anathema
by: pastel gaps
He watched her. Followed her. Stalked her.
She had become a bad habit of his. He hated it. He hated knowing every perfect crevice of her pale skin. Of knowing the dusty freckles on her cheekbones or the heart-shaped birthmark on her left inner thigh, thinking it was all intentional to reference her own name.
Heartfilia.
He couldn't count the times he uttered her name like a prayer. She always had a way, a call out to release his innermost wanton desires.
It happens in very both expected and unexpected moments. It happens when she's changing in front of him after a long bath, not even bothering to shield her voluptuous chest or the apex of her womanhood. Not aware that she's not the only one in her room which she kept a safe haven. It happens when she finds herself feeling lonely. When the only solution is to drown herself with self-pleasure. Especially when she's doing it in front of him, spreading her legs to reveal her want for love and affection. Watching her finger dig inside her–followed by another, and another. He figured it was some sort of fetish. He often wondered what she was thinking then.
Right now, it happens when she's sitting across from him. She's wearing a long dress he had never seen before. It was white. Hid her beautiful assets in a conservative way and yet he finds himself touching the plane–as it is the closest he could ever touch her. She's putting more red on her lips as she leaned for the mirror, examining her reflection up close.
He could see the different slits of brown in her eyes when she was this close to him. She had wide, doll-like eyes. He wanted to continue staring at them, getting lost in them but she abruptly sat up and stormed off with her heels in hand.
He growled possessively at the sudden loss of her sweet scent. He really hated it.
He was always drawn to her. He finds himself enjoying the most company he could make out of her. He predicts what she always does. She's a lady who enjoys following a certain pattern.
He still hated his bad habit.
But just as quickly as she entered her room, another person followed. It was too dark to see anything but he knew well what exactly was happening. She was pulled into the wall beside her door, knocking every piece of items on the floor as she was then sat up on her own dresser.
He finds his fingers digging into his palms as anger flared deep within him. As he witnesses her being undressed so lasciviously. He watches her back arching by the wall as her breasts were licked and sucked by another man.
She hooks her legs around the trespasser's waist, wasting no time on her bed–they fell with a soft thud.
He could only make out the sounds of the bed creeking beneath them, along with thighs smacking each other, loud moans and some string of curses. It felt like an endless cycle to him. The sounds drowned out his senses, or whatever part of him awake at the moment.
But really it was only about ten minutes, as the stranger was in the middle of a slow thrust–saw something in the corner of his eyes. He abruptly stopped, using her lower back for support, he glanced to his right but saw nothing more but the mirror.
"W-why'd you stop?" Disappointment visible in her voice as she gave him a look from her kneeling position.
She's left ignored because there was clearly something more important than sex. There's something eating him alive–something which made his body shake violently from fear. The mirror just looked regular, something old. An antique maybe. He had absolutely no idea what it was but he knew he needed to leave. Fast.
She watched as he hurriedly buttons his dress shirt, he's fixated on something...
"Why are you getting dressed? Am I not–"
"I forgot something"
What pathetic excuse. All sense of guilt and lust gone from her system as she heard the same lame excuse men use every time she coaxes them to more than just kiss her. It felt like they all had the same issues. They always leave before something could actually really happen. They always leave with their tail between their legs. All cold sweats and incoherent sentences.
Were they afraid of her?
She could not fathom an excuse as to why. Her red lingerie certainly wasn't something scary. She surely did not have any STD's. She felt pathetic, of even thinking that it's on her. He was gone by the time she gave up.
She absolutely hated being left sexually frustrated. Sighing in what felt like another defeat, she opened her bedside light. The mirror had caught her eyes by the time she ghostly rubbed herself delicately.
Tonight, she decided–she needed release.
She slid both of her legs on the side of her bed, facing the mirror. She frowned at the sight of her lavished body. She always had to do things on her own. With another sigh, she rubbed herself with her forefingers. Her eyes returning to it's half lidded haze as she continues her torturous pattern.
As he expected, she's facing him. He frowned at quite the distance between them, she usually sat on the floor, face-to-face with her own reflection. He noticed she's taking her time with a slow pace. It was killing him inside.
"Damn it Lucy!" If he could be the one to pleasure her, he would.
He would fuck her senseless until she couldn't walk for a good week. Maybe two. But this was his hell. He chose this hell. He growled at the sight of her finally inserting two fingers while the other hand tweaked her already swollen nub.
"Ah... Ah"
"Natsu"
His given name. He remembers. He gave himself that name. His name is Natsu.
And she called for him.
If his hell involved insanity, this was it.
But he watched her call his name. Again and again. And again. And again.
"Natsu.. Na-atsu.. Natsu.. Ng-nhatsu.. Natsu Natsu Natsu! Please!"
She was begging for her release–no. For his release.
He watched, frozen in his place. There's not a single coherent thought in his head right now. He was all blank. Then to her, it was a moment of pure bliss as she lets herself fall on her mattress to catch her breath.
She realized. She just called out the mysterious man from her dreams. How embarrassing. Even to her, it really was. Natsu has taken a part of her life, in this case, her dreams. She couldn't remember when it started but it started off slow.
She grasps the color of burnt salmon.
A few nights later, she learned his eyes to be piercing green.
A little later than that, he introduced himself as Natsu.
They went on innocent dates and happy endings.
Soon, she found herself waking up one morning with a very wet underwear and a vividly sex dream.
Those dreams became more frequent. She felt loved by the man. Even if, even though he wasn't real. She concluded, at least there's a part of her that's happy and contented.
He snapped back to reality with a jolt, only noticing just now, her exhausted and unconscious body lying limply on her bed.
"Did she know?" That the only thing he could think of.
How else would she know his name?
It wasn't difficult to convince himself either. Because he realized something. So maybe it wasn't just her fetish to watch herself in the mirror.
Maybe she was drawn to him too.
The thought immediately angers him. He wanted to break the plane. He wanted to be with her. Yes he was being selfish but he wanted her for himself.
He's going to break the plane.
He gazed at his hands.
Even if it meant using his own fists.
She wakes up the next day. The sun's rays slipping from the crack between her fingers as she tried to shield her face away, wanting nothing more but to catch up on more sleep. Her body was sore too, she didn't want to move–not a single fingernail.
"–Ms. Heartfilia! You have a gue–oh"
"Not now" She murmured sleepily.
"B-but he says it's quite urgent"
"How many times do I have to tell you–" She stops herself as she sat up. She sees the burnt salmon, followed by the piercing green eyes.
"I'm Natsu. I'm here as your new neighbor, my lady" He has an all-knowing grin on his face.
A lump was forming in her throat. There were just no words.
Because what he said deemed her impossible to speak or to answer.
"Are you dreaming of me often? Lucy?"