Thursday, 13 September 2012

A bullet had found him
His blood ran as he cried
No money could save him
So he laid down and he died

Ooooh, what a lucky man he was
Ooooh, what a lucky man he was
He was so close I couldn't help myself. The rain pounded down on the glass of the skylights and I reached out to trace his face. When I made it to his top lip with my index finger he opened his mouth slightly, lifting his head until my finger slid onto his tongue. The look on his face would have made anyone burst into flames but I kept my cool in case I needed it later. I met his eyes and withdrew my hand, watching as his eyes glittered with anticipation.

He had as much self control as I didn't however. Gripping his phone tightly in his hands, he asked me to take a seat. I pulled out a stool from under the counter at the island and sat down, watching him remake his composure from scratch as he walked around the room flipping on lights to push the dark back.

It rained heavily that day, and we all opted for cozy, darkened rooms, low conversation and more fall-like activities. He hit the button on the wall, making the flames in the fireplace jump to life. Then he turned it off, seeing how instantly mesmerized I became.

He came back over to me, throwing down the folder. The one with my name on it. The one that gets thicker each week, with notes added in as he thinks he dissects the methods used to win me over. I'm so tired of this. I have headaches now too. Everyone and then some have told him to stop, just to leave me be, after he promised he would be honest and he confirms that honesty is still paramount, now he's just working out in the open instead of behind the scenes.

He tapped it with two fingers, relaxing slightly, watching me. We are two feet apart. I could smell the scent of soap and fragrance on his skin and I could see the morning shadow on his face because he did not bother to shave. He didn't comb his hair either, tousled and wavy. He was dressed somewhat comfortably in a waffle-knit long sleeved t-shirt and black chinos. Bare feet.

Please kill me, I thought to myself.

You did not get back to me on the changes I suggested.

I sat and waited, staring back at him, trying to keep my expression completely neutral. He watched me fail.

Bridget, since you won't cooperate I have no choice but to exact a little power here. This will be unfair.

Well, then. Let's not mince words. What do you mean? Power how? If you drag Henry into this-

Henry will not be dragged into this. I already gave you my word.
No, creep. You gave the lawyers your word. Because you're smarter than I think you are. He drags his hand down the lower half of his face as if he can't believe I would guess that Henry would be the catalyst that's spurring such pressure from him. That or it's the fact that we now have less than six months remaining until his self-imposed time limit.

(I know. I need this right now, don't I? Like a hole in the head. Oh wait, I asked for that too.)

What is the one thing you asked me for, Princess? The one thing you have wanted from me that I refused to acknowledge or provide?

To leave me alone?

Think harder. You've asked me several times to perform a sort of magic.

What do you want from me? You've said this is all temporary anyway, what's the point?

I make you a little magic and in exchange, you take 1983 and wipe it from your memory.

What about the rest of your...proposal?

Oh, all of that still holds. This would be a show of good faith on my part.

And I require a lobotomy in the process? Hell, if you think I'll need one before, wait until after-

Bridget. I'm dead serious.

(That's not an expression anyone is permitted to use in my vicinity. Obviously it was my cue to walk out again.)

Caleb, if you go forward with any of this you'd better run while you still can because I'll kill you myself.

Not if I kill you first.

And he smiled as if we had talked about the weather and nothing more.