The Things Which Were Said.
By London Oscuro
“Are you enjoying yourself?” the woman sitting at the other side of the table asked me, smiling. Apologizing, I realized I had been staring, caught up in looking at her. She was a beautiful woman, with a gentle, caring face. Her dark brown hair had been braided to frame her innocent countenance, falling to her covered breasts. She wore wine red, and I fondly recalled the last time we met.
“Oh, dear- I spilled the wine…”
She looked distressed, and a slight blush dusted her face. I couldn't restrain a smile. “I think you look cute.”
I reached out to touch her manicured hand, nails painted the same color as her dress. “Yes, I am. You look lovely tonight.”
The woman grinned brightly. She took my hand in hers, leaning closer. Her white teeth shone behind her red painted lips, and I sighed. She really did look lovely. Her long lashes, accented by mascara, fluttered flirtatiously as her other hand moved to pick up her glass. I watched as her long fingers snaked around the stem, the glass held precariously between them.
“Careful,” I said, noting her unfocused eyes and the awkward way she held it. “You might spill it.”
She giggled. “Yes, I remembered what happened last time. That's why I wore red.”
What a thoughtful, beautiful woman. Knowing she had remembered just as I had made my heart flutter. “I hope you're enjoying yourself as much as I am,” I murmured. “I'd hate to be disappointing.”
“Mmm, you're not,” she hummed, looking to our joined hands. “How about I finish my wine, and then we head to your place?”
I smirked, drawing my hand back. “Sounds lovely to me.”
We chatted as she finished her wine. It was cheap- we both knew I couldn’t afford a high quality one, no matter how much I wanted to. My low income never seemed to bother her, though, and she was more than happy to go to whatever chain restaurant or hole in the wall I suggested. Her voice was light, musical as we spoke. She put her hand on her chest as she laughed, pressing her dress between her cleavage. I wondered if her nails were fake- I could never tell, though I had been told the difference was obvious. Could they be taken off?
She finished her wine, laughing about having addressed her clumsy ways. I flagged the waiter and paid the check. She pressed herself against me as I pulled her out of the chair. I could feel her breasts against me, and I wondered whether she knew. She continued to cling to me as I lead her to my car, and when I opened the car door, she wrapped her arm around my neck as she sat down.
She pulled my face to hers and kissed me. “Hey,” she whispered. “Are you gonna be good to me tonight?”
“Hmm, maybe,” I replied, being coy. The possessive way she held onto me until the last moment she could did not escape my notice, and I chuckled as she finally let go.
I got in the driver's seat, and she placed her hand on my thigh. “I hope so.”
The car was nothing special- it was actually over ten years old at that point. It was a gift from my father, one of the last ones he ever gave me. Still, despite its age, it was comfortable and gave me no trouble. I didn't drive often, choosing to walk when I could, but when I did I would do so safely. I had managed not a single accident in the entire time it was in my possession.
She shivered as we sat on the cool seats of the car, the air hanging on to the last remnants of Winter. It had been an unusual season, with record breaking snows followed by strange periods of warmth. Going outside had become, at best, a chore, with every forecast describing seven different types of weather, all uniquely horrible.
The night sky glowed dimly as I stared up at it. It was long past sunset, but the stars could hardly be seen through the pollution of the city. The woman stared outwards with me. Her hand curled and drew away as she stared out the window. Her eyes were wide as she frowned ever so slightly. My chest became heavy with sympathy.
“Hey,” she mumbled. “It's all going to disappear, isn't it?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, though I already knew.
She leaned back on the car seat. “Everything's going away so quickly,” she breathed, her voice shaking. “Everything… everything I remember from… even ten years ago. It's all gone.”
I leaned back as well, huffing and closing my eyes. “... I suppose it is,” I said, turning to look at her. “Humans… are destroying everything, aren't they?”
Humans.
“I…” the woman mumbled. “I love you.”
I looked at her to see tears in her eyes. I’m overcome with the urge to reassure her. “I love you too,” I said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
I felt warmth on my face and realized she has begun crying in earnest. “I'm afraid,” she sobbed. “I'm happy sometimes but I can't forget being afraid.”
The dark car hid her features, and I could only see faint reflections of the light from the dim sky. Still, I heard her quiet choked noises, her pitiful sniffs in an attempt to maintain her composure. I traced my hand on the side of her face, dragged it through her soft hair. “You won't be afraid forever,” I told her, and pushed her face to my chest. I could feel her tears through my dress shirt, warm against my skin. I hoped she felt the way it made my heart beat faster. “Your fear will end one day. It won't be forever.”
Her sobs tapered off into whimpering, and she clutched my chest. “Right,” she said. “It's… this fear... is going to disappear too.”
I hummed, petting her head in agreement. “It's all going to disappear. All of it.”
The car had heated, cleared of the cold winter air it once held. I expected my shirt would stain, but I didn't mind. Such a thing seemed so pleasantly warm, and emotional, and close. It was lovely. I wished desperately to see her as she gently pulled away- see her hair a mess, her makeup smeared with tears, see her face colored red with anxiety. Turning on the light would have been inappropriate, though, so I held back, instead listening to the soft sounds she still made. They were weak and high and barely audible, but they made my chest ache with a feeling I could not place. That, I felt, compensated for being unable to see her cry.
“Let's head home,” I said.
“Yeah.”
She kept mostly to herself for the duration of the car ride, and I took the opportunity to let my own hand wander over to her whenever we stopped at a light. She leaned into my touch, her sounds not as desperate or pitiful when I was close. Her breathing steadied, and her heartbeat did not feel as frantic under my hand. I smiled, though I knew she could not see it.
We finally arrived, and I lead her out of the car, this time pulling her close myself. She latched on to me and pressed her face to my chest, and I felt her long nails dig into my back through my dress shirt. She nearly fell as I lead her inside, but I held tightly onto her body to keep her upright.
“You're alright,” I said as she struggled to get her footing.
“I suppose I am,” she replied, some of her former mirth entering her voice. “When we're inside, would you read to me? Your voice is so nice.”
I laughed. She was so sweet. “You're going to kill me, you know!” but I didn't object. “I've written a few chapters since the last time I showed you my work, so would you like to hear them?”
She stood straight and nodded. Her wide, inquisitive eyes stared straight into mine, and I could see her adoration for me through them as I brushed a stray lock out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. It wrenched at my heart, and I had to resist the urge to knock her off her feet and ruin what was left of her composure. I struggled to maintain my own.
“I would love to,” she enthused.
We entered my house and went to my bedroom, where she took her shoes off and sat on my bed. I watched as she crossed her long legs, her foot tapping idly. She wore tights- I wondered if I had ever told her how attractive I found them. I didn't take my eyes off them as I pulled my printed draft off of the nightstand.
“I've not sent it to my editor yet,” I told her. “So you'll forgive me if anything sounds a little weird.”
She chuckled. “Of course. It just means I'll be first to hear it!”
The sheets moved between us as she pulled herself closer to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She looked to my face, then to the papers as I began. The story was one I had been working on for a while. She listened intently, resting her chin in her hand and smiling gently. I made a noise of contentment as I read, more focused on her than the story. I suspected she was the same way. Once I finished, she giggled and pulled me down to lie on the bed with her.
“It was really good,” she laughed, “Very… you.”
I put the papers on my lap and smiled. “I'm glad. I was worried it would've killed the mood.”
“No, no,” she assured me, taking a lock of my hair and twisting it around my finger. “I thought it was fascinating. It was… so close to the heart. I could tell it was written by you.”
I kissed her again, and she smiled. “I'm glad.”
She took my hand in hers, grinning and bringing it to her breast. “You can go ahead,” she whispered close to my ear. “If you want.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. She looked at me in anticipation, blushing slightly. Her makeup was a mess, her mascara and eyeliner streaking down her cheeks. Her hair had fallen out of place, now sticking out every which way. She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
For a moment, it was completely silent. Then, I smiled. I laughed, I laughed at this beautiful human before me, and there was confusion in her eyes. I flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips and placing one hand lightly on her shoulder.
“You idiot!” I cried, unable to contain myself. “You idiot, you think we can do something like that?”
She stared at me, and I couldn't make out whether it was fear, or disgust, or despair she felt. Her lips parted slightly but she didn't speak, instead choking on whatever words she may have had.
“It's not that easy,” I told her, leaning close to her ear. I grinned, my voice low. I heard her breath hitch. “Being happy… is not that easy.”
Her mouth closed, and she gulped nervously. She blushed even more profusely, and I felt her heartbeat quicken beneath me. “I… can you explain?”
I pulled.back, smiling approvingly. “I think you understand already.” This woman was so lovely, after all.
Her eyes darted downwards to where our bodies met. She looked briefly afraid, but soon an expression of relief crossed her face. “Ah,” she gasps. “I see.”
Her free arm wrapped around my back and I released her shoulder so she could pull me down. She began laughing. “Ah!” she cried, ecstatic. “Ah, I love you!”
She kissed me again, this time opening her mouth to allow my tongue inside. Her hand moved up my back to my neck before grabbing onto my hair. Her hand was possessive, twisting and pushing so as to keep me close but not enough to be painful. I pulled her into more of a sitting position, and she wrapped her legs around my waist.
I reached for the zipper of her dress, pulling it free once I found it. I had long become used to undoing bras, and I was able to slip it off with the stabs of her dress without problem.
“Hey, Aza,” she whispered. “Will you ever tell me your real name?”
Two days later, I thought about her. We both fell asleep afterwards, but I ended up waking before her. She had looked gorgeous then, her hair completely undone and her makeup smudged beyond recognition. I felt a bit awkward, having nothing to do but look at her. It seemed like the kind of time where my sort of character would begin smoking, but I had never touched a cigarette.
In fact, I'd just lost my virginity.
I enjoyed it. I didn't have to do much- she barely touched me, so I didn't need to worry about how good it felt for myself. I only needed to watch her reactions, act accordingly… and I'd long figured out how to elicit desired reactions from others. I was happy to see her pleasured beneath me, happy to see she was so willing to go along with me.
I did not orgasm, but I fell asleep beside her, smiling. At some point while we slept, I wrapped my arms around her. It was peaceful, and gentle, and fulfilling. I was grateful. I was very grateful to her.
When she woke, her sleepy face seemed angelic. I helped her get ready to head out, gathering her clothes, brushing her hair, giving her a kiss on her way out of the door. She laughed brightly, grinning and I offered to drive her home.
“No thank you,” she told me. “I'll just take the bus.”
Thinking about that, I smiled. She was an angel. Something like an angel. I had remembered her, thought back to that angelic face of hers. Two days later, I remembered her.
I remembered her because that morning our college released a newsletter announcing her death.
It was vague, of course, and overused words like “tragedy” and “shock”. I couldn't help but laugh as I read it. A picture of her dressed in white accompanied the newsletter, along with some fine print saying her friends and family would be contacted with details. I suspected that would include me, but would not be surprised if it didn't.
Her death was not a tragedy. It most certainly was not a shock. That girl died happy, and her death had not been in vain.
That girl “disappeared”, along with everything else. That hopelessly human girl recognized her angelic soul, saw her path to salvation. She realized the tragedy of her human form, the fear and evil that came with it. She made the choice to destroy that fear, destroy that evil…
I told her my real name.
She was so happy.
