Mysterious
It was the only word that echoed within his skull when he hollowed it out. It defined the most important thing in the world; and his senseless attraction to it-
to her…
How many years had it been?
Since their fateful meeting?
Since their fatal parting?
He'd lost count.
Obviously he had.
He kept count in seconds.
The exclusive lounge was raised half a level above the dance floor. It was flooded with soft live music which was sealed in by soundproof glass. He brushed past soft, whispered conversations on his way to the far end of the bar.
He occupied his usual seat and his usual drink occupied his glass. Today, it was poured over ice.
On the rocks, he had felt like saying, because it described his life so adequately.
His eyes were downcast, studying the dancers on the floor below. They were drawn to her automatically. His craving for her was carnal; he could not control it. Once he had locked onto her, he could not look away.
He stared, absorbing every little detail. Nothing escaped him; not the lip marks on her martini glasses, neither the toes blistering because of her gorgeous shoes. It was torture watching her.
There was no distance between her and the man. His hands explored her publicly; she let them. In a few hours, she was enjoying it.
He'd lost count again; how many times had he suppressed the urge to beat that man within an inch of his last breath?
His fist clenched. Over the years, his nails had calloused his palms.
The desire he once had for her had consumed him, reducing his love to infatuation. With every day he wanted less and needed more.
She had become as essential as air and water. She had become a disease – a terminal illness. She'd stay with him until the day he died.
If he could have it his way, he'd take her to his grave.
The man was kissing her. The action was slight, but he could see her trying to lean away. The heat of his rage boiled a bitter hatred inside him.
He drank, trying to drown himself before she could asphyxiate him. It was the same every night.
The distance between them was as wide as the hole in his courage. It was constant - the last inch. It had neither grown nor shrunk over the years. This soothed him. While he wasn't closer, at least he was not further.
The man's tongue was coercing her mouth open. She was resolute, as she always was. Tonight, this man did not cut the standard.
He was grateful.
He traced the crook of her neck which was being caressed by loose strands of her hair. She responded beautifully when his lips were buried in that crevice. She would arch toward him when his teeth gently brushed her collarbone.
She would gasp
and moan
and whisper his name,
a thousand times;
calling out,
calling him.
His grip tightened around his glass. Blood scattered from his knuckles, his face.
She was holding the man's hand away from her shirt. He was drunk. So was she. But he wasn't good enough; not what she was looking for.
Some nights, she'd take her partner home. Those nights were bad. Those were the nights she ripped his heart out and squeezed it until the alcohol had numbed him and hypnotized him into slumber.
The guitar strummed slowly, like the beat of his heart.
Sweat had surfaced on her smooth skin and along her soft hairline. Her lips were swelling from the man's ruthless kisses. Her breathing was jagged, like the rise and fall of her chest.
He had seen her like this so many times. Except, her expressions had accepted him as passionately as they were rejecting this man tonight.
He wondered- quickly caging the thought before it could take shape.
He remembered, those many sights and sounds and touches from all those nights which faded into the dawn before they had relented.
The bartender had said something pleasant to him, but he did not hear. He was hungry.
Starved.
The sound of money resonated from the bar top.
He could not watch them anymore. He had to leave. He needed a distraction.
Loud music pounded the bodies on the dance floor. This was the only way out, charting a path through a wild crowd of intoxication.
His fist collided into the man's jaw, tearing him from her. The man wanted to spit a mix of profanity and blood at him.
Her eyes froze everything,
even time.
They were wide and blank. She felt too much to portray. He would not be able to decipher it anyway; not with the way he led her to the exit.
The parking lot was littered with cars. His was parked against the back wall. Waiting was not a feasible option, neither was driving.
He crushed her between him starved body and the cold wall. She arched away from the frigid bricks, clinging to him to ease her desperation. He held the small of her back and cradled her head. He missed the soft, warm, feathered touch of her hair.
His lips met hers with the intention of devouring her. He could taste the man's liquor on her tongue and kissed her till it disappeared. She held his face, her pale fingers weaving through his dark mane. Her legs locked around his hips, forcing him closer to her, making him his prisoner.
God, he had missed her; missed her so much, especially on the nights he watched her.
She comfortably straddled him as he slowly carried her to his car. She refused to release his lips, instead she tried to seal every millimetre between them. She was shivering. He had the rear door open and gently lowered her into a warmed seat. She pulled him down with her.
He had to pull away, despite his vehement reluctance. He couldn't drive, not with her in the passenger seat. And if they started here in the back seat of his car, they'd be here for days until the police forcefully separated them in jail.
He pushed her down, pinning her hands beside her. His lips traced trails of fire down her neck and she started to moan. When he finally stopped, his eyes pleaded with hers.
Please. Wait. Soon, you'll be home.
She bit her lip, but didn't put up a fight. She hadn't been home in whole lifetimes; not since he'd left.
He floored the accelerator.
She sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She leaned her head against his backrest, tightening her hold on him. He raced against time, wanting every possible moment to cherish her. He wanted to compensate for lost time – millions and millions of lost seconds.
He heard her whisper: "Where have you been?"
Andhera:
It's been a while. I got caught up in my final year of university. Chalk Dust is stalling - I do not know where to take it. Her Perfume was a recent discovery. It is a work in progress again.
I wrote this a while back and felt like posting it today for some reason. Maybe to tell you about a LiveJournal community called help_haiti. It is allowing fandom participants to auction their skills to raise money for participants. You donate directly to the charities, so no shady business. I'm participating by offering a fanfic or original fiction about 10 thousand words long, or beta services. If you are interested in helping out by bidding, the link to my post is:
http:// community. livejournal. com/ help_haiti/ 6394. html? thread=3828218#t3828218
Just remove the spaces and you are good to go. I encourage you to participate by offering you own skills! Browse through and see if you'd like to bid on anything - it doesn't have to be my post.
Thanks for reading! I've missed you all very much. Hopefully, the future will see more updates from me.