1Author's Note: I haven't finished my other story, I totally lost inspiration and the will to write it. This one came to me one day at work. It took a bit, but it's now finished. It's a one shot, just a little thing that's been sticking in my head for a bit and I had to write. Enjoy.
I have always been attracted to authority. There's something about the sternness, and that fight for something that I know I can't have. This man had both. He was untouchable both mentally and physically, barriers he had set up were unbreakable. I knew I might not be able to break them down, but I knew nothing would stop me from trying.
He was tall, dark and lean. His black hair cascaded across his face, never allowing you a full view. His hair was like a mask, it drew you into what was behind it. A hidden story that you were not allowed to hear. Bits, tiny bits, were released but it was never enough to satisfy your hunger. Who was this man hiding behind the mask? Who was he hiding from? Why was he hiding? Did he even know?
I watched him everyday from the back of the room. His movements were always quick and precise. He'd walk through the room like he was floating, his robes so long you couldn't tell if he had feet. No one dared ignore him, even if you did, his low voice would draw you in. From the first day, I'd known there was something different about this man. In the years I'd known him, it'd become apparent that he was different but not in a good way. He was always angry, too cranky for his age. What I didn't know was that his experiences had made up for his lack of years. He'd fought in many battles, had seen and committed too many deaths. The stories were told to me years later by a close friend of his. He never gave up any information himself. The scars on the back of his rarely seen neck told the stories of torture. Lines cut straight across his neck, back and forth where the blade had cut. His hand would subconsciously run over them as he worked, it was like his nervous twitch. He'd catch himself doing it, and stop. A moment of panic would come over him, as if we all knew his secrets at that moment. I wanted to know the stories but I knew he wouldn't give them up.
He wasn't conventionally attractive and I can't say his physical appearance was the reason I was drawn to him. His black hair was long and incredibly greasy. His nose was crooked, whether the work of an accident or nature playing a cruel trick. He was lean, but too lean. He looked underfed and weak, but outward appearances can be deceiving. His attitude was enough to turn anyone off, most people avoided him. I still wanted to know him, I wanted his story.
Our affair began in September of my final year. It wasn't a quick relationship, at least at the beginning. It took me a long time before I decided to make my final move. I played him like the school girl I was, I tried flirting, I tried to embarrass him, but I couldn't. Finally, one day, he called me to stay back after class. The wait was tedious, and when the bell rang, I jumped. The noise started immediately as the students went to lunch. The door slammed the noise out into the halls. I walked towards his desk, keeping my eyes on his. He offered me a chair, I sat down. He told me he'd noticed that I was acting strange and wondered if there was anything I could do to fix it and stop annoying him. I looked at him and said there was one thing. I got up and walked around his desk. Before I could stop myself, I pressed my lips to his. He didn't react at first, but soon had gripped me in a powerful embrace. We kissed ferociously. He pushed me against the wall, and pressed hard against me. I took off his robes and unbuttoned his shirt. I allowed my hands to run over the marks and scars on his stomach. He stopped me and took my lips in a brutal kiss. He picked me up and dropped me on the bed in his rooms. He was a passionate lover with no qualms in the bedroom. My best experiences happened in that room. He knew where to touch and how. He allowed me my freedom and I never wanted it to end. Our relationship started as a purely sexual one, but for me it became romantic. It never was for him, he was there solely for the sex and I understood that.
Good things must come to an end, and so did this. We had a forbidden relationship and we both knew that it could not continue. We'd been together for almost seven months and I knew it was a matter of time before it got out. Before the end, he satisfied my hunger as I did his. We would meet whenever we got the chance. It couldn't last and with time, he ended it.
He told me that it was impossible to continue. I begged and I pleaded, I was losing my first love. I told him we could make it work, but there was no going back on his word. He left me in my rooms without looking back. Class was never awkward after, he continued to act like I didn't exist and I concentrated on my studies.
I eventually moved on and started my life. I went to university and started my career as a teacher in another school. I met the man that became my husband. But I still think of him and the times we shared. I wonder if he ever thought of me more than just a fling. I read the paper today, and he was killed in the final battle. I'm not sure how I feel, I'm upset but I'm also angry. I never got to learn about him, I know nothing of what he should have told me. I never learned where the scars came from, and now I can only speculate. Maybe one day, I will have a chance to learn parts of who he was. Right now, I want to concentrate on the future and win the final battle. We all need something good to happen these days. His death was just another one of thousands that have happened and hundreds more to come, but his was different, just as his life had been.