Post by thepolygotnerd on Jan 20, 2008 6:00:59 GMT -5
Look at Me
No sweet oblivion greets me when I close my eyes at night.
No beautiful silence can cushion my ears, even when there is nothing to be heard.
My mind is never free from the onslaught of a thousand million thoughts.
I am ruined.
It is because of her.
I cannot remember when the obsession began. I cannot remember the first time I saw her. All the experiences, they fade into one. One night, one memory, every occasion inseparable from the next. They all began the same way.
I traipsed through bar after bar, night after night, searching desperately for just one glimpse of her. For every day that passed unsuccessful, my thirst grew in a manner that was almost painful. But, sometimes, for one brief moment, my desires would be quenched. I would be free of the longing, the hunger, and the want.
Until the next night. And then the night after that.
It was always after midnight. Most of the time, I was preparing to go home. I didn’t like those places, but it was the only way to find her. I was truly dedicated to my cause. I was almost giving up hope of ever seeing her again; beginning to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the last time would be the last ever. But, then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something.
I saw her.
Platinum blonde.
Lime green.
Cherry red.
Black and white tutu.
Stomping boots.
Always the same. I changed. My clothes, my mood, my needs changed, but she, she was constant. She was just her.
She danced by the keyboard, strobe lights flicking a different colour for every movement she made. She sang at the top of her lungs, drowned out by the instruments, the gloss on her mouth making every inaudible sound endlessly tempting. She grinned in the guitar solo and the ends of her almost-white hair flicked away from her face as she turned those amazing eyes on the lucky, lucky man who was hers for the night.
And then she looked at me.
She would wink, and lick her almost-perfect teeth at me.
That was the moment when everything stopped. I stopped feeling. I stopped caring. I stopped breathing, I think.
It was bliss.
Then the singer carried on singing. And I was lost again.
She would dance, and she would sing, but she wouldn’t look at me. She would never look at me again.
She would only disappear out the back door.
I followed her, of course. The streets of London were a dangerous place. She could have been hurt, or even killed. I think, once or twice, she might have heard me. She looked around, at least.
But she never saw me. She never looked at me.
We came to a huge block of flats, somewhere further out of the city. Lewisham. Two trains and a bus ride. Sometimes, I think, I left her there. Others, I trailed her right to her front door.
She smelt amazing. But even when I was close enough to breathe in her perfume, she wouldn’t look at me. She huddled her trench coat closer to her, as she fumbled for her keys, and she looked over both her shoulders, but she wouldn’t look at me. She bit those endlessly tempting lips with her almost perfect teeth, as she desperately tried to select the correct piece of metal to slide into the lock.
I brushed up behind her, and felt a twinge, as her body stiffened into mine. One hand went over her delicious cherry-red mouth, and the other around her delicate doll-like waist. And, for the first time, I took her home with me.
She sat down, and I bound her with strips torn from her own tutu. She screamed and she cried, but I couldn’t hear her. I could only drink in her mouth. I held her alabaster cheeks, and I made her look at me. I know she liked it, because her pupils went wide.
She liked it even better when I kissed her. I could tell from the shapes her lips made against mine, how she bit my mouth and my tongue, and drew blood. Her breathing grew faster, as she licked the salty liquid from her teeth.
She really liked it when the blood was her own. First, I cut her snowy cheek, and released precious fluid the same colour as those endlessly tempting lips. It ran down her flawless face, and into her mouth, staining her almost-perfect teeth. And she was looking at me.
The second cut was just below her collar bone. The trickle of hot, glistening red was almost too much to bear. I licked it from her pure white chest, right up to the wound, and still she was looking at me.
Her breast heaved with her breathing. She loved it.
I knew she would.
The third cut went right across her throat. Red, salty, endlessly tempting liquid bubbled over, but this time, I restrained myself. I let it flow down her, until all her skin was the colour of cherries, until her intoxicating scent mixed with the delicious heat of the blood.
She looked at me, and there was something in her eyes, something pleading. Her mouth hung open, too dry for words, but I knew what she was trying to say.
Lap it off me
I did as she commanded me. I sat astride her, and I cleaned every inch of her skin with my tongue. I returned her skin to alabaster white, until the only trace of red on her was those endlessly tempting lips.
I looked into those amazing eyes, and felt the fog pass over them, as sky blue gave way to grey.
I am ruined.
It is because of her.
She looked at me.
It was amazing.
