she smells like gasoline, smoke, and perfume, and by all rights the blend of the three should be nothing short of atrocious, maybe downright offensive, but she makes it work. maybe it's her leather jacket, or her sleek motorcycle and matching pitch helmet, or her sharp, long-lashed eyes and pretty cherry lips, her curtain of hair and her high heeled boots that clack so nicely against smooth linoleum and look like they could kill a man.

(marianne thinks, idly, that they probably have. it wouldn't surprise her, at least, to find traces of blood on the bottom of those heels.)

her name is bonnie, and sometimes she is called 'bee', but marianne thinks 'bonnibel' is the prettiest name she's ever heard. bonnie puffs cigarette smoke at her when she tells her so, but her mouth is curved into a smile and marianne feels her heart thump against her ribcage and feels herself falling very, very fast.

she cruises on bonnie's motorcycle and her heart thrums like a snapped guitar string, vibrates even harder when sirens start to wail behind them, but she can't find it in herself to be worried. not when bonnie revs the bike and it kicks beneath them, and she breathes down the road and the city passes by in snapshots.

'they'll never catch us,' bonnie tells her later, the ember end of her cigarette casting a pale circle of yellow gold onto their faces. bonnie holds marianne's hand and marianne thinks she could spend eternity like this.

the two of them sit on the balcony in the light of the moon and the city. bonnie hangs her long legs off the side, swinging them above the thirty stories of open air, and marianne looks down at the cars and the people and asks bonnie for a cigarette.

the storefront goes up in brilliant flames before them, and marianne can smell the gas and the smoke and the light hurts her eyes, but she doesn't look away from the bonfire. bonnie holds her hand and cries: in awe, in love. she holds the empty gas can loosely by the tips of her manicured nails. they stay until the sirens get too close, then bonnie pulls her after her as they run to the alley, jump on the bike, and disappear into the night. the smell of smoke stays with marianne all night.

'i love you,' bonnie says, again and again as they're hurtling down the highway. marianne twists around on the bike, pulls the pin on a grenade, and launches it behind them. she watches the puff of explosion and pretends it's a special effect in a movie. she doesn't look at the hole it blows in the city.

'i love you,' marianne says, very softly, because it's true. she traces the lines of bonnie's face, brushing the pad of her thumb across her lashes, and bonnie breathes out plutonium and adoration and marianne feels it settle on her skin like ash and the cool kiss of metal. she is terrified and enraptured and sinking so fast.

she feels tar in her lungs and heavy weight in her hands, and she watches the nights glide past in starbursts of fire. bonnie grips her hand tight, and marianne pretends she is brave.