Undress

        My heel’s toe, tapping impatiently on the floor of the nearly vacant subway, forced his head to spin towards me and his eyes to narrow. God, I fucking loved that irritated glare that hollowed his beryl eyes and replaced the pale sea glass with the color of coffee taken black in a smooth ivory mug. A storm flashed across his face before it was replaced with a sudden interest. If I had known in that moment that it was him preying on me, not the other way around, I would have taken the opportunity to hurl myself out of the subway. My unfathomably small ego latched itself onto that stricken look on his face; it is quite ironic that broken self-confidence makes one bolder than most. I lacked an excuse to move to the seat, 13 heel-to-toe steps away, across from him. I swiftly stood and made those 13 steps. Those 13, detrimental, destructive, passionate, life-ruining, life-making, steps of glory and gore. I crossed my legs and waited expectantly for him to speak, to question why I moved. He looked down at a notebook with a pristine cover riddled with torn pages and clicked his pen, glancing up at my patient gaze and (unphased) scribbling on the notebook. Words?
         “What are you writing?” I inquired, my voice lilting over the ‘you’ and twirling to the end of my question. For someone who never felt good enough, I played the game perfectly. I tilted my head to the right, letting my wild, unbrushed, sunkissed brunette curls rush down my naked shoulder, and exposed my neck and jaw with my eyes narrowed in playful confusion.
         “I’m not.” His sharp response escaped, paralleling his stubble-dusted jawline and cliff-diving to the floor, and stabbed into my faux-confidence, rupturing the facade I had begun to craft before this man. He gave me a second go-over while I displayed nothing but shock and defeat. Chuckle. Yes, he chuckled, and I fell in love with him. He chuckled and I not only experienced the most blinding smile but also a humored shame, and I fell in love. “See that’s the face I was looking for,” he admitted, scribbling furiously on his notebook, dazzled by my confusion, “if I want to draw beauty, it must be raw, not an act.” What an insightful fuck.
         “You don’t even know my name.”
         “Do I have to? Or, should I say, do I want to?” Damn. This man knows how to control my emotions already. Why didn’t I take this as the first sign. Why didn’t I leave. Why didn’t I reach my intended destination, my thirteenth-floor apartment balcony and eventually the ground beneath it?
         “Well…” I stalled and regrouped, a smirk travelling across my face to counteract the internal bleeding he had caused in my sensitive soul, “of course you do.” He raised his dark eyebrows and shook his head, chuckling as he continued sketching in his notebook. His navy v-neck draped over his broad shoulders and caught on his collarbones as they lightly heaved. “Is something funny to you?” Quickly his gaze, pulled from the hilarity I somehow evoked, snapped up in surprise as my twisted pain registered in his senses. He saw me for what I am, shook his head, stood up, and tore the sketch from his notebook.
         “I only draw what’s beautiful,” he claimed, as though I should feel honored. His ego engulfed me. I fucking loved it. My eyes wandered across the miniscule page and I could feel my eyebrows collide. He ripped me up by my elbow and his veiny arm filled the arch in my back while his left hand lightly brushed along the hem of my floral dress. My red lips trembled. Kiss me, my heart cried. My soul whimpered. I could taste his lips, tarte like spearmint but tainted with addiction, pressed against mine. We burned, the nameless man and I, as his body encircled my own and fed every craving. His hands brushed along my battle wounds, the nights spent sobbing in my bed resulting in tears in my skin. Then, as though he never existed, he disappeared.
        I reached through the air, grasping for what was left of him. Crumpled in my hand, was a sketch, from a tiny notebook. On this sketch was not a drawing of me, but of an exoskeleton, a hollow woman with an inky-black heart, and a look of relief on her face. I stared at the sketch for a few minutes, wondering how this empty woman could possibly be so relieved. I blinked and I was transported to new surroundings. Standing in an empty parking lot, encompassed by little but night, a wave of freedom assuaged my fear as I stared at my lifeless body, contorted on the pavement beneath my apartment’s balcony. I felt him again, his jaw pressing into my shoulder, “I only draw what’s beautiful, but not before I undress your soul with my eyes.”