It was as if her powers were to pull, rather than to push, because god knows I couldn't breathe around her. The air, that should have been circulating my somewhat stuffed up lungs, was sucked out with such vehemence that I struggled to stand. But it's not my fault, her simple elegance seemed to drip from her as she swept through the corridors, and intelligence bubbled at her tongue as she spoke. I know it seems silly, but I've never felt this way before, for anyone really… but I guess she's not anyone, she's Jean.
The darkness seemed to eat away at the library, I sat curled in one of the more plush chairs at the back, a book sat contentedly on my lap and my eyes lazily flicked from one page to the next. Peaceful perfection was what it was, well the perfection was peaceful, at least until I saw her. At first I was puzzled, why would she be up at this hour and why in this section of the library. Most students didn't even know it existed as it was home to the more classic books, with Dickens on my left and Christie on my right, the reality of my loneliness was small to non-existent.
"Rogue." She whispered, I watched with a special frailty her travel across the room. As previously mentioned, she had a way of stealing my breath and tonight was no exception, I stumbled hopelessly for something to say.
"Jean, you're up late." I ever so perceptively pointed out. A smile flickered across her lips as she sat on the chair beside me.
"What's wrong?" She asked, letting her head tilt to the side. I would have come up with a logical and precise answer, except little locks of scarlet had now clouded her vision and I had this absurd impulsion to push them aside. So I did. My hand reached out and gently tucked her hair back behind her ear, I wasn't sure who was more surprised at this. Me I guess, because my eyes widened to such an extent that I'm convinced I must have looked like an owl on speed.
"N-Nothing, sorry, habit." My excuse was pathetic, but her smile didn't fade. Perhaps she wasn't listening, like most of the people around me, or perhaps it was my small gesture of stupidity that she found amusing. Whatever it was, I was so thankful for it. You see, you can never truly understand beauty until you're sitting beside me and looking at her. The curve of her lips, the spark in her eyes, the rouge on her cheeks… she was epitome of everything feminism stood for.
I wasn't quite sure if the room was spinning, or if I was just hallucinating because she actually began to move closer. A moment later, her hand cupped my cheek, her other began to stroke through my hair and her lips, her perfectly shaped lips, met my own.
I waited for it, I waited for the black veins and choked gasps, but nothing came. When she did pull back however, she just let her lips hover over my own and her eyes sink into mine. She was searching for something, I opened my mouth to ask but again her lips moved to silence me.
"Like dessert Rogue, everyone wants to taste you but if they have too much, they'll be sick." Everything she said washed over me like a trance, I must have said something along the lines of "I know" or "Yes" because again came that kiss and again I was quiet.
"I should be so lucky, my metabolism is that of lightning."
And with that she left, I sat there for hours after she'd gone. My fingertips brushing over where hers had been, my thoughts playing and replaying everything that had happened. I may have been her dessert, but she was my bread and water.
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Odd yes, but sweet in a way. Comment if you wish.