My White Lily

A sudden foreboding tickles my senses.

“I am the dark…”

His lips croon softly against my temple. I stiffen but I am angry. “Why should I fear the dark?” A gloved hand tightens around my neck.
“Can you see what’s in the dark, love?” His voice drips in my tingling ear.

“No…I can’t.” I say in just a whisper.

“Can you see what stalks you from the shadows? I am that silent phantom, the one that calls your name.”

The air is hot and sticky but I’m shivering inside. Cold steel travels slowly up my spine as he savors the unholy touch between my flesh and his metal. The prickle of the knife sets me on edge and my breathing hitches.

“I can feel you now, princess. You can’t hide your fear from me.”

His unseen face buries in my hair as he inhales. My hands clench the muscled arm wrapped around me. I can’t help it now, I’m trembling.

“Nothing to say love?”

I stutter and I quake. I choke on my words of hate.

“A quiet one you are, I’m almost disappointed.” His touch is possessive; I feel my stomach heaving. My fingers travel up the scarred leather. I must see.

“What are-“

The texture is smooth and powdery, no leather on his hands. He is still and watchful, unsure of my next plan.

I find my voice; it becomes so small and airy. “Can I see?” I ask him like a child. No words meet me. Gentle as can be I slip my fingers into his hand and to my surprise his grip slackens.

“Don’t I scare you?!” His exclamation echoes in the night. I don’t say a word I just wait. “No one has asked to see my face before,” he says in a desperate sort of way.

“I don’t want to see your face, I want to see your hand.”

“It won’t change a thing you know.  You cannot run from me. I will still take you.”  Gone are his smooth tones and mocking ways, just anger in its place. I’m trembling again and his knife is drawing blood.

My voice quavers but I manage to choke out. “Please. Just your hand.”

My fingers gently pry his hand from my throat. A white latex glove greets my vision and I know at last what’s coming. The White glove is sterile and cold and meant for one thing only. I try to ignore the flesh beneath the glove as I close my eyes and imagine. I trail one finger across the soft powder…it’s almost like a flower. My hand drops as he pulls me tightly into his embrace.

“I told you it wouldn't save you.” He growls gruffly against my throat, his savageness no longer contained.

A tear roles down my cheek and I think on that flower. White. Cold. Sterile… death.

“Your glove was my white lily.”

My adrenaline spikes as I dig in my heels and I throw myself against him. A cold and searing pain violates my spine as the world rises around me. Back I fall farther and farther into the cold.

His dark shape looms over me too stunned to even move. A grim smile settles on my lips. The blade in my back sinks home…my freedom…my escape.

546 words