Sweetest Venom
Page 11
She laughs, but it’s an empty sound. “Oh, I don’t know… I was groomed to be the perfect child and later on, the perfect wife. And I was taught that impulsiveness is an emotion that only the weak give into.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Yes, here I am.”
“Are you married?” I look at her hand and notice the lack of a wedding band and wedding ring.
“Recently divorced. I’d like to drop the subject now.”
I nod in acquiescence. It’s odd to see a woman standing amongst my furniture and belongings once again. Elegant and aloof, she seems out of place surrounded by my shit. Turning left and right, she takes in the old leather of my second-hand couch, the paperbacks scattered like freckles on the wooden floor, and the small kitchen to the right serving as both the dining room and laundry room.
“Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests.”
I watch her focus her attention on an item lying on the wooden coffee table. She bends down and retrieves the worn out picture—one that I haven’t been able to throw away. I don’t have to look at it to know that the colors of her face have begun to fade, nor do I have to look to know the difference between the man in the photograph and me.
Her finger traces the spot my own have memorized. “She’s gorgeous.”
I rub my chest. How can something hollow suddenly hurt so much? “She is.”
“What happened?”
I stare at the picture in her hands. “I fell in love with her.”
And suddenly I’m hit in the face with memories of her…
The sun was setting as we lay on the grass, its rays pint-sized torches that warmed our bodies and bathed our surroundings in amber light. The air, sweet because it smelled like her, caressed our skin. I remember she turned in my direction and looked at me with her sapphire eyes, and in that one look we exchanged an unspoken truth that she was too scared to admit and I was too eager to believe.
“Don’t move. I need to take a picture of you just like that.”
She laughed but let me do it, anyway. After I’d put my camera on the blanket next to me, I turned toward her and cupped her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
She smiled slowly. “Trying to seduce a girl with Tolstoy, huh?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
She stared at me, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “You have no fucking idea.” We laughed freely but, after a moment had passed, she added quietly in that husky voice of hers, “Are you really here?” She reached for my hand, brought it to her lips, and placed a kiss so soft I could have imagined it. But I didn’t. The heat, the electricity of her touch was flowing through my veins, slowly awakening my body and senses. And I had never felt more fucking alive.
I moved closer to her and propped myself up on my elbow, feeling the feathery grass blades tickle my skin. In this position, I was able to absorb the way the wild wisps of her black hair framed her face, enhancing the delicate blush spreading across her cheeks, and the color of her apple red lips.
“I am,” I murmured.
“It all just feels like a dream … one that I never want to end.” There was fear in her voice and sadness muting the light in her gaze.
“I’m very real, Blaire,” I whispered before biting her earlobe. “And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“But for how long?” she asked, and there it was again. Fear lingering in her voice, in her words.
“For as long as you let me, baby.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Yes, here I am.”
“Are you married?” I look at her hand and notice the lack of a wedding band and wedding ring.
“Recently divorced. I’d like to drop the subject now.”
I nod in acquiescence. It’s odd to see a woman standing amongst my furniture and belongings once again. Elegant and aloof, she seems out of place surrounded by my shit. Turning left and right, she takes in the old leather of my second-hand couch, the paperbacks scattered like freckles on the wooden floor, and the small kitchen to the right serving as both the dining room and laundry room.
“Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests.”
I watch her focus her attention on an item lying on the wooden coffee table. She bends down and retrieves the worn out picture—one that I haven’t been able to throw away. I don’t have to look at it to know that the colors of her face have begun to fade, nor do I have to look to know the difference between the man in the photograph and me.
Her finger traces the spot my own have memorized. “She’s gorgeous.”
I rub my chest. How can something hollow suddenly hurt so much? “She is.”
“What happened?”
I stare at the picture in her hands. “I fell in love with her.”
And suddenly I’m hit in the face with memories of her…
The sun was setting as we lay on the grass, its rays pint-sized torches that warmed our bodies and bathed our surroundings in amber light. The air, sweet because it smelled like her, caressed our skin. I remember she turned in my direction and looked at me with her sapphire eyes, and in that one look we exchanged an unspoken truth that she was too scared to admit and I was too eager to believe.
“Don’t move. I need to take a picture of you just like that.”
She laughed but let me do it, anyway. After I’d put my camera on the blanket next to me, I turned toward her and cupped her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
She smiled slowly. “Trying to seduce a girl with Tolstoy, huh?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
She stared at me, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “You have no fucking idea.” We laughed freely but, after a moment had passed, she added quietly in that husky voice of hers, “Are you really here?” She reached for my hand, brought it to her lips, and placed a kiss so soft I could have imagined it. But I didn’t. The heat, the electricity of her touch was flowing through my veins, slowly awakening my body and senses. And I had never felt more fucking alive.
I moved closer to her and propped myself up on my elbow, feeling the feathery grass blades tickle my skin. In this position, I was able to absorb the way the wild wisps of her black hair framed her face, enhancing the delicate blush spreading across her cheeks, and the color of her apple red lips.
“I am,” I murmured.
“It all just feels like a dream … one that I never want to end.” There was fear in her voice and sadness muting the light in her gaze.
“I’m very real, Blaire,” I whispered before biting her earlobe. “And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“But for how long?” she asked, and there it was again. Fear lingering in her voice, in her words.
“For as long as you let me, baby.”
