

"Do it? Are you serious?" Gretel asks, a mix of nervousness and excitement in her voice.

"Absolutely, who can stop us? We're two grown, strong women making our own decisions, right?" Gretel asserts, a glint of rebellion in her eyes.

Both acknowledge the folly of acting under the influence of alcohol, but they also recognize the regret that would follow if they don't seize this moment. Logic dictates that one of them should be the voice of reason and say no, but neither is inclined to behave that way. After so long without feeling the thrill of excitement, the idea of doing something wrong sends shivers of anticipation down their spines.

"You're right, no one can stop us," Gretel exclaims. "Any ideas?" she asks, scanning their surroundings.

"Yep," Abigail answers, biting her lip. "Let's steal a car."

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