***
He winced more than she did as he tightly but carefully wrapped her broken fingers in a strip of soft white cloth taken from his pack. She hadn't said a word since he had found her in the alleyway she had spent all that time in, secretly supporting them both through the darkest of professions. He hadn't exactly tried to make conversation, either - he was afraid that if he so much as opened his mouth in the slightest, what would escape would only make matters worse. He had lived a sheltered childhood, it was true, but he knew, just from the few moments he had seen of her at work in the alley, what she did during her almost nightly 'errands'. He also knew she was wearing thin - he had noticed an odd pattern in her behavior of late, almost a decline in her usually joyful, spirited nature. She had obviously been doing this before she had taken him in, and she had also obviously been doing this far too long; it was visibly taking its toll. She was far less talkative, and sometimes he would look up, smiling at her from his bed to see her simply gazing at his face, or even at nothing at all, here eyes glazed over, face expressionless. She did it even now, staring blankly at the middle and ring fingers of her right hand as they were wrapped together in the cloth.
She was wearing her cloak tightly closed as he worked. He wondered slightly about how she had hurriedly closed it as they had entered the light of her rooms from the dark street, but did not think it wise to ask just now. Her face was tearstained and dirty, blood from her fingers smeared along her right cheek. Although she seemed somewhat worse for wear, her eyes were still as green as ever... but his heart was saddened as he saw that nearly all the joyful sparkle he had once thought so lovely was gone. All he wanted was for her to be happy again, like she had been in all the time he had been in her care. All he wanted... was for her pain to stop.
Then, suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, something clicked in his mind.
'...Telia...'
She winced, though not from any physical pain. 'Please, Danté... don't ask me any questions yet. Please.'
Her voice was odd, irregular, and grainy - not unlike what she had sounded like the first time he had heard her speak. However, this time, it was not caused by tiredness, but from the fact that she hadn't spoken in hours. 'But I...' He abruptly cancelled his sentence when he saw a small tear trail down her cheek. There was a short silence.
He put his right hand on her shoulder. Her eyes looked up into his. He saw they were bright, but not from joy. More tears were threatening to fall as she turned away from him, furiously wiping them away. He tried to make her look at him, but she wouldn't. When she refused, he gently tilted her chin to look at him with the index finger of his left hand. When her eyes met his again, she saw something different in them, something more than simple sympathy, something he hadn't been showing her before. Something she was shocked to find she was in total agreement with.
When he leaned forward and kissed her softly, there was no resistance. She did not push him away, but also made no move to hold him. Everything she had said she would never do, everything she knew she could never have, it was all happening right then, and she didn't know what to think. She had known for days this truly was what she had wanted all this time, but then again, he didn't know what she did. She wanted to pull away, to stop before she was past the point of being able to, but his strong hand holding her, moving on her back, it was all making her forget. When he held her cheek in his left hand, she couldn't help but place her hand over his.
His right hand on her shoulder slowly slipped down her arm, coming to rest on her side, just below her breast. When she pulled away from him softly, she looked into his eyes, still mere inches away. Her breathing came in short, shallow pants. Her chest heaved. She could feel her heart pounding, the sound ringing in her ears. When she moved to him and their lips met again, the kiss was hot, deep, passionate. His hand left her cheek and instead entwined itself in her hair, pulling her closer to him.
She had done such things on more occasions and with more partners than she could count, but it had never felt like this before. Other times, it had been for duty, for life, for survival. This time, it was for lust, for need, for longing. She finally gave in to his embrace, wrapping one arm around his waist, the other around his neck. Her uninjured fingers toyed with the fine black hairs at the base of his skull. A small sound escaped her throat, and the kiss intensified.
Why shouldn't she just do this? After all, she wanted him so badly, and he certainly seemed to be feeling the same way. Anyway, it wasn't guaranteed he would be affected. Was she to die without being granted just one night, one time when it would be real? Was she to now be denied everything she gave so willingly to others? Her hand came from behind his neck and slid down to his chest. He pulled her closer, their kiss deepening still.
She was nearly beyond the point of no return when, with a sudden jolt, she remembered. He didn't know what she did.
He didn't know.
Reality slammed back into her brain. The world crashed violently back all around her. She pulled away from him almost roughly, her panicked eyes staring into his face. His sharp features, the angle of his nose, the line of his chin, the black hair and stubble that made him so special to her... she took in everything about his beautiful face. She had never cared for anyone like she did for Danté. How could she have almost done that to him? What was she thinking? She pulled back further, sitting upright on her stool. She cleared her throat and looked away from his eyes, motioning for him to finish wrapping her fingers.
'I... can't.' she said softly.
He said nothing, only went back to his work at the table.
'...It's because of your... occupation.' It wasn't a question, merely a statement. A statement that hadn't been said rudely or bitterly, just with a calm, understanding tone.
She did not answer.
'...Please tell me,' he asked softly. 'Please tell me... what is wrong here. Tell me why you have to live like this.'
Immediately after he had spoken, Telia slammed her uninjured hand on the table they had been sitting at, sharply tearing her other hand away from his grasp and standing abruptly. The small, three-legged stool on which she had been sitting flew across the tiled floor with a clatter.
'What do you mean, why I have to 'live like this'?!' she shouted, her tan, jaw-length hair flying everyway. 'It was no choice I made, Danté! It's not as if I awoke one morning with a sudden desire to sell myself and my sin to the pigs that roam these streets once the sun has died!!'
Her reaction shocked him so that he barely noticed the inch-long gash her fingernails had dug into the back of his hand when her damaged hand had been torn away.
'Is it my fault my parents died when I was just a girl? Is it my fault I have no training, no education for anything?! They left me with nothing. Nothing! And soon I'll have... nothing.' She had been shouting in the beginning, but by the time she reached the last word, her speaking was barely audible, little more than a whisper.
Tears were freely falling from her eyes as she stood with her back to him.
'And soon... you won't, either.'
What? What could she mean by that? He didn't have anything... all he had was her. Her. His whole world came to a screeching halt. No, she couldn't possibly... possibly mean that. But, what if she did? No, no, she couldn't... but, still...
'Telia...' There was a sense of fear in his voice, an urgency she could no longer hide from. She turned to face him, the embodiment of hopelessness and total despair. Tears still flowing, she slowly undid her cloak, never once meeting his eyes. What lay underneath shocked him more than she could ever know.
Her breasts were held outrageously high, exposed and visible by a shaped, shiny black brassiere. However, instead of having two separate straps going over her shoulders, the two straps that were there connected to a black collar around her neck, leaving her back bare, save a sheer, filmy, pale pink material that was also attached to the bottom seam of the brassiere, and two black rings around her upper arms. The result was an odd, half-visible shirt, which left little to the imagination. Covering her lower half was a pair of skin-tight pale pink shorts, but cut to such a height that they covered little more than her undergarments would have. Overtop was a diagonally cut, above knee-length skirt made from the same flowy material as the shirt. Dark pink heels and a thin black satin ribbon tied around her left thigh topped the whole outfit off. The whole of it granted her little class.
Danté was stunned speechless. He didn't know what he could say. He simply stayed silent, overwhelmed with such pity as he had never felt before.
She was looking straight at him, now. The tears hadn't ceased.
'I'm a prostitute, Danté. I sell myself three, four, five times a night. I have been doing so for over five winters, since I was fourteen.' Her voice was now just a feathery whisper. 'My kind is never safe, but not just from the brutes like the one you saw tonight.' She paused, drawing a deep breath to calm her quivering voice. 'There are also natural punishments for us. Diseases that are passed through our whole community.'
What she said next was such a low whisper that it was barely comprehensible through all of her sobs, but Danté caught every word.
'I have one of these diseases, Danté. That's why I can't... I couldn't do that to you. Danté... I don't know how much longer I have.'
She stood there, immobile a moment, before letting out a long, mournful sob and sinking to the ground, her face covered with her arms. The sobs she had been hiding for so long racked her body mercilessly now, and she looked so much like a little lost girl that Danté nearly wept himself. He didn't know what to do. Should he touch her, tell her it would be alright, or would he only anger her again? He did not have to wonder long, because soon her sobs were diminishing and a faint whisper could be heard.
'Danté... I'm sorry. Please... just hold me? Just for tonight?'
He stood and helped her stand. He held her shoulders in his hands and held her at arm's length, his eyes never leaving hers. He held a finger to her lips.
'No, Telia.' He smiled softly. 'Not just for tonight. Now and always.'
She broke down and placed her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest as her tears fell. She slowly smiled up at him for a moment through her tears.
'...Now and always.'
***
He winced more than she did as he tightly but carefully wrapped her broken fingers in a strip of soft white cloth taken from his pack. She hadn't said a word since he had found her in the alleyway she had spent all that time in, secretly supporting them both through the darkest of professions. He hadn't exactly tried to make conversation, either - he was afraid that if he so much as opened his mouth in the slightest, what would escape would only make matters worse. He had lived a sheltered childhood, it was true, but he knew, just from the few moments he had seen of her at work in the alley, what she did during her almost nightly 'errands'. He also knew she was wearing thin - he had noticed an odd pattern in her behavior of late, almost a decline in her usually joyful, spirited nature. She had obviously been doing this before she had taken him in, and she had also obviously been doing this far too long; it was visibly taking its toll. She was far less talkative, and sometimes he would look up, smiling at her from his bed to see her simply gazing at his face, or even at nothing at all, here eyes glazed over, face expressionless. She did it even now, staring blankly at the middle and ring fingers of her right hand as they were wrapped together in the cloth.
She was wearing her cloak tightly closed as he worked. He wondered slightly about how she had hurriedly closed it as they had entered the light of her rooms from the dark street, but did not think it wise to ask just now. Her face was tearstained and dirty, blood from her fingers smeared along her right cheek. Although she seemed somewhat worse for wear, her eyes were still as green as ever... but his heart was saddened as he saw that nearly all the joyful sparkle he had once thought so lovely was gone. All he wanted was for her to be happy again, like she had been in all the time he had been in her care. All he wanted... was for her pain to stop.
Then, suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, something clicked in his mind.
'...Telia...'
She winced, though not from any physical pain. 'Please, Danté... don't ask me any questions yet. Please.'
Her voice was odd, irregular, and grainy - not unlike what she had sounded like the first time he had heard her speak. However, this time, it was not caused by tiredness, but from the fact that she hadn't spoken in hours. 'But I...' He abruptly cancelled his sentence when he saw a small tear trail down her cheek. There was a short silence.
He put his right hand on her shoulder. Her eyes looked up into his. He saw they were bright, but not from joy. More tears were threatening to fall as she turned away from him, furiously wiping them away. He tried to make her look at him, but she wouldn't. When she refused, he gently tilted her chin to look at him with the index finger of his left hand. When her eyes met his again, she saw something different in them, something more than simple sympathy, something he hadn't been showing her before. Something she was shocked to find she was in total agreement with.
When he leaned forward and kissed her softly, there was no resistance. She did not push him away, but also made no move to hold him. Everything she had said she would never do, everything she knew she could never have, it was all happening right then, and she didn't know what to think. She had known for days this truly was what she had wanted all this time, but then again, he didn't know what she did. She wanted to pull away, to stop before she was past the point of being able to, but his strong hand holding her, moving on her back, it was all making her forget. When he held her cheek in his left hand, she couldn't help but place her hand over his.
His right hand on her shoulder slowly slipped down her arm, coming to rest on her side, just below her breast. When she pulled away from him softly, she looked into his eyes, still mere inches away. Her breathing came in short, shallow pants. Her chest heaved. She could feel her heart pounding, the sound ringing in her ears. When she moved to him and their lips met again, the kiss was hot, deep, passionate. His hand left her cheek and instead entwined itself in her hair, pulling her closer to him.
She had done such things on more occasions and with more partners than she could count, but it had never felt like this before. Other times, it had been for duty, for life, for survival. This time, it was for lust, for need, for longing. She finally gave in to his embrace, wrapping one arm around his waist, the other around his neck. Her uninjured fingers toyed with the fine black hairs at the base of his skull. A small sound escaped her throat, and the kiss intensified.
Why shouldn't she just do this? After all, she wanted him so badly, and he certainly seemed to be feeling the same way. Anyway, it wasn't guaranteed he would be affected. Was she to die without being granted just one night, one time when it would be real? Was she to now be denied everything she gave so willingly to others? Her hand came from behind his neck and slid down to his chest. He pulled her closer, their kiss deepening still.
She was nearly beyond the point of no return when, with a sudden jolt, she remembered. He didn't know what she did.
He didn't know.
Reality slammed back into her brain. The world crashed violently back all around her. She pulled away from him almost roughly, her panicked eyes staring into his face. His sharp features, the angle of his nose, the line of his chin, the black hair and stubble that made him so special to her... she took in everything about his beautiful face. She had never cared for anyone like she did for Danté. How could she have almost done that to him? What was she thinking? She pulled back further, sitting upright on her stool. She cleared her throat and looked away from his eyes, motioning for him to finish wrapping her fingers.
'I... can't.' she said softly.
He said nothing, only went back to his work at the table.
'...It's because of your... occupation.' It wasn't a question, merely a statement. A statement that hadn't been said rudely or bitterly, just with a calm, understanding tone.
She did not answer.
'...Please tell me,' he asked softly. 'Please tell me... what is wrong here. Tell me why you have to live like this.'
Immediately after he had spoken, Telia slammed her uninjured hand on the table they had been sitting at, sharply tearing her other hand away from his grasp and standing abruptly. The small, three-legged stool on which she had been sitting flew across the tiled floor with a clatter.
'What do you mean, why I have to 'live like this'?!' she shouted, her tan, jaw-length hair flying everyway. 'It was no choice I made, Danté! It's not as if I awoke one morning with a sudden desire to sell myself and my sin to the pigs that roam these streets once the sun has died!!'
Her reaction shocked him so that he barely noticed the inch-long gash her fingernails had dug into the back of his hand when her damaged hand had been torn away.
'Is it my fault my parents died when I was just a girl? Is it my fault I have no training, no education for anything?! They left me with nothing. Nothing! And soon I'll have... nothing.' She had been shouting in the beginning, but by the time she reached the last word, her speaking was barely audible, little more than a whisper.
Tears were freely falling from her eyes as she stood with her back to him.
'And soon... you won't, either.'
What? What could she mean by that? He didn't have anything... all he had was her. Her. His whole world came to a screeching halt. No, she couldn't possibly... possibly mean that. But, what if she did? No, no, she couldn't... but, still...
'Telia...' There was a sense of fear in his voice, an urgency she could no longer hide from. She turned to face him, the embodiment of hopelessness and total despair. Tears still flowing, she slowly undid her cloak, never once meeting his eyes. What lay underneath shocked him more than she could ever know.
Her breasts were held outrageously high, exposed and visible by a shaped, shiny black brassiere. However, instead of having two separate straps going over her shoulders, the two straps that were there connected to a black collar around her neck, leaving her back bare, save a sheer, filmy, pale pink material that was also attached to the bottom seam of the brassiere, and two black rings around her upper arms. The result was an odd, half-visible shirt, which left little to the imagination. Covering her lower half was a pair of skin-tight pale pink shorts, but cut to such a height that they covered little more than her undergarments would have. Overtop was a diagonally cut, above knee-length skirt made from the same flowy material as the shirt. Dark pink heels and a thin black satin ribbon tied around her left thigh topped the whole outfit off. The whole of it granted her little class.
Danté was stunned speechless. He didn't know what he could say. He simply stayed silent, overwhelmed with such pity as he had never felt before.
She was looking straight at him, now. The tears hadn't ceased.
'I'm a prostitute, Danté. I sell myself three, four, five times a night. I have been doing so for over five winters, since I was fourteen.' Her voice was now just a feathery whisper. 'My kind is never safe, but not just from the brutes like the one you saw tonight.' She paused, drawing a deep breath to calm her quivering voice. 'There are also natural punishments for us. Diseases that are passed through our whole community.'
What she said next was such a low whisper that it was barely comprehensible through all of her sobs, but Danté caught every word.
'I have one of these diseases, Danté. That's why I can't... I couldn't do that to you. Danté... I don't know how much longer I have.'
She stood there, immobile a moment, before letting out a long, mournful sob and sinking to the ground, her face covered with her arms. The sobs she had been hiding for so long racked her body mercilessly now, and she looked so much like a little lost girl that Danté nearly wept himself. He didn't know what to do. Should he touch her, tell her it would be alright, or would he only anger her again? He did not have to wonder long, because soon her sobs were diminishing and a faint whisper could be heard.
'Danté... I'm sorry. Please... just hold me? Just for tonight?'
He stood and helped her stand. He held her shoulders in his hands and held her at arm's length, his eyes never leaving hers. He held a finger to her lips.
'No, Telia.' He smiled softly. 'Not just for tonight. Now and always.'
She broke down and placed her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest as her tears fell. She slowly smiled up at him for a moment through her tears.
'...Now and always.'
***