Emalia

         She was extraordinary. She wasn’t skinny or thick. Not tall, but not overly short. She was, in all honesty, very average. She had a nose, two ears. Nothing special. She had normal hands with normal fingers that she would use to trace her normal eyebrows. But it was the way it was all put together. The way her dark hair curled around her average neck, gently kissing the collar bone, then resting on her shoulders. It was like waves frozen still. Or how her average eyes would gaze for so long, in such thought or daze, that they would water as if ready to cry. She had normal lips, but they way she moved them, slightly crooked, the way her bottom lip punctured in when she bit it with her front right tooth, or how she would caress her own jaw absent minded, making jealous everything that wasn’t that digit…that was how she was extraordinary.

         Now, she was here, in front of me, on the floor. Perfect. Her eyes wide open, looking right at me. She’s been expecting me. Her eyes show no fear. Her pulse steady, only showing in the deep slow movements of her breast. She straightened her neck even more and pushed her shoulders back. Her mouth slivered open just to show a hint of her white front teeth.  Her lips are red and puffed. Red drips from the corners.

         I remember the first time I saw her. She walked by me in the French literature section, almost stepping on my fingers. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I felt the electricity. I gazed first at her ankle, her butterfly tattoo, and her great shapely legs. Not enough women wore dresses anymore, let alone knee high dresses. She had 1950s flair with her waist clinched nicely with a red belt. She had one of my favorites, 120 Days, in her arms, cradling it like the prized work of art it is. She looked right at me as I rose and smiled an apology. I told her that day that she was fantastic. Gorgeous. She laughed the way any average girl does when she doesn’t know how beautiful she was. Instead of arguing, like most, she looked back up, right into my soul and said “thanks”. Thanks. The sweetest words ever spoken.  “Emalia” she extended her hand. The second sweetest.

         We sat down at a near by ice cream place after she declined to exchange phone numbers. I offered coffee, but she refused. She said even the smell made her sick. It was March, but she said every day was a good day for ice cream. Fascinating. She made a few jokes about current events, politics and general babble that I merely listened to. When she spoke about the little boutique she worked for, she placed her hands on her lap. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but it was as if she was inviting me to stare. She rearranged her dress and smoothed it out so I could see that her lower body was much more slender than the dress allowed to show. She invited me out to a local spot she loved. I told her I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

         That weekend I got new shoes, new jacket. I went out to her bar, and not seeing her right away, I sat in the back corner. A small group of young 20 some things hung around a table with no chairs. There were so many empty shot glasses they all had to hang on each other for balance. There was one guy. You know the one. The throwback to trailer trash in all it’s glory. Sharp, athletic figure, yet a douche beard and wife beater under a faux leather jacket. Granted I’m only probably a few years older, but something about today’s youth makes me sick. So pompous and ungrateful little shits. They expect everything to be giving to them because they deserve it, they are special. Wait till they realize they aren’t shit. They never will be. And unique? How can they not see they are all just as” unique” as grapes. I’m positive their mothers have to smell them in order to determine who belongs to whom.

         Like a gust of winter bursting through, she walked in. She looked like she was made for night. She wore a blue fitted sweater, showing off her top features, and a sleek tight black skirt from the bottom of her ribcage to her knees. That red belt tucked right at her small midsection. She saw me, and gave me a great smile and nod upwards. She stopped at an old man at the bar. She laughed hard and tilted her head back at whatever he said. She hugged ever single person at the table, but not the bearded oaf. She simply smiled, rubbed his shoulder and walked forward.

         I looked at my drink, fiddling with the watered down liquor that was left. At the top of my eyes I could see her heeled feet walking towards me. She smiled and made herself comfortable across from me. Again, she talks with random jargon and tiny anecdotes that amused me and primarily, herself.

          When she found something more interesting, she stood up, wiped her mouth on a napkin, excused herself, and raced to the next socially exciting feature. A fat girl, an old couple, a toothless man and a much younger woman.  It was stunning how people greeted back to her. Some with surprise, and honest, genuine pleasure. Others, casually. Like they expected her, taking her acknowledgement for granted. Those bastards. Didn’t they get it? Couldn’t they see how wonderful she was? How marvelous she was! No clue. It made me furious.

         Each time she smiled, my heart hurt. Her laughter was almost erotic. The way she would first put both her hands to her mouth, then neck then, making a bird of open hands, then lay them on her chest when she settled down after. She often adjusts herself, probably out of habit. She had a figure much of one that reminded me of an old fashioned beer or water bottle. Or the perfect double scoop. I could tell she was comfortable with herself. Not flashy, but comfortable.

         As the night wore on, so did my energy. I was getting tired. I snuck out, as she was far too wasted for me to want to intrude. I could have chosen that night. It would have been so easy. But she was special. Like nothing I’d ever seen. Before I left, I grabbed her napkin and slid it in my pocket.

         I walked back to my apartment. It was a small place that lay over an antique figurine shop. Creepy Hummel figures and such. I opened my door with a shove, since it was always getting stuck. I had a chair, a large electrical spool I use as a table, and a mattress on the floor. And 5 shelves of books. I also had a closet with an old pipe going threw it. Simple. Cheap. Considering what I lived with before in the last city…

         I snatched my book on audio hallucinations and the neurological connections of speech, hearing and sight. I wondered how she thought about the things she saw. Did she find the same things as curious or beautiful? She must really see things like I do. She sees people for who they are, deep within their soul, in their eyes. She influenced every person, without flinching, without disgust. I wonder, through her eyes, if she saw me. She must have. I remember seeing her eyes piercing right into my heart and through my organs. Then she must know that I was her answer to everything. I took out the napkin. It had a streak of where her lipstick smeared. It was like a cranberry bleed and was dragged across the napkin.  I held my thumb over it, laying it on top of the book. My legs stiffened and a cool chill crawled over my body to my ears. I lifted it up and smelled it. Before I realized it, my tongue was centimeters from the fabric. I opened my eyes just in time for reality to sink in. I must be going nuts, licking a fucking napkin! I stood up and headed to the trash. Just as removed the lid, I had a second thought. Wouldn’t it be a riot if after we got married, I showed her this trinket, this keepsake she gave me on our first date? Then I could tell her about how much in love with her I was.

         The week was a long one. I stopped by the boutique I thought she said she worked at, but I must have had the wrong one. Or she wasn’t there that day. I just happened to be there and figured I’d casually stop by and take a peek, but no luck. I knew where she’d be tonight. This time I stood outside the bar, smoking. When she saw me, she smiled and hugged me like on old familiar friend, and asked for a smoke. She asked how my day was and I allowed her to rant about God knows what. The whole time, I couldn’t stop looking at skin. All of it. It looked as soft as pedals from a flower, and just as delicate. I placed my hand on her bare shoulder, and she gently covered them, guiding them back to my side, and did a double pat on my hand. She waved herself good bye and went inside to the chaos. I picked up her smoke and stashed it away.

         She didn’t come over to see me for rest of the evening. She didn’t need to. I knew I was in her head, and she could feel the heavy fire as I watched all her lines curve, twist and turn as she moved around in the elegant tight suit she wore. She had class beyond her years. She was just like me, an old soul. Wiser than the years on Earth. She was talking to that guy with the jacket. She stood next to him, almost touching hip to hip. I felt myself getting almost a stinging feeling, but kept my cool. He touched her shoulder as he whispered into her ear. She smiled down, which I can only imagine was her way of being polite. No way would she be fooled by this Neanderthal. She was too smart, brilliant and preferential to waste her charms on that. She left him sitting, and only glanced back once. Good girl. I knew she was better than that.

         She danced around the room some more, but left after the crowd died down. I’m sure she noticed me when she walked home. It isn’t right for a beautiful girl like that to walk, so I figured I’d go ahead and follow to make sure she got home ok. Her apartments were rather close, so I suppose that’s why she opted to hang out there. As she walked to the building, I ran to the side and stared to see where I might see a light turn on. Sure enough, second to the top floor, her window. She flipped the blinds closed, which was smart. You never know who might be spying. But I did notice that one of the blinds was bent on the side.

         I heard an odd melodic noise from her bedroom as I peered in. Electronic, yet jazzy. Almost like an old record playing behind a new beat box. It was like I was frozen as she moved lazily to the music. She mostly mouthed, but occasionally sang, missing few words. She grabbed a few things, and threw them on the bed. I could only see the edge of it, but I bet it was large with lots of pillows. She slightly stumbled out the room into another, and I heard water running. Then the shower. I sensed the steam creeping in the room from the bottom of the bathroom door. Then, silence. I began to panic slightly. She had been drinking; perhaps she had fallen in the tub! I searched around to see if there was a way for me to get in. Just as I looked to the other side and saw another window, I saw steam fill the room. She opened the door a little. At first it was just a blur of her naked coloring passing by. Then she stood, showing just enough of her body, her shoulder, waist, butt and leg. She grabbed the towel and opened the door. Even alone she was modest. And even lovelier than ever. Must have felt my gaze because she looked up. She turned the music down and fell silent. She went to the other window and opened it slightly. She then went towards my window, but tripped on the bed lightly. She hooted herself onto the bed, rolling at her own amusement, allowing her towel to separate at her opening.  It could have been a shadow, or perhaps my imagination, but lust hit me in my stomach like a cannonball. She crawled over out of my view and I saw the towel tossed. I tried to move enough to see what she was up to, but couldn’t. Then she returned to view, wearing a way too large tee and turned the music back on, only softer. As she bent over, I could only see the shade of what I wished was her bare hide. She switched the lights off and climbed into the bed. She was safe and sound. I decided it was time to go home.

         As I crawled back down I had a hard time concentrating on finding my way home. I was flushed, excited and exhausted all at the same time. Pictures of her graceful rippled body dance before me. The way the worlds overcast hugged her skin, like dark, black fingertips that I can only believe were in heaven with each bend and swerve of flesh. Each shadow able to handle a new secret portion of her. I thought how my lurid hands would feel against her body. How light, but firm they would seem. I fantasized about my thumbs caressing her jaw, throat, and then shoulders. I would trace them around her throat, then down to the meeting of her breast. How my hands would play with the pockets of her pelvic bone as she moved gingerly to the music. Twisting her midriff slowly like a ribbon. She would arch her back, teasing me and yet, offering me everything. I could see her fully in front of me, turning to please me with a full self sacrifice. She’d smile with those yes. Her outline enhanced her own touch, reaching from that beautifully head, tracing to her neck, sides, waist and leg.

         As I opened my door, insuring her butt of the smoke was handy, I tried to stop thinking about her. Anything but. My sweat must have been great due to the extreme hot and damp feeling I had. I tore my jacket and shirt off and threw myself to the single chair. I grabbed the napkin on the table and rubbed it. I readjusted myself and my jeans several times over. How her cranberry lips must taste ever so sweet. Or perhaps they were bitterer. I looked up and saw her at the door. She was wet from the shower, in her dark green towel. Her hair was in a messy bun. She walked over with her eyes telling secrets her mouth couldn’t. She stood with her legs straddling my right knee. She lifted her hands and arms to release her hair from its restraints. Just as she shook it off, the towel draped open then fell gracefully to my lap, covering only parts of her leg. She spread a bit more open by pushing her left leg closer to my groin. She then straightened her other leg, feathering my right hand, which was on top of my knee. I used my right thumb and touched tenderly the soft skin at the bend of hers. I followed it up, progressively giving more pressure. Her other leg ran heavily into my crotch. I looked up to watch her expose her throat and mouth to the ceiling. She began to rock back and forth, her hands never leaving her side, but rather paling as she dug into her own side. I looked down to watch my hands. I was inches away; I could feel the heat coming from between her legs. Just as I was about to finally manipulate, when something caught my eye. My reflection in the mirror. Alone. I never fell asleep so peacefully.

         I got done with work early to give the shop one last try. Sure enough, she was there. Button up shirt, with a corset top and dress pants. It even looked like she wore a collar, although it could have been a very think necklace. She looked like she was gossiping to someone out of scene. I turned the corner to see her better, as she was folding garments carefully. I watched as she felt the fabric with her fingertips, slightly tugging on the buttons or beads. The bells above the door jingled. Douche bag waltzed in. She gave him just a wiggle of the fingers, not a full wave hello. The other lady stepped out, eager to introduce herself and stole the rest of her clothes away from her and shoved the both of them out the door, giggling like she had spiders crawling up her back. She yelled out something like “Don’t come back till you both have your cookies” or something just as insulting.

         She took him to the same ice cream shop she took me. Well, at least she wasn’t making a spectacle of herself. They sat outside. She told him a few things I never knew, but he mostly did the talking. She asked a lot of questions. It was obvious she was being polite. He leaned over to admire her necklace, but I couldn’t help notice that the back of his hand was stroking her top cleavage as well. She only leaned in more, oblivious to his groping. I left abruptly for home.

         I gathered all the booze I could find. It was starting to get dark. I walked to my vehicle and to the local spot. It was only 8pm, so it was still early. I waited for her. Waited. Waited.

         Finally she showed up, except not alone, but with her new friend. She changed into a tight short dress that hugged her hips and revealed more of her breast than I was comfortable with. His hands slipped down slowly to the tip of her arch and small of her back as she walked in. After a while, they came outside. She pushed her upper body against the building while he stood in front of her. I could see her slightly bouncing her waist and twisting her feet. He took one last drag of the cigarette and placed one hand above her and the other hand tucked and pulling her up close.

         My eyes went blurry after that. Everything went red and then black. My head was pulsing to the point of exploding. My body was so hot it was numb from the heat. I lightened my grip on the steering wheel and watched as she casually offered this piece of garbage everything that was mine. The whore had no idea what a pathetic rouse he was performing, a parlor trick, this kid.  No, I can’t get mad at her. Perhaps she was more innocent than I thought. Perhaps she didn’t know the dangers of a slick, egotistical demon like him. That’s why she needed me. I was her hero. I was going to save her.

         I watched as the end of evening came closer. They came out, more possessive over each other than I’d like to acknowledge. I took a quicker route to her apartment. Just as I figured, the far window was still cracked open. I sat and waited near the window. From this angle, I couldn’t see the bathroom, but rather a closet, bed and door leading through the apartment. I heard laughter, giggles, and moans and ducked. A bit of light shown through, but not a powerful one. I slowly glanced up as I heard stumbling sounds and noises of glass breaking. The hall light was on, but not the bedroom. They crashed into every surface on the way in.

         He had already taken off his jacket and shirt. She was still dressed. With a light tug, and shove, she put him on the bed. She walked to turn the music on. She reached behind her, her back to me, facing him, and unzipped her dress. She let it hit the floor. As she did, his vile hands where at her thighs, kneading them and everything around it. His hands went in and out of her underwear strings and lining around her bottom.  His stained thumbs pulling them down. I could tell he opened her enough to feel her insides. She put her arms on his shoulders, continuing to motion back and forth. She cried to the air above her, thrusting her navel towards his lowered head. She slipped off her bra, squeezing herself, and then raised her arms in rapture. He finally pulled her on the bed and threw himself on top of her. His unclean hands caressing, feeling, polluting her heavenly covering. Their bodies rolled, gulping each other in the most unnatural of ways. Then she started talking, almost begging. She kept reaching for his penis like it was life itself. He thrust it in her. Then again. Then again. He was making her filthy. Contaminated. Her screams of ecstasy were crushing. As he finished, he made sure to spread his taint over her.

         They talked and smoked. They kissed goodbye it seemed. She walked into the bathroom. I waited. I heard the door shut. She called out. No one answered, so she walked back to the bathroom, where I could now hear a shower running.

         I raised the window and crawled in. I looked around her room and found a pillow case, stalkings and socks. I peered in to her showing. The foam from the body wash glided down like a perfect river, cleansing the wicked off this unworldly being. I hurried behind her, first slamming my body into hers to the wall and grabbing her hands. I pulled her hair towards the falling water to filter her screams. I stuffed a sock in her mouth, and then tied it secure with the pantyhose, along with wrapping it around her eyes and neck. Then I bond her hands. As I struggle with her left arm, I must have knocked her onto the tiled wall hard. There was no blood that I could see, but she went limp very suddenly. I finished tying her and wrapped her in a sheet, brought her to the car and drove home.

         I brought her inside and up to my place. I laid her down on my mattress and unwrapped her face. Under the rim of her hairline, blood trickled down. Not much, but I knew it was there. I patted it with a wet clothe and then sat on the chair. I waited a few hours. I watched her stir. She went to scream when she found her hands bound, but her voice was muffled by the sock. She moved about, searching for, well, me. Then she saw me. Her eyes diving into me again. Her horror and confusion. She looked around and then fell still, looking at the floor. I stressed the importance for her not to scream, yell, or try to leave. I told her I was just going to talk to her. She nodded very slowly. 

         I helped her to her knees, the sheet releasing its grip on her. She sat up pole straight, her eyes never leaving mine. I stroked her hair. I touch her throat. I sat on my knees so I could play with the light hairs on her body to her arms. Since they were tied to her back, I played with the nylons that also followed around her waist. My thumb pressed her belly button. Her belly was slightly pouched, like a goddess of fine art. My hands avoided her breast as much as I could. I traced my nails along her nipples. Finally I reach behind me and grabbed my screwdriver. I held it parallel from my erection to her stomach.  I took off her mouth piece.

         And here she is. And here we are. I kiss her with the screwdriver to her throat hard enough to leave a mark. She begs for forgiveness. Begs that she can’t understand what she did, but begs to be forgiven. I kiss her again and cover her mouth. I drag her to the closet.  I close and lock it after restraining her once again. I grab her napkin and cigarette butt and rub them dearly. She knows me now. She knows she’s mine and will always be. Just for me alone. Forever.