Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Blood Red and Snow White

He watches her from the bar where he sits. Her blood red lips parted as her drink touches those lips. He imagines them touching his mouth, his throat. He aches to press his body against her, feel her mouth against his, hear her moan his name.

He watches her flirt with other men. Their hands rest on her arm, her back. He knows, just by the way she lets them touch her which one she likes the most. It's a game she likes to play. He waits in the shadows, in the dark, watching the blood red lips, parted as she smiles.

She gets up, maybe to leave, maybe to use the restroom, put more blood red lipstick on. He watches her. He can't look away. She is all he has ever wanted. He has looked for her his whole life. And now, now she is here. But tonight is not the night. She must want him. He must lure her in. She must come to him.

He settles himself in her path as she returns to her seat. They stumble over each other. "I'm so sorry," he tells her, holding her on her bare skin, his hand just under the sleeve of her jacket. Her skin is warm, silky soft. Breathless, she replies, "No, it was my fault. I'm sorry." Hooked, he thinks. She looks into his blue eyes and she won't forget them. He holds onto her, maybe a minute longer than necessary, then lets her go with a smile that lets her know, he's seen her. She stumbles back, and turns back. She won't forget him nor their encounter. For tonight, his work is done. If he stays, he will only lose control. Bad things happen when he does.

Two nights later....

Blood red lips. It's the first thing he sees when he sits down at the bar. She is alone. She has made sure the space beside her on either side is empty. She is waiting for him. He can't help a small smile of satisfaction. She is trapped. One touch and a smile. Women, so predictable. He sits back at the end of the bar watching as she fends off one man after another. She glances at her watch and then picks up her phone. When she looks as if she's going to leave, he makes his move.
"Are you here alone? Or is your herd with you?" Blood red smile? No, frown.
"They were admirers." Blood red pout. Much better. Too taste those lips. He doesn't even look at her as he speaks. "Tomato, tomahto. Are they on their way? Running behind?"
"No, I'm quite alone, tonight. For now."
"Not anymore." And without even asking, he grabs her phone and her and sweeps her out the door.
"Wait...where.." her protests are drowned out as her back comes up against the brick wall of the bar and his lips are finally against the blood red lips. She doesn't resist. He roughly presses her into the uneven mortar, but she is caught up in the anonymity of this passionate and the hunger behind it. His hands hold her arms beside her head, her hands working to get free so she can run her fingers in his hair. He is strong, but gentle.

He pulls back and she gasps for breath, her hands still pinned by her head. He looks in her eyes, then to her blood red lips. Where there should be a smeary mess, lipstick on both of them, her lips are perfect. He is puzzled, startled. Thrown off his game. He's not sure what to do next. His script...doesn't allow for variances.

"Your lipstick. Doesn't it smear?" The knife rubs against his calf. It burns waiting to plunge into it's next victim.
"What lipstick? My lips don't need it."
"But they are Blood Red." He would have painted them with her blood had they faded. Wiped them clean then pulled the knife out and dabbed the red blood across them. Painted them blood red. His previous four victims had been beautiful in their final moments with their own blood stained red lips.

Undone, he let her go. But she wasn't finished with him. She pushed him back against her blood red convertible and climbed on top of him. "You know there was this crazy killer going around killing girls that wore blood red lipstick. He kissed them and then painted their lips with their blood." She mashed her lips against his, dragging her arm up his legs, between his legs, up his stomach. He could hardly breathe. She was the one. She was the girl that could make him stop his desperate search. She knew about him and yet she was kissing him, touching him. And then, he felt the knife plunge deep, so deep he could hear it scrape the blood red hood of the car. "You're my Blood Red," he whispered as his life slipped away. "And you're soon to be my Snow White," she grinned wickedly as she pulled the knife free and wiped it on his pants. She shoved the body away, hopped in her car, the knife under the seat and drove away in her Blood Red convertible, with the Snow White seats.

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