Tension Dramatique

She was leaning with her throat against her palm, eyes flickering dully over the people in the restaurant. Her throat was warm, warm and heavy and pulsing like a stricken animal against her hand. It didn’t feel like her own- it was the throat of a beast, waiting for the death slice, pulsing like mad to run away, to be still, to attack, to hide-
Oh! When would it come and sever her open ?
She swallowed against the dryness of her throat, lifted a hesitant finger to the waiter who was leaning against the counter and bird watching the hen party in the window.
‘Yes, miss?’ He had glided almost begrudgingly towards her, and knew from her clothes that any tip she gave would not be large. And the girl was looking more and more strained as her prey eluded her.
‘I- I need to know something.’
The waiter raised an indifferent eyebrow.
She swallowed, clasped her throat once more, madly pulsing against her hot fingers.
‘It is a matter of life and death, you see.’ A pause- a vacuumed inhalation.
And still, the waiter remained silent, uncomprehending.
Out trembled the girl's indignant finger.
‘I know you don’t see. I know. Even now, I talk and you look as if I'm mad. You think I don't know? You see nothing!Nothing but those women there, all skirted and girded up for someone to nibble at. It’s indecent what they’re doing- how they sit and laugh and mock me. The wretches.’ She broke off in a half sob.
The waiter’s expression grew more saturnine. His gaze slid to the hen party, traveled up their collectively teetering blood red heels, up the straight, quiverless lines of tanned legs and taut thighs, up the flat expanse of stomachs and the deep provocative hills and curves of enhanced bosoms, up, up, up… to their widely parted, glistening, smeared mouths.
Even to him, they seemed gloating.
He sighed.
‘Death by chocolate, then, miss?’
The girl didn’t look at him.
‘Yes, please. Oh. And will you be so kind as to make it a double serving of sauce? I’m feeling a tad bit….parched.’