Ok, the emo was pretty hardcore when I published this initially. I'm seriously hoping it's gone. I miss being myself. Anyway... I'm not leaving my stories, we'll get there. Promise. As always, updates will be sporadic.

For this quick update though, you can thank LovelyBrutal. It's her birthday present. It's all she asked for, and it's the least I can do. Her writing is tragically beautiful. Go. Read. Leave your appreciation. Ily Imy peacock.

Love to you all. Thanks for sticking with me.

E's

P.S. This is not beta'd. Please don't blame Dellaterra or TruceOver for my terrible mistakes. This was done with lots of wine.

When she arrived at the coffee shop before school, I was already waiting. I sat in a booth with shiny red vinyl pretending to read a newspaper. It nearly killed me waiting for her. I stood outside, behind the tacky little place, biding my time. I knew she wouldn't arrive until at least 6:53 and yet I had stood there since 3:12. I had already been to her home and waited in her room. I had hardly grown tired of her, but I had tested my resolve enough for one night.

I could do this.

I would do this.

I had no choice but to endure.

She slept on her side, with her torso twisted and her arms tucked oddly beneath her. I fought for minutes or hours maybe, with myself. If I touched her, would my skin catch fire? Would it burn and shiver, craving more, only to blister and peel when the ice of my body caught up with it? Would the need to touch her again consume me as a fire through subfused tinder? Or would the intensity of the unknown longing be unbearable to my stilled heart. I hadn't been able to decide what torture would be worse when I found myself standing over her with fingertips poised at her should blades. I lingered over her form. I could have easily supplanted her position in seconds, but to run my fingers along the edges of her body was divine. I tried to resist. I told myself that I had tried to resist. I ran my nose along the line of her neck and indulged in the fragrance lingering in the downy hairs at the nape.

I swore I could stop.

I would stop.

I had no choice but to continue.

Further down I ran the tip of my nose. I closed my eyes and slowly lifted my jaw, allowing my mouth to come into contact with the clean, white canvas of her back. I was repulsed and aroused at the thoughts that clung to the edges of my mind. They were stronger than her power, but only barely. I forced myself to stop at her sensitive little iliac crest on the left—though I was desperate to go further beneath the thick blanket.

The feeling was exquisite. I hadn't known the power of her touch in years. I was overcome with the pressing weight of grief in my chest at the thought of the time I had lost without her body pressed against mine. Her self-conscious demeanor was gone in her sleep. She was pure loveliness and sex. She sighed as I touched her. The sound wasn't enough to drag me from my drug-like haze, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn't focused on my clandestine mission and the importance of my stealth.

I stood in the parking lot waiting for the sunrise while thoughts of Isabella swirled through my brain. I hadn't been gentle enough with her. She was a timid bird with enough sense to run in the opposite direction. I had to slowly implement myself to into her life. At 5 o'clock a tiny, nondescript brunette came with keys in hand to unlock the grimy glass door. I pulled the frosty air into my useless lungs, forcing myself to calm down and gain control. Spending several hours in a booth would surely call attention to me since the black liquid would sit practically untouched for the duration of my stay.

I managed to stay under the waitress' radar by hiding behind the inky paper. I smelled her before I saw her. I had to force my eyes down and let her walk in unfettered by my presence. Instinctually, though, she knew. I felt her gaze gravitate immediately toward my direction. At that moment I shifted my hands, closing the paper in a phony preparation to turn the page. I allowed myself to look up and assumed a nonchalant gaze. I didn't want her to think that I remembered her. My timid bird with her gorgeous coloring was skittish enough. I sensed her staring at me. I waited. She tensed.

I glanced up with my most seductive look that I had perfected over the years. It worked with men and women. She couldn't be that different from the rest. Her teeth caught her fleshy lip as her cheeks flushed with a soft glow. She smiled at me, but as before, it was wrong. This was the smile she used only with me. It was sad and nervous. She gave a slight wave to acknowledge me, but I needed more. I tried to remember that she needed to be in control of this dance, but I was a gentleman, and I had been raised to lead. I raised my hand to mimic her wave and found myself turning my hand over, palm facing up, and curling my fingers.

She froze—my little doe in headlights. She glanced to the counter where I knew she was expecting to just get her usual cup of orange pekoe tea that they stocked just for her. She looked to the parking lot quickly and back to me. Her throat moved as her muscles contracted with apprehension. I became hard thinking of sinking my teeth into those muscles. I wanted to avoid the artery to make it last as long as possible. I tried to make myself stop thinking of her velvety insides but I could do nothing to make myself stop picturing her wide open cunt with my four curled fingers that had just called her over deep inside her, making her cry out. She wouldn't know if she wanted me to continue, but she wouldn't stop me. I would push harder, my hand working its way into her body, the sucking sound pulling me further, deeper into her. She would scream that I was breaking her as she rode my fist and begged me to bite her, to suck her hard. I couldn't stop picturing her thighs aching from the position, her hands on my forearm, driving me, faster. She had control of me. She had always had the control. I held no power. Not over her, not even over myself. She had to decide for herself.