The third part. Strange things happen.
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I open my eyes and the moment ends. You seem to have emerged from whatever reverie you were in and acknowledged my presence. You pull back abruptly, lean against the sofa, furiously grasping the little red pillow and clutching it to your chest. You seem angry now. Should I be happy? Well, at least this is the emotion I know.
"A L-I-F-E, Ian, you understand?" You burst out suddenly. "You ever had one?"
I lean over the table and reach for my tea. "Been working on one recently."
"Oh yeah? And how's it going?" You ask almost casually while you wildly pull out little feathers from the pillow and tear them apart between your fingers.
"I'm alive." I announce half-heartedly.
"Lucky you." You are stroking the pillow gently now, as if saying you're sorry for all those dead little feathers. The urge to switch places with the pillow suddenly becomes quite hard to bear.
I recognize the feeling, emerging slowly from the dim recesses of my soul. I know I could supress it and then throw it all out in the silence of the hall, training till my muscles burn and the feeling subsides. But I can't. I find out I don't want to and I actually smile at the thought.
"I think I can help you, Sara..." My voice is not my own anymore. It is quiet, more like the hiss of a snake. I shudder, but the feeling has taken over already. There is nothing I can do. Or is there?
I slowly lean back and reach for my coat, never taking my eyes off of you. You sense something is wrong, hell you are good, the porcelain hits the floor and you grab your gun, but I'm no longer on the other end of the barrel, I'm behind you. One ever so gentle swirl and and your gun flies towards the dark end of the loft. Another, not so gentle swirl - I can feel your fury surfacing, I must silence you - and I quickly wrap my arms around you. You gasp as the blades cross under your chin, mere inches from your throat, as I force you to lean your head against my chest.
I thought I saw the flicker of those eyes behind your eyes, but it's gone now. Your breathing is shallow and ragged, your body pressed tightly against mine. I can feel the muscles of your legs twitch as you struggle to make the decision and fight me. You don't even glance at the Witchblade on your wrist. You know that disturbing detail about your little toy, don't you?
"Big toys for the big boys, Ian?" Your try to keep your voice calm and sound self-assured, but I think we both know you failed. It is not your voice that betrays you though.
I can feel it emerging, it slides just below the surface now, sensing the needle I'm about to stick into my vein. The serpent inside me has awakened now and it waits impatiently for the first taste of the drug you feed me with, Sara. I close my eyes and inhale it slowly.
Your fear.
"Hey, watch it, you could kill someone with those!"
I smile through the veil of overwhelming sensation. Your eyes widen. I can't see it, but I know it. Blackness outside, blackness inside my soul.
"That's exactly what they are for, Sara." I whisper right into your ear.
You shift uneasily, but you don't try to struggle anymore. I can feel your muscles relaxing, as you rest against me, trying to avoid the blades. I guess you'll try a different approach now...
"What the hell are you doing, Nottingham?" You spit out suddenly.
"Fulfilling your wish, Sara" I whisper, lost in your scent. "I'm taking your life from you so you can take it back... if you can."
"Get. These. Things. Off. Of. Me. Nottingham." You growl.
So, we're trying to be intimidating now. Hmmm... I open my eyes and let them follow the curve of the blade from its very tip to the part which is resting against your skin.
The touch of the blade against the bare skin. It's the only caress I've ever known. Isn't it generous of me to share that feeling with you?
"These 'things', Sara, are two of the most beautiful pieces of steel ever made by the hand of man." I say quietly, watching the skin on your throat twitch as you take a shallow breath.
"Gee, I'm impressed. Now..."
The blade is now a hair's breadth from your skin. But I can't move it away now. I can't. So I blurt out:
"Don't!...move... This might hurt you."
I might hurt you.
I know it is too late now...
"Shit, you talk like your father again, Nottingham." You manage to say through your clenched teeth, barely taking a breath.
I know it's too late...
The air is so heavy now, it is hard to breathe. Or is it your fear that dulled my senses and I forgot to? I open my mouth and gasp for oxygen. You shudder.
It is too late.
A droplet of blood slowly appears on your neck where your skin has touched the blade when you moved. I watch it fascinated. The serpent watches it with me. Then I slowly move the blades an inch away from your throat. The serpent bends my head to your neck and I slowly lick the blood off of your skin.
Nothing has prepared me for this. Nothing in my life has prepared me for the rush I feel after tasting you. Is it just you or is it the mystical lifeforce in your blood that makes me so addicted? I shut my eyes tight and struggle to regain control. I could kill you now, the serpent guiding my movements so it can get the overdose of you and lay on its back, resting, fulfilled...
I'm not a monster.
Your voice brings me back to reality and I force my overdosed brain to recall your words. And then I remember and it strikes me with full force.
'Is it you, Ian, or is Irons still down there somewhere?'
The serpent writhes in pain and crawls back into its cave. I push the blades away from your throat and they fall clattering onto the floor. I'm not a monster. Yet. Or did I just make myself one?
Is it still me?
I watch as you turn slowly to face me and then go back a few steps. You study my face for a while and then you cover the distance between us in a blink of and eye and slap me squarely across the face. Hard. The flashes of white appear before my eyes and my body acts of its own free will again, catching both of your wrists in my hands before you make another assault on my face.
Is it still me? I look deep into your eyes, searching for those eyes behind them, searching for an answer there. Is it me? I must know...
I pull you slowly but deliberately towards me. You're not fighting it? Or is it just my imagination that hopes you to bend to my demands? But then as I lower my head you close your eyes. Awaiting it? I suddenly feel the urge to flee, but I supress it and push forward to feel the other taste of you.
Your knees give out and I jerk you back up so your lips don't escape mine. I think I bit you as you tried to push away, because I can taste your blood yet again. I want to slow it down a bit but then I feel the tip of your tongue touch the corner of my mouth. I'm having difficulties with understanding words now so it takes me a while to comprehend what you just whispered against my lips:
"Was that my last cookie, Nottingham?"
I growl. The aching surfaces again and it's a different kind of ache, but likewise unbearable.
Backwards, backwards, back of my knees connecting with the couch, falling onto it, pulling you with me, your hands tugging at the hem of my sweater, let it go above my head and onto the floor, my t-shirt following, your nails against my chest, your knee pressed against the aching between my legs, and your t-shirt flies up up and away now, you start unbuckling my belt, your hands trembling, I push you away, angrily, you're too slow, I'll do it myself, damn it!.
The Witchblade glows on your wrist and then I remember.
Cold glass against my hot forehead, rivulets of sweat falling down my back, plastering my clothes to my skin, waves of pain rushing through my body as he grabs you and kisses you roughly, forgetting the white flower of purity he had brought you. And then you both bounce against the wall and fall onto the bed, kissing and trying to discard all your clothes in the rush so awfully similar to the one that swallowed me just a while ago. And you unbuckle his belt and he pushes you onto the bed in the awfully similar fashion.
A frustrated cry escapes my lips and I tear away, stagger backwards from your dreamy eyes and parted lips. I stumble over something, fall over something else and my back connects painfully with the floor. I lay there, unblinking, analysing the dull ache in my spine and in the back of my head.
Was it still me a while ago or was it a monster you had awaken when you let me taste your blood?
I hear the rustling of clothes and your face comes into view, your eyes not so dreamy anymore. You look at me with a worried expression on your face, as I stop staring at the ceiling and turn my eyes to regard you.
"Hey... You alright there, Nottingham?"
You look so unusually helpless, just standing there over me, clutching the red pillow to your bare chest, your brown hair a disheveled mess hanging around your face.
I blink, feeling the tears forming in my eyes and I burst out laughing. I'm not a monster. I'm me. It's only me.
The laughter is so cleansing. Tears are streaming down my face. I can barely see you now, as you sink to your knees beside me, the look of worry on your face turning into anger. You throw the pillow away and search for something else to cover yourself with. I realize you must be thinking I'm laughing at you. I try to stop and I wipe my tears away with my forearm. Then I look at you again - you're dressed now - and I know I won't be able to stop. I roll onto my side, my forehead almost touching your knees, I clutch my hands to my stomach, laughing so hard I can barely catch a breath.
You hit me in the arm with your fist, but not so hard. I know my laughter is highly contagious and I can feel it building inside you.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Your voice is shaky and you hit me once again as if to cover your lack of self-confidence. This blow was strong, I would have collapsed if I weren't already on the floor. You swing your arm again and I raise my hand, palm up, in attempt to stop another blow.
"Please... Sara..." I choke. "Is that my shirt you are wearing?"
You let out a frustrated groan and then get up, leaving me there on the floor, hysterical laughter turning my insides out. I can hear your unsteady footsteps as you walk to the kitchen, laughing silently, obviously hoping I won't hear that. Silly you.
My laughter subsides and I slowly get up from the floor and climb up onto the couch. I lean back and close my eyes. The image of your body under mine comes to my mind and I feel my heart starting to race.
You come back after a while.
"Jeez, I almost lost it..." You mutter under your breath. I can hear you running your hand through your hair and sighing deeply. I open my eyes to see you kneeling beside the couch, cleaning the remains of the mug from the floor. You wipe up the tea with a cloth, stand up and pad back into the kitchen.
"Your head OK?" Your voice comes again. I look over my shoulder to see you standing behind me with a small bag in your hand. "Want some ice on it?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, thank you, my head is fine..."
"But I guess I'd use some of that ice on a certain other part of my body..." I add after a moment of hesitation. I meet your startled expression with a smile that I hope is boyish enough and I can see you smile too.
"Don't make me take it literally, Ian..." You realize you walked right into this one but it's too late.
"Oh I wish you would take it, Sara. Literally."
You hold my gaze for a moment and then pout your lips. "In your dreams, Nottingham."
I smile even wider. "You know me so well, Sara."
I duck and the bag of ice flies right over my head and splashes against the coffee table top.
"Yeah, I wish I knew you better, Nottingham." Your voice is serious now. "Now clean up your mess and get the hell out of here."
I rise from the couch and walk to the place where I left my blades on the floor. I bend to pick them up and I'm suddenly aware of your eyes boring holes in my back. I stretch slowly, a blade in each hand, and I turn to you. You stand there, watching me in the dim light and I'm wondering who is it that you see now. Is it a man who was sworn to protect you, a sibling of sorts? Or a man that just made you weak in your knees and you were ready to give yourself to him after he had threatened to take your life?
Or is it just a half-naked man with two dangerous weapons in his bare hands?
It's just me, Sara.
I carefully place the blades on the coffee table and extend my hand to you. You watch me for a while, mesmerized. I smile when you slowly start walking towards me. I wave my hand impatiently.
"My shirt, Sara."
Your dreamy expression turns to hatred in that very second and you pull the shirt over your head, revealing your naked body for a moment and then the black cloth hits me in the face. I catch it and quickly put it on. Then I bend to pick up my sweather. When I look up, you're gone from sight. --------------------------------------------------------------------------
So, do you still like it, or not? I would really love to hear from you :)=
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I open my eyes and the moment ends. You seem to have emerged from whatever reverie you were in and acknowledged my presence. You pull back abruptly, lean against the sofa, furiously grasping the little red pillow and clutching it to your chest. You seem angry now. Should I be happy? Well, at least this is the emotion I know.
"A L-I-F-E, Ian, you understand?" You burst out suddenly. "You ever had one?"
I lean over the table and reach for my tea. "Been working on one recently."
"Oh yeah? And how's it going?" You ask almost casually while you wildly pull out little feathers from the pillow and tear them apart between your fingers.
"I'm alive." I announce half-heartedly.
"Lucky you." You are stroking the pillow gently now, as if saying you're sorry for all those dead little feathers. The urge to switch places with the pillow suddenly becomes quite hard to bear.
I recognize the feeling, emerging slowly from the dim recesses of my soul. I know I could supress it and then throw it all out in the silence of the hall, training till my muscles burn and the feeling subsides. But I can't. I find out I don't want to and I actually smile at the thought.
"I think I can help you, Sara..." My voice is not my own anymore. It is quiet, more like the hiss of a snake. I shudder, but the feeling has taken over already. There is nothing I can do. Or is there?
I slowly lean back and reach for my coat, never taking my eyes off of you. You sense something is wrong, hell you are good, the porcelain hits the floor and you grab your gun, but I'm no longer on the other end of the barrel, I'm behind you. One ever so gentle swirl and and your gun flies towards the dark end of the loft. Another, not so gentle swirl - I can feel your fury surfacing, I must silence you - and I quickly wrap my arms around you. You gasp as the blades cross under your chin, mere inches from your throat, as I force you to lean your head against my chest.
I thought I saw the flicker of those eyes behind your eyes, but it's gone now. Your breathing is shallow and ragged, your body pressed tightly against mine. I can feel the muscles of your legs twitch as you struggle to make the decision and fight me. You don't even glance at the Witchblade on your wrist. You know that disturbing detail about your little toy, don't you?
"Big toys for the big boys, Ian?" Your try to keep your voice calm and sound self-assured, but I think we both know you failed. It is not your voice that betrays you though.
I can feel it emerging, it slides just below the surface now, sensing the needle I'm about to stick into my vein. The serpent inside me has awakened now and it waits impatiently for the first taste of the drug you feed me with, Sara. I close my eyes and inhale it slowly.
Your fear.
"Hey, watch it, you could kill someone with those!"
I smile through the veil of overwhelming sensation. Your eyes widen. I can't see it, but I know it. Blackness outside, blackness inside my soul.
"That's exactly what they are for, Sara." I whisper right into your ear.
You shift uneasily, but you don't try to struggle anymore. I can feel your muscles relaxing, as you rest against me, trying to avoid the blades. I guess you'll try a different approach now...
"What the hell are you doing, Nottingham?" You spit out suddenly.
"Fulfilling your wish, Sara" I whisper, lost in your scent. "I'm taking your life from you so you can take it back... if you can."
"Get. These. Things. Off. Of. Me. Nottingham." You growl.
So, we're trying to be intimidating now. Hmmm... I open my eyes and let them follow the curve of the blade from its very tip to the part which is resting against your skin.
The touch of the blade against the bare skin. It's the only caress I've ever known. Isn't it generous of me to share that feeling with you?
"These 'things', Sara, are two of the most beautiful pieces of steel ever made by the hand of man." I say quietly, watching the skin on your throat twitch as you take a shallow breath.
"Gee, I'm impressed. Now..."
The blade is now a hair's breadth from your skin. But I can't move it away now. I can't. So I blurt out:
"Don't!...move... This might hurt you."
I might hurt you.
I know it is too late now...
"Shit, you talk like your father again, Nottingham." You manage to say through your clenched teeth, barely taking a breath.
I know it's too late...
The air is so heavy now, it is hard to breathe. Or is it your fear that dulled my senses and I forgot to? I open my mouth and gasp for oxygen. You shudder.
It is too late.
A droplet of blood slowly appears on your neck where your skin has touched the blade when you moved. I watch it fascinated. The serpent watches it with me. Then I slowly move the blades an inch away from your throat. The serpent bends my head to your neck and I slowly lick the blood off of your skin.
Nothing has prepared me for this. Nothing in my life has prepared me for the rush I feel after tasting you. Is it just you or is it the mystical lifeforce in your blood that makes me so addicted? I shut my eyes tight and struggle to regain control. I could kill you now, the serpent guiding my movements so it can get the overdose of you and lay on its back, resting, fulfilled...
I'm not a monster.
Your voice brings me back to reality and I force my overdosed brain to recall your words. And then I remember and it strikes me with full force.
'Is it you, Ian, or is Irons still down there somewhere?'
The serpent writhes in pain and crawls back into its cave. I push the blades away from your throat and they fall clattering onto the floor. I'm not a monster. Yet. Or did I just make myself one?
Is it still me?
I watch as you turn slowly to face me and then go back a few steps. You study my face for a while and then you cover the distance between us in a blink of and eye and slap me squarely across the face. Hard. The flashes of white appear before my eyes and my body acts of its own free will again, catching both of your wrists in my hands before you make another assault on my face.
Is it still me? I look deep into your eyes, searching for those eyes behind them, searching for an answer there. Is it me? I must know...
I pull you slowly but deliberately towards me. You're not fighting it? Or is it just my imagination that hopes you to bend to my demands? But then as I lower my head you close your eyes. Awaiting it? I suddenly feel the urge to flee, but I supress it and push forward to feel the other taste of you.
Your knees give out and I jerk you back up so your lips don't escape mine. I think I bit you as you tried to push away, because I can taste your blood yet again. I want to slow it down a bit but then I feel the tip of your tongue touch the corner of my mouth. I'm having difficulties with understanding words now so it takes me a while to comprehend what you just whispered against my lips:
"Was that my last cookie, Nottingham?"
I growl. The aching surfaces again and it's a different kind of ache, but likewise unbearable.
Backwards, backwards, back of my knees connecting with the couch, falling onto it, pulling you with me, your hands tugging at the hem of my sweater, let it go above my head and onto the floor, my t-shirt following, your nails against my chest, your knee pressed against the aching between my legs, and your t-shirt flies up up and away now, you start unbuckling my belt, your hands trembling, I push you away, angrily, you're too slow, I'll do it myself, damn it!.
The Witchblade glows on your wrist and then I remember.
Cold glass against my hot forehead, rivulets of sweat falling down my back, plastering my clothes to my skin, waves of pain rushing through my body as he grabs you and kisses you roughly, forgetting the white flower of purity he had brought you. And then you both bounce against the wall and fall onto the bed, kissing and trying to discard all your clothes in the rush so awfully similar to the one that swallowed me just a while ago. And you unbuckle his belt and he pushes you onto the bed in the awfully similar fashion.
A frustrated cry escapes my lips and I tear away, stagger backwards from your dreamy eyes and parted lips. I stumble over something, fall over something else and my back connects painfully with the floor. I lay there, unblinking, analysing the dull ache in my spine and in the back of my head.
Was it still me a while ago or was it a monster you had awaken when you let me taste your blood?
I hear the rustling of clothes and your face comes into view, your eyes not so dreamy anymore. You look at me with a worried expression on your face, as I stop staring at the ceiling and turn my eyes to regard you.
"Hey... You alright there, Nottingham?"
You look so unusually helpless, just standing there over me, clutching the red pillow to your bare chest, your brown hair a disheveled mess hanging around your face.
I blink, feeling the tears forming in my eyes and I burst out laughing. I'm not a monster. I'm me. It's only me.
The laughter is so cleansing. Tears are streaming down my face. I can barely see you now, as you sink to your knees beside me, the look of worry on your face turning into anger. You throw the pillow away and search for something else to cover yourself with. I realize you must be thinking I'm laughing at you. I try to stop and I wipe my tears away with my forearm. Then I look at you again - you're dressed now - and I know I won't be able to stop. I roll onto my side, my forehead almost touching your knees, I clutch my hands to my stomach, laughing so hard I can barely catch a breath.
You hit me in the arm with your fist, but not so hard. I know my laughter is highly contagious and I can feel it building inside you.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Your voice is shaky and you hit me once again as if to cover your lack of self-confidence. This blow was strong, I would have collapsed if I weren't already on the floor. You swing your arm again and I raise my hand, palm up, in attempt to stop another blow.
"Please... Sara..." I choke. "Is that my shirt you are wearing?"
You let out a frustrated groan and then get up, leaving me there on the floor, hysterical laughter turning my insides out. I can hear your unsteady footsteps as you walk to the kitchen, laughing silently, obviously hoping I won't hear that. Silly you.
My laughter subsides and I slowly get up from the floor and climb up onto the couch. I lean back and close my eyes. The image of your body under mine comes to my mind and I feel my heart starting to race.
You come back after a while.
"Jeez, I almost lost it..." You mutter under your breath. I can hear you running your hand through your hair and sighing deeply. I open my eyes to see you kneeling beside the couch, cleaning the remains of the mug from the floor. You wipe up the tea with a cloth, stand up and pad back into the kitchen.
"Your head OK?" Your voice comes again. I look over my shoulder to see you standing behind me with a small bag in your hand. "Want some ice on it?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, thank you, my head is fine..."
"But I guess I'd use some of that ice on a certain other part of my body..." I add after a moment of hesitation. I meet your startled expression with a smile that I hope is boyish enough and I can see you smile too.
"Don't make me take it literally, Ian..." You realize you walked right into this one but it's too late.
"Oh I wish you would take it, Sara. Literally."
You hold my gaze for a moment and then pout your lips. "In your dreams, Nottingham."
I smile even wider. "You know me so well, Sara."
I duck and the bag of ice flies right over my head and splashes against the coffee table top.
"Yeah, I wish I knew you better, Nottingham." Your voice is serious now. "Now clean up your mess and get the hell out of here."
I rise from the couch and walk to the place where I left my blades on the floor. I bend to pick them up and I'm suddenly aware of your eyes boring holes in my back. I stretch slowly, a blade in each hand, and I turn to you. You stand there, watching me in the dim light and I'm wondering who is it that you see now. Is it a man who was sworn to protect you, a sibling of sorts? Or a man that just made you weak in your knees and you were ready to give yourself to him after he had threatened to take your life?
Or is it just a half-naked man with two dangerous weapons in his bare hands?
It's just me, Sara.
I carefully place the blades on the coffee table and extend my hand to you. You watch me for a while, mesmerized. I smile when you slowly start walking towards me. I wave my hand impatiently.
"My shirt, Sara."
Your dreamy expression turns to hatred in that very second and you pull the shirt over your head, revealing your naked body for a moment and then the black cloth hits me in the face. I catch it and quickly put it on. Then I bend to pick up my sweather. When I look up, you're gone from sight. --------------------------------------------------------------------------
So, do you still like it, or not? I would really love to hear from you :)=