A Blink

Just a glimpse. A fleeting memory etched into the back of his eye lids, to haunt him with every blink. The image of snow white, distorted beyond recognition yet oddly familiar and soothing.

Skin as white as snow, so white, in fact, that it was hard to make her out against the wall behind her.

Hair as red as blood, the curls moving in the wind like Medusa's snakes.

And eyes as dark as ebony, drawing him towards her like massive black holes, not a force in this world strong enough to stop him, to keep them apart.

And just as he's about to take that step, the first towards her, the bus passes through the street right between them. Whether it's the muddy water splashing against his legs or just the fraction of a second that she's out of his sight, he doesn't know. He feels as if he's emerging from deep, dark waters. The lights are too bright, the noises too loud, the stench of urine that so often hangs in the air around bus stops so strong he can almost taste it. And before he realizes what is happening, before he has time to form even the smallest coherent thought, the bus is gone.

And so is she.

Blink. There she is. Etched into the back of his eye lids.

**********************************

She comes in the night. She always does.

The soft summer breeze carries her through the window. The rustle of leaves on the street outside conceals her quiet steps as she brushes past the curtains. She crouches down, her movements as fluid as water, and without hesitation launches herself towards the bed in the middle of the room.

For a moment, she's weightless. Her lithe body hangs in mid air as if frozen in place, back arched, arms outstretched. The pale moonlight behind her shines through her skin, so white it seems almost translucent. Her unruly curls obscure most of her face and hide her eyes in shadows that seem darker than all the others, but her lips are visible, pulled back ever so slightly - perhaps in a smile, perhaps in a sneer.

She lands beside him with the softest of thuds, apparently oblivious to mundane things such as gravity and momentum, and becomes still once more. Observing. Not a strand of hair moving, no breath blowing out of her parted lips. It's not her presence that wakes him, nor the weight of her on the side of his bed, urging him to just let go and roll towards her.

It's the very tip of her finger pulling him from dream into nightmare.

She slowly extends her arm towards him, letting her hand hover above his bare chest to relish that moment just before skin touches skin for the very first time. And then it touches down, soft as a feather yet with the force of a small comment. His sharp indraw of breath rips the silence apart and opens up room for more noise to follow, but before he can even open his mouth or untangle his tongue, she swings her slender thigh into the air to bring it down on his other side, straddling his thighs and keeping him still.

Her finger doesn't move an inch. While the rest of his body seems almost paralyzed, a warm glow emanates from the tiny patch of skin that she touches. With excruciating slowness, she drags her finger downwards. A whimper is all that he can manage as the nerves along her path are set on fire, her touch reverberating in every fiber of his being. While his mind once more succumbs to the almost familiar sensation of being dragged below the surface of a muddied pool, his body awakens.

Just before her finger reaches his navel, she stops - and so does he. His heart skips a beat, his breath sits frozen in his lungs, his eyes are locked on hers and he feels himself falling into numbness, into the despair that comes with the sudden end of pleasure, but before he can hit the bottom, with only a second to spare, she catches him.

She moves as quickly as lightning, and with the blink of an eye her face is inches him his, the emptiness in her eyes hypnotizing, and still he's desperate to be touched again, even an accidental brush of her hand, the tip of her nose coming just an inch closer. He's not granted his wish. He's granted so much more.

His whole body jolts as she arches her back, head unmoving, and he can feel her nipples coming to rest on his chest like a butterfly landing on a flower. The impact on his body, on the other hand, is quite monumental. His eyes roll back with the shock of light-headedness as his blood rushes to his groin to collect their with a tug of exquisite pain and when he manages to focus on her again, he catches her tongue dart out of her mouth and lick her parted lips.

Another moment of complete stillness is followed by the rustle of sheets as her knees glide apart and she lowers herself onto him. The slightest bit of disappointment registers at the back of his mind as the realization of the sheet separating them hits him, so close and yet so far. But the fabric is too thin, much too thin, to hide the heat and wetness coming from her, uniting them despite what separates them.

Her eyes come closer, and with them her whole body, breaking the connection and causing panic to rise in his throat, but before it can turn into a gasp, she's moving away again, rubbing against him. The friction nearly ends him, but it comes with a more than welcome side effect - as she moves downards, so does the sheet between them.

His gaze is still fixed on her eyes - whether deliberately or not, he can't tell. He feels rather than sees her nipples burning a firey path into his skin with each and every one of her movements, back and forth. Like being rocked to sleep. And perhaps it is this that almost causes him to miss it. Her eyes are as dark and empty as ever, but this time, they hover in front of him for just a moment longer. Time stands still as their breaths mix, and with both desperation and anticipation he sucks the air, her air, into his lungs and without another warning, his world comes crashing down.

If the friction nearly killed him, he must be burning in hell, for the sensation of sinking into her folds is too much to bear, is both addicting and destructive from the very first second and just as he feels himself lose control, she halts, the hint of a smile flitting across her lips. She rakes her nails across his chest and sits up, straightening her back, before she continues sliding down his length, inch by exquisite inch.

He's mesmerized, watching their bodies unite and separate out of the corner of his eyes. Next to her translucence, his pale skin seems almost dark, the contrast growing bigger with every thrust. Her slick, hot flesh surrounds him so tightly that he fears he must suffocate, and longs to suffocate inside of her. A mote of dust dances through a shaft of moonlight, descending towards him, and he races it. His need grows bigger, the sensations far too much to handle or comprehend, and it is only the dust mote breaking the light that keeps him grounded and guides him.

It disappears out of his view, and he knows that it must land any moment, that he must come to an end with it. And it is perhaps the realization that there are things so good that nothing can ever exist afterwards that makes him inhale so deeply, draw as much air into his lungs as possible in preparation.

It is the last breath he would ever take.

As the dust mote lands on his skin, so sensitive now that he cannot miss it, he feels a spasm in his groin, beyond his control, beyond anyone's control. His vision bursts into colour, centered around the two black holes staring at him, empty and unmoving. His skin erupts into goosebumps and just as he reaches the point of no return, of losing control and giving in to something bigger and better, before the breath can leave his lungs and the moment can pass, a quick succession of loud cracks as her hand breaks through his ribs ends that tender moment of silence before his world explodes and the dust mote is lost in a sea of red.

*****************************************

She leaves in the night. She always does.

His last sigh carries her towards the window. A steady stream of blood from his heart in her hand, like a miniature stream, conceals her steps as she brushes past the curtains. She turns around one last time and looks at him, and then, without hesitation, launches herself out of the window.

For a moment, she hangs in the air, weightless and magnificent, beautiful and deadly.

Her skin as white as his sheets.

Her hair as red as his blood, seeping into the mattress.

Her eyes as dark as the hole in his chest, where his heart used to be.

And then she is gone. A fleeting memory etched into the back of his unmoving eyelids, to haunt him forever.