And when I looked at him, I felt my heart jump up my throat and my body tensed. Maybe if I don't move, I thought, it will stay where the hell it is. Gritting my teeth, I stilled my beating heart and it slid back down, resettling in it's rightful place. Stupid thing, I thought sourly.
His gaze settled on me, long and hard and intense. His dark eyes glowered in the dark, seeming to say something and yet nothing at the same time. It was the expression on his face, the way his lips were set in a grim line. But his eyes were a different story, they were alive. They jumped and sparked with emotion we both knew he would never speak of.
Only show.
Standing proud and tall, his shoulders squared, he looked solid. Solid as the chair I sat in, or the glass I held in my hands. Yet he wasn't. I had convinced myself that he was merely a figment of my imagination. And I had always said that my imagination was apt to run away with me.
The way he walked towards me, strolling or slinking, I couldn't quite tell, was mesmerizing. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My once lodged throat was now dry, and my mind nor my mouth had nothing to say for once in my life. I could only watch as he gathered my hands in his and pulled me up.
"Come on," he whispered into my ear, ever so lightly. I could feel his breath against my neck, and his lips grazed the shell of my ear. I shuddered, and he grinned. That grin of his was not a grin, it was a chesire smile. I felt lost and confused, because he never was the same man he pretended to be when he was up close.
"Where?"
He dragged his eyes over my face, slowly and deliberately. I could feel something inexplicable gnawing at my nerves. Somehow, he could see something I wasn't aware I was showing. My face flushed, and his mouth quirked up at the corner again, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Dragging his eyes over my face one more time, he turned slightly with his arm around my shoulder. Then he lifted his other arm slowly, his finger extended towards the night sky.
My eyebrows shot up into my hair line, and he chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist. My breath hitched in my throat as he shot off, our hair and clothes whipping wildly around us. He laughed freely, for the first time in what felt like years. No, I thought distantly, watching the city zip by beneathe us, since the first time we met...
That night had been cloudy, and the moon was but a half face, gazing down at us sadly. He was standing in front of me, and I was standing in front of him. The street light cast an eerie orange glow beneathe my feet, and he was shrouded in darkness. In fact, the only thing I could make out cleary where those pearly whites of his. The rest was a mystery, and he was exciting, raw and real. He held me in his arms, and he laughed when I'd stared in shock as my hand passed through him. It was a deep, throaty laugh that sent a tremor down my spine.
Here we were again, I thought, under the full moon this time. The air seemed to wrap around us, and he laced his fingers with mine. When I squeezed, I felt thin air. But when he squeezed, there was warmth. "Don't let go," I whispered, lightly resting my head against his shoulder. I felt a small smile slide over my mouth as he squeezed me tighter against him. "Have you ever loved anyone?"
He glanced down at me, then at the man on the moon. They exchanged knowing looks, and waited. At length, he sighed from his airless lungs and kissed the top of my head. "Yes."
"Was she beautiful?" A thoughtful look passed over his face, and there was a pregnant silence. All I could hear was the wind, whistling low in my ears. It caressed my skin, and passed through him so that I felt it all around. Patiently, I awaited his answer. Was it painful to recall such things from so far in the past? "No," he finally replied.
I peered at him, blinking. "She wasn't," I asked slowly. He shook his head, "No... at least not on the outside," his voice seemed to be coated in sadness. But it could have been my imagination again. "She was the daughter of a greedy, power hungry man," he looked distant, reliving the past even as he spoke. His eyes glazed over in memory, and we stilled in mid air.
"She had cherry red lips, and a small nose," he said fondly. He curled his fingers in my waist length hair, twirling it around the appendage. "Her hair wasn't anything like yours," he said, finally looking down at me. "It was short and choppy," he said, "and blond." I tried to imagine her in my mind's eye, but all I could see was a still figure, like a mannequin. It was lifeless, much like him.
Sharply, he glanced down at me. He seemed to have shaken out of his reverie, wondering how I'd managed to trick him somehow. "But that was long ago," he ended. His eyes returned to their hardness, and I felt a twinge of dissapointment. I looked down at out feet, guiltily. Then we shot into the air, higher and higher and I could barely contain my screams.
"What will you do if I do drop you," he asked. He looked at me with no emotion, his face a simple mask. He loosened his hold on me and I couldn't summon the strength to cling to him. I hung there limply, like a rag doll. Slowly, he slid his hands up my sides until he was holding me just below my armpits. He stretched his arms out, and his hands and my sides were the only things that touched.
"Die," I breathed. And a dark look fixed itself onto his face. "Really," he murmmered, as if this was new to him. "And do you fear death?" I looked quite fearfully at the ground thousands of feet below us, then back at him. I still couldn't bring myself to do anything, but ask one question...
"Will I end up like you?"
"Full of questions, aren't you, little one," he whispered as his grip loosened more. It felt as though the only thing supporting my weight were his scant fingers. Any second, I thought, and he could drop me. My throat bubbled with protests, anything, nothing. I thought to say please, don't... but it was too late.
He let go.
This time, I couldn't help but scream. I felt my soul flee from my body, and my heart threatened to burst. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, and screamed for all I was worth. Maybe he'll save me, I thought frantically. But as the ground got nearer, I opened one eye and thought sadly, No... he won't. Tears streamed upward on my face, as I screamed all the while. But he did.
At the last moment, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back up. I lay in his arms limper than before. Sobbing, I dared not open my eyes. I couldn't control my wild sobbing no matter how hard I tried. Yet he was smoothing my hair back from my head, wiping my tears away, and gathering my hair behind me. His lips touched my neck, and I felt my pulse throb beneathe his mouth. I felt his smile.
He delighted in doing such things. I gave him a sick pleasure, to feel a girl's pulse thrum through her veins fast, her heart beat like thunder loud in both their ears. He licked the salty tears away as they leaked down my face, and kissed my neck over and over again. He bit and nipped, and I sobbed more and more.
When we finally landed out back on my patio, I had cried myself dry. There was nothing left to cry. I hugged myself close and shook, jerking away from him everytime he thought to try and console me. I would never forgive him, ever again. Once was enough.
"Don't ever touch me again."
It was not a request. We both knew it, and I could see my burning anger reflected in his darker eyes. He ached to touch, but knew the consequences. He truly felt dead inside. For that whole time, he had fed on her life and she on his death. But in the end, she stole her life back and left him cold and dry.
She was the second girl he ever loved. And the second one he ever tried to kill.
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