The Gift

I know I shouldn’t love you. From the moment you laid your frozen eyes on me, I knew it. But love is a funny thing, isn’t it? The way it curls around our minds and constricts, a viper preparing for the fatal strike. It worms through flesh, burying its coiled body into our hearts, teeth embedding in the spasming organ, filling us with poison.

            That’s what you are – toxic. The thrills you cause are heart pounding, pulsating – and short lived. I blink and you’re gone. And yet here I am again, the willing victim, crawling into the darkness as you beckon. Your touch ignites me; it hurts as much as it pleases. I know that when the haze lifts, I will be alone, and less of myself. I will be left with empty mind and heart. And I will do it all again.

            No – its different this time. When you coil yourself around me, tightening, contracting, seizing, I see it in the dim light; a kiss upon your milky throat, a mark from someone else’s mouth. I retract, recoil, scrambling away from your embrace.

            “It was just a nibble,” you say. Your icy stare holds no remorse.

            “It was not yours to give.” I pull myself up, straining against your hold.

            “Oh, love.” You take my face in your cold hands. “Everything I am is mine to give.”

            “You would bestow this gift – but not to me?”

            Your lips curl mockingly. “If I give this to you, then this is where it ends.” You stretch back, letting the moonlight illuminate your curves and edges. “And you always come back for more.”

            “Why? Why would this end?” I reach out for you; my hands close around smoke.

            “Because – the thrill would be gone.” You wink at me from across the room, leaning against the window pane. “And then what would be the point, my pet?”

            “Is that all I am to you?” I rise from the linen cage, naked in my rage. My body quivers.

            “Why would it be any different?” You fold your arms; a challenge.

            “Let me prove you wrong.” I approach you from the side, lean my hot flesh against your icy skin.

            “You wouldn’t be the first to try.” You turn to face me. “They are all cold in their wooden cages – and I have never paid them a visit.”

            “But I know you better.” I lean in to taste you; you turn your face, denying me. “I know what sates you.”

            “Drinking is what sates me, pet – not you.” As you make to slink away, I snatch your wrist. How long have we had this tryst?

“I know you better than you think. Every time you smile, you gasp, you cry, you buckle, I know its me. I know it’s the way I touch you. I know every one of your curves. I know every piece of your flesh. I know your body better than you know yourself. If you give me your gift, that will not change.” Your wrist slips from my hand.

            “My answer has not changed. Be ready for me in one week’s time.” You leave without another word, and I vow I will be ready.

            When you come to call on my flesh next, I am prepared. I sit on the window sill furthest from the door, cast in shadow. You let the clothes slip from your icy fortress, and I rise to meet you.

            As soon as I wrap around you, your eyes widen, and every muscle tightens.

            “What have you done?” you ask, fear creeping into the silky smoothness of your voice.

            My fingers close around the back of your neck, unforgiving in their grasp. “If you will not give it freely…” I pull your waves of hair away from your throat. “Then I will take it.”

            I cannot hear what you say next; I am drowning in the taste of you. My mouth is filled with life and death, a toxic blend of what you have become, and what you have denied me for so long. I am strengthened by your suffering, intoxicated by your horror. Is this what it feels like when you partake of my flesh? Is this what draws you into my bed time and time again? All I see is red.

            Your body squirms beneath me, your nails tear at my back, but I am too deep within you to release you. Time no longer has meaning. Life is just a whimsy. There is only the draught of eternity, flowing through your veins. I am drunk with your power.

            And then the silence cuts through my ecstasy. Your straining has stopped, your cries of outrage have faded. You wither within my hold. I unhinge myself from you, gaze down at your pale face; your eyes are black and empty; eternity has left you, now imbued to me. I scoop up your perfect body and carefully arrange it on the bed. I pull the sheets over you; they cling to you.

            “I will share your gift,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss your brow. “I will not hoard it from any who freely share their love with me.” I hesitate, mouth poised near your ear. “But always know I loved you first.”