Smoke
"I'm not afraid of you, Miss. Simpson." He looked straight into her eyes. Her eyes swelled with anger. Nobody. Nobody had ever dared to talk to her like this. Who was he? A mere worker at her quarry?
She began to leave. Her dragged her palm. His touch burned her skin there. He held her by her arms. Pushing her into the wall, he said, "Why shall I be? You can fire me anytime you wish to. But I wish to get this clear. You're a human, after all. That little heart inside your body pumps the blood faster when I'm around, I know that. No matter how hard you try, Miss but- you feel. You FEEL for me. I do, too. But the difference between us is that I don't deny. And I'm certain that you would accept this someday."
Feel? She didn't feel. She was a thing and things aren't supposed to feel. Are they? All her senses had came to an end the day she was sold by her father to a weathly, old man. A young lass who dreamed of love was assaulted sexually and raped brutally inside the four walls of a room. He would always come home drunk and force himself upon her. She had a crystal clear memory of how he rubbed his lips onto hers the very first time. His lips smelled of the choking smoke. How she hated that smell! He was a chain smoker, too. He would bite her nipples and grab her buttocks whenever he longed to. She still had those purple bruises on her thighs. It's been only three months that he had died.
But that was all her past. She had turned into nothing, like the smoke that he blew into her mouth during their make-out sessions. No passion, only lust.
She felt her nerves bleed inside. She looked at Roark. She was no longer in his grip.
"And oh, I'm pretty sure you won't fire me. For you're afraid you'd lose the sight of me." He smiled. She had buried herself long time back, it was this man who was trying to bring her back to life.
"I promise, my lady, you never shall cry again." He said, pointing a drop of tear lying peacefully. on his wrist. Did she just cry? After ages. She stomped off her feet on the ground. She loathed him for he made her feel. Little did she know, hatred too, is anything but a feeling.
She took out the cigeratte from her pocket and lit it. Smoking brought her chaotic mind to an ease. She released the smoke into the air. She could see his nose, his lips, his eyes... the periphery of his face in the smoke. Soon the smoke dissolved in the air, lost in nothingness. She smirked looking at him. She was determined to turn him into nothing. Like the smoke. Roark found the smoke smiling at him. Smoke was ready to write their love story. He grinned.
