He had been watching her for at least two hours now. She had a striking
resemblance to his Clarice, but he knew it was not her. Still, he watched,
enamored by how similar this girl was to her.
Her. He'd been away from her for a year now. When he last left her, she was still imprisoned by her ponytail in the refrigerator, crying out for him to stop before the blade came down across a wrist.whether it would be hers or his own, he knew not. She gave him the key, which had been hidden in her mouth. Her mouth. He longed for that mouth. The kiss he had stolen from her that night was only slightly romantic. He wanted to give back a passionate kiss in return for the other. He was certain she felt the same way.
Something turned him away from his recollection. The girl was walking toward the student union center. He was seated at a table in this very building, watching her out of a large window. She seemed preoccupied with something. As she walked into the center and past him, he caught her smell. She was wearing Ralph Lauren Romance, mixed with.something else. L'Air du Temps? Yes. A hint of it. But what else was blended with it? He wasn't quite sure, but he knew it was not a woman's scent. Rather it belonged to that of a young man. He'd find out later, right now he was intent on watching her rather than thinking of how she smelt. His eyes followed her a few paces until she met with a young man. She had a fire in her eyes, an anger. She seemed to be fuming over something. He heard a *smack* from the couple's direction and saw the red handprint of the young girl on the young man's cheek. Yes, she was obviously pissed off about something.
"Bastardo voi! Come potreste fare questo a me? Baciando il mio amico migliore, che cosa era uno. Ma avendo sesso con il cane femminile?!" the young girl shouted.
The young man just stood there, dumbfounded, then started to speak. She must not have wanted to hear his excuse much, for she hit him again, this time with a quick punch in the chest, turned and walked away, and left him to catch his breath and think.
Hannibal Lecter was amazed. Amazed that this girl so much resembled his Clarice, amazed that she hit someone that hard (in public even), and even more so amazed that when she spoke her perfect Italian she had a "backwoods West Virginia" accent. He loved it.
Her. He'd been away from her for a year now. When he last left her, she was still imprisoned by her ponytail in the refrigerator, crying out for him to stop before the blade came down across a wrist.whether it would be hers or his own, he knew not. She gave him the key, which had been hidden in her mouth. Her mouth. He longed for that mouth. The kiss he had stolen from her that night was only slightly romantic. He wanted to give back a passionate kiss in return for the other. He was certain she felt the same way.
Something turned him away from his recollection. The girl was walking toward the student union center. He was seated at a table in this very building, watching her out of a large window. She seemed preoccupied with something. As she walked into the center and past him, he caught her smell. She was wearing Ralph Lauren Romance, mixed with.something else. L'Air du Temps? Yes. A hint of it. But what else was blended with it? He wasn't quite sure, but he knew it was not a woman's scent. Rather it belonged to that of a young man. He'd find out later, right now he was intent on watching her rather than thinking of how she smelt. His eyes followed her a few paces until she met with a young man. She had a fire in her eyes, an anger. She seemed to be fuming over something. He heard a *smack* from the couple's direction and saw the red handprint of the young girl on the young man's cheek. Yes, she was obviously pissed off about something.
"Bastardo voi! Come potreste fare questo a me? Baciando il mio amico migliore, che cosa era uno. Ma avendo sesso con il cane femminile?!" the young girl shouted.
The young man just stood there, dumbfounded, then started to speak. She must not have wanted to hear his excuse much, for she hit him again, this time with a quick punch in the chest, turned and walked away, and left him to catch his breath and think.
Hannibal Lecter was amazed. Amazed that this girl so much resembled his Clarice, amazed that she hit someone that hard (in public even), and even more so amazed that when she spoke her perfect Italian she had a "backwoods West Virginia" accent. He loved it.
