Written by John Venegas
Illustrated and Edited by Monica Adrian
Nathan moved along the
street drinking in the evening’s atmosphere. It was late enough that the
city pedestrians had on their evening wear, but early enough that they
wouldn’t have interest in returning home yet. Nathan stepped between and
past them without ever deviating from his path. His jacket never established
more contact than a passing caress.
He smiled to himself as
the people flowed by. Every one of them was engrossed in their own little
world. Noses were buried in phones. Mouths worked in heedless conversation.
There was a comment to be made here, Nathan thought, about living without
living, or about seeing without seeing.
Nathan stopped two
buildings away from his destination, Amarone, and slid under the shade of an
unlit awning. The street from the other buildings were surprisingly harsh as if
the distaste he felt for them was mutual. He inhaled, drawing the dry warm air
deep into his lungs. It was tinged with a bitter aftertaste which he expelled
when he exhaled. He was a few minutes early and decided to observe the lay of
the land as it were. He did not have to wait long.
A woman, who he assumed
was Chantelle moved past him, close enough for him to smell her hair or touch
her fair shoulder. She wore a short, skinny black dress. Her blonde hair was
arranged meticulously, adorning her like a hooded crown. She was thin, skinnier
than Nathan had been expecting, with a tight waist and long, smooth legs that
tapered into bladed heels. Though only seeing her from behind, he could tell
she was scanning the crowd as she moved through it. Where he had moved like a
ghost from point to point, she prowled forward, and the crowd responded by
parting before her the way zebras might when in the path of a lioness who has her mind on other prey.
Predator. The word seemed
too appropriate in Nathan’s mind. He could feel his muscles tense ever so
slightly. He wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid a tango of egos and
half-signals that could end in a storm of disaster. Part of him even wanted to
let himself fall madly in love, to give her the moment of dominance that he
strongly suspected she craved. He chuckled to himself and caught the attention
of a passerby.
******
Nathan sat back as he
pondered the question. What made you decide to ask me to dinner? It
was almost stunningly poignant, given what he had anticipated of Carly. He
suspected that she wasn’t even aware of the question’s pervasiveness. That, in
and of itself, said volumes about her.
In the vein of things she did not seem aware of, her
attractiveness was prominent. Her big brown eyes drew you into a face that was
both adorable and pretty, yet they stared back with hesitancy. She possessed a
feminine grace edged with a hint of awkwardness as if something in her mind
kept trying to reposition her limbs.
But how to answer? Should
he tell her that it was because she is beautiful? That answer was, of course,
shallow on the surface. Should he tell her that, even though the unflattering,
outdated portrait she used for her internet profile, her eyes told a picture of
vulnerable indecisiveness at war with a stubborn, neglected pride? That he
wanted to see if he could settle that conflict and watch her become either an
angel or demonette because of it. Should he tell her it was because she wore
her black dress like it was meant for someone else and that she should be in a
green sun dress or even better nothing at all?
Inwardly, he smiled.
Outwardly, he put considerable effort into keeping his expression
contemplative. Perhaps, he should tell her it was because he knew she was
guarding her intimacy and that such protection made it utterly intoxicating.
Nathan felt grateful for his genuinely attractive features in that moment. Had
his outward appearance mimicked his rising hunger, she would have never allowed
him this close.
“Because you lied,” he
said at last, just as he felt the moment becoming overstretched.
“I…I’m sorry?”
“On your profile, you
claimed you aren’t in a hurry to find anything serious,” he said. “I don’t
believe you.”
“I’m not,” she said. Red
began to creep its way into her cheeks.
“Then that’s a shame,” he
said. “I was hoping you were. You are the type of woman that can make a man
want to be…serious.”
Nathan watched as the
debate over whether or not to defend the lie played out in her eyes. He could
see that he had touched a nerve. Even from his vantage point, he knew that
common sense was telling her not to trust him. That her mind was screaming at
the rest of her to not listen. But it was too late for that. He had her
attention.
******
Nathan brought his hand
up from Chantelle’s stomach, let it slither between and past her breasts, and wrapped
the fingers of that hand around her throat. He did not apply undue pressure,
especially when her free hand took hold of his emboldened wrist. Despite the
slightness of her frame, he felt strength in her grip. Strength enough, perhaps, to hurt him.
He remembered asking, at
the restaurant, if she had wanted the night to progress to something more
intimate. Well, he hadn’t technically asked – he posited that while her black
dress was perfectly gorgeous in the manner in which it hung about her, the form
the black dress hid was doubtlessly and infinitely more praiseworthy. She
chastised his forwardness and left him with the distinct impression that it was
exactly what she had been waiting for.
From his position behind
her, Nathan felt fire radiating off of Chantelle. It was as if she were a
bronze sculpture of a goddess, pulled fresh from a forge mold and pressed into
the marble of his physique. Her energy was challenging. Her movements dared
him, goaded him, and arrogantly promised him that she could and would go
further than he. Her hips demanded of his manhood. Her shoulders writhed as if
frustrated that they had not found release. She turned her head to stare back
at him out of one eye, craning her neck in his hand as she did so, and her gaze
mockingly questioned if that was all he could manage.
Nathan considered himself
a proud and capable individual, but he wondered if any man would be enough for
this woman. She was chasing something, possibly something that did not exist
anymore, or that might have never existed in the first place. It would have
been a sad thought, had the process not transformed her into a phoenix in human
form. He was witnessing the build to her climax, where the volcanic inferno
inside her demanded the right to roar. When it was done, she would return to
her beautiful but measured existence, coasting at a height where most could
only look up and wonder at. The thought invigorated Nathan. She had let him
into her territory, into her hunting ground, and let him feel the flames. Either
he would burn, or he would prove himself a worthy, if temporary, companion.
There was no point in wasting the moment.
Nathan’s head lunged
forward and his teeth sank into the taut muscle of her shoulder. He knew the
precise amount of force to apply so as to cause a spark of pain but not draw
blood, and he applied it precisely. She straightened quickly and let out a
quick, smug laugh.
This was a game he
enjoyed.
******
As three in the morning
came and went, Nathan had not expected to feel guilt. Truth be told, it wasn’t
a strong feeling. It was almost laughably weak in fact, but it was unexpected.
He hadn’t succeeded. He
had come with an admittedly audacious plan to free this woman from her cocoon.
It hadn’t been the first time he had tried, but it had been the first time he
had failed.
Carly slept like a woman drained of every ounce of her
energy and like a woman who was expecting to see someone next to her when she
eventually opened her eyes. Despite the depth of her slumber, one of her hands
still flexed and pulled at something that was not there, that, arguably, should
be there.
Nathan sat in a chair a
little ways away from the bed, nude and hunched forward like a living tribute
to Rodin. The room was quiet, almost oppressively so, and it felt to him as if
the space recognized him as an intruder. He fought the impulse to give in and
simply leave.
Almost everything had
gone according to plan. His boldness at the restaurant had been seemingly well-received. He had taken her on a quiet walk where each of his carefully
constructed sentences peeled away a layer of defense with gentility that
disguised the effort entirely. She was already in his arms when they reached
his car, letting him taste her lipstick and the hint of wine on her tongue. The
events that followed at her apartment were, he could say without hubris, some
of his finest work. It was, he found, particularly easy to light someone’s fire
when they unwittingly carried an abundance of unused fuel. And ignite she had.
Carly had burned with an intensity to rival.
But when it was done, she
hadn’t quite behaved as Nathan predicted. He had expected romantic attention, a
physical manifestation of gratitude for what he had done. Instead, she had let
the sensations flooding her body simply carry her off into a contented
dreamscape. It wasn’t that he felt shortchanged – he found release with the
same frequency and strength as she did. Rather, it was as if she had kept the
resolution to herself. There had been some layer of protection around her that
he had not accounted for. Her cherished intimacy had not been laid bare for him
to take, but not fully, and the incompleteness nagged at him.
It was this hint of bitterness
that he felt guilty. That, and his impulse to leave because of it. He hadn’t
lied to her – she was a woman worth getting serious over. He could see himself
in the early hours, the sun creeping through the window, lighting them both as
he kissed her back to the waking world so that they might waste a weekend
morning with nude promises.
He shook his head,
dragging himself out of the waking dream. He reminded himself that he had
failed. Whether because he played it too cool, because he played it too aloof,
or because he had been playing at all, it didn’t matter – he seriously doubted
his chances now.
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