You Changed My Story

Chapter 7

STORMME

Olivet twirled in front of the mirror, admiring her crimson dress. Layers of feathery silk danced passionately by her as she rocked her hips like a silly goose. I'm having a guest and it's not someone I am comfortable with. That Doctor, she likes him and the thought irritates me. Is she ill, And with what exactly? I knew we were together by contractual agreements but would it hurt to know a little more about her?

My eyes trail up her legs, over her knees, and follow the path down her thighs. She sat in front of the wide vanity, trying her best to ignore me. She took a deep breath, straightening her spine then added some more of that pastel pink shiny stuff to her mouth.

Her face was free of cosmetics and her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail.

I leaned against the wall as something raced through my mind but it eluded me. She bit at her lip and fidgeted that perfect ass over the leather chair. She must have realized my eyes were observing. I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

From where I'd been watching her, I couldn't see how soft and tempting her mouth was. I'd rather not act on these desires. They have no substance or driving will. That's not what I'm after. I'm aware she dislikes me so scaring her away will create a thicker wall between us. It will only make the chasm deeper, and wider.

Lately, I've been at parties, clubs, and important events but I've never taken another woman or slept with any who came in contact with me. Yes, they tried. Put up their best seductive game. None got the chance to get close enough to get me in bed.

My passions were imprisoned. I've locked them away and changed the keys many times.

Sex was meaningless if it didn't have the emotion or any feelings behind the act. There's only emptiness and carnality. I did find enjoyment but it takes away a piece of your soul, and those fragments shatter. Your belly becomes a grave of flies, your spirit turns grey. There are only bones. A walking skeleton of thick black mist, pulling dead chains covered with the loveless blood of many lovers.

My grandmother taught me better and yet, I haven't taken any time to visit her. To wipe those tears away. To comfort the little woman who grew me like her own son. The days sitting by her window must have been quite lonely, mossed over by endless tears. I dared not to envision those patient eyes morphing into a sea of glass as she prayed silently for my return like a voyager lost underneath the arctic waves.

"Olly," I furtively approached and she stiffened when I sat on the couch inches away from her. "I want to apologize for how I acted earlier."

Her large green eyes widened, framed by dark sweeping lashes.

"That's fine. I feel a lot better now that you've apologized." She laughed lightly, genuinely laughed, so much that her eyes lit up.

The soft mid-evening light brought out the earthy highlights of her hair. It was as if the area she sat in, filled with light, held no brightness, no glow, only a deep calm.

"You didn't mention anything about your mother."

My heart folded at the desperation that overshadowed her face. Her eyes were reading letters, the ones that are lost, the ones that are buried and forgotten.

A part of me regretted every word. I wanted to take back the words and bottle them up forever. Maybe forever was too short. The weight of her gaze, I cannot bear and the silence took us somewhere without air, somewhere desolate.

"I haven't gotten the time to visit her grave," she laughed again, sniffling. "What kind of daughter am I?"

She passed. The painful lump in my throat almost took my voice away, "The best kind."