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A girl of seventeen kneels beside the limp body of her mother as a steadily growing pool of blood seeps into the tiles of a kitchen floor, the terry cloth of a floral bathrobe, the knees of a favorite pair of jeans. She presses the heels of her hands to her mother’s chest, hoping for a pulse, a breath, anything. She loses composure as her tears fall, bringing tension to her face. She looks to the left to find her brother in a similar position, though he hadn’t gone as quickly or easily as her mother had.
A hand is gently placed on her shoulder, then slipping lower to her arm and wrist, finally resting in her hand. It is so cold, she wonders if he can feel her skin, if he can feel anything. He intertwines their fingers together and clasps her hand to his, bringing it to his lips and kissing her fingertips, slowly, tentatively. His lips are cold as well, and she thinks he must not feel very much. How can he if his nerve endings are numb with cold? She holds her head down to keep from meeting his eyes. She's stopped crying now.
This man, she's seen him before. They've passed on streets and stood in lines together. By the fourth time she recognized him they were exchanging smiles. He was a stranger, but one she looked forward to seeing here and there. A beautiful stranger. And she dreamt of him at night. And it all could have been real, so ******** real.
But now she knows who- no, what -he truly is. She knows what he has done and what he will do to countless more innocent people. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but he certainly had no right to do that. Her family was not his for the taking.
The coolness of his lips brings her back to the present. She turns to face him, hoping he will see the hurt and the betrayal. Hoping he can take it all back and just leave them all alone. Please, just take it all back. Just take it all ******** back, okay? Maybe he can see, maybe he knows, hell, maybe he can read her mind; she doesn't know much about this kind of thing. If he can, he doesn't let her know.
"Why? Why did you do it?" She knows nothing will justify it. Nothing ever can. But she wants to know anyway. He pauses to look her in the eyes and offers, "I wouldn't have touched your brother if he'd stayed out of the way. In fact, I was planning on keeping him as well." He holds her gaze while bringing the palm of her hand to his lips and kissing its center. His cold has finally settled into her body, and she shivers. "What do you mean keep? And what does any of this have to do with my mother?" She's starting to get impatient. He isn't answering fast enough to calm her. "Moraegan.." Her name on his lips gives her chills, as if his breath is curling itself around her body. She isn't sure how he knows her name, sure that she was a stranger to him, as he is to her. "You are meant for me, and your mother would never have let that happen if she were alive."
"Oh. God. This is not happening." She shakes her head and scoots away from him, still kneeling on the floor. "Please, just go, just leave me alone.. I don't want this.. I never wanted this.."
"We need to leave soon, but I'll let you get cleaned up first.." He ignores her last comment, offering his hand to help her up instead. She looks at his hand as if it is grotesque and deformed, but he only smirks in response. "I assume you know how to groom yourself?"
 le dolla bean · Fri Jul 28, 2006 @ 07:00am · 2 Comments |
