| Crimson&Scarlet written: charlotte initial date: 19 march 2003 > Updated 20 december 03 note: This is a piece I plan to make into a novel someday, but it will be totally revamped, so I'm posting it 'as-is' just for enjoyment. Right now, it's quite fragmented, storywise, but it's about the deep relationship between two young, single people. - - - - The way the moon slips across flesh never ceases to hypnotize me. The ivory wad of butter peeking through the window must enjoy the sight of him just as much as I. He is lying upon his stomach, his bare back vulnerable to the midnight fingers tracing his skin with shadow and light. It has forgotten to illuminate the small brown mole on his lower back; the one he wishes were a freckle, the one I run my index finger over idly as he sleeps. It is the imperfection I take pleasure in because he has too much of the rest of the word. I gaze down at his face half hidden within the pillow as he dreams. Or maybe he doesn't dream. But I do, and as my body sinks into the cool cocoon of sheets, I fall into one as my sight fades to black. I am running naked through a field and my breasts are heavy and the scent of paint is all around. But I have no remembrance of it in the morning. * * * Jen enters into the party with confidence, her familiarity causing my hands to shake slightly, her swinging figure leaving mine straight and stiff. But still, I venture forth from the entry way onto the hardwood floor, following the pale thighs slicing through the mess of bodies. She's introducing me to select people as we move, and I pocket their names and faces as we continue into the kitchen. I'll learn the name of the striking blonde male later because Jen becomes a blur and I think I've lost her so I turn away, but she's only giving me an apologetic look as she moves up the stairs with her boyfriend David. I've come for Jen but I don't know why. Was there nothing else on their minds? People watching would suffice as I sipped something cool and alcoholic on the white tiled counter... That chick needs to shove her chest back into her shirt ...and making rude comments to myself to satisfy my need for personal amusement. 'Lonely?' He had grasped an empty stool and slid it beneath him with a flourish, cocking his head toward mine and leaning forward on his elbows. 'Not until you showed up.' 'Want some company?' 'You bring a friend with you?' I craned my neck in an exaggerated gesture as I looked past him. 'I like that in a woman.' He was smiling easily. 'A wicked sense of humour?' 'Spunk.' 'Close enough,' I replied as I brought my glass to my lips, sucking the liquid softly through my teeth. The guy next to me began to talk, but I blanked out his words, listening to his voice blend into the rest of the party sounds. I watched the people before me, bunched, laughing, touching. It was a pleasant blur to fall into as the colours swirled and the music played against my ears. Maybe I was always to be in this place, to be part of a group but never to belong. It wasn't such a bad fate. The guy was waxing poetic on the topic of Victoria Secret underwear as I tuned back in. 'Couldn't you assault someone else with your monologue?' I said, interrupting before he could delve into a detailed description of the thong section. He shrugged. 'Just trying to be friendly.' 'It must be frightening when you're serious.' He gave me a blank look, then hopped off the stool and sauntered off. As I watched him leave as everything sunk in. I might have broken into mad laughter then - he had been keen on hot pink panties with white lace - if I hadn't noticed a familiar couple emerging from the dark stairway. Jen was holding David's hand and swiping her hair back in place as she followed, her lips red no more but her cheeks pleasantly flushed. 'Ready to go?' Jen questioned as I stepped toward her. 'Your hormonal urges were more important than I, Jen dearest?' The striking blonde was suddenly there, standing casually against the doorframe. 'I gave her your name as we walked by.' Jen idly brushed some invisible lint from her shoulder, but I caught the hint of a smile play upon her lips as she looked away from him. 'Oh, my mistake then,' he said with a laugh and a knowing shake of his head as he moved closer, taking my hand. 'My name's Crimson. Like the colour of blood.' * * * Warmth floated softly around the room, brushing my forehead and my belly, melting into my skin. Between the yellow rays, dust particles moved, hypnotizing in their silent, airy dance above me. My arm absently reached across the pillow and was left with a cool imprint. Waking alone is unnerving because your immediate thoughts are of being abandoned within the night. But the sounds of the kitchen begin to reach my ears and I smile. Maybe we'll have pancakes. Crimson blends cinnamon and chocolate within the mix and makes stacks of cakes which I eat too much of. I feel like a cat as I stretch long and contentedly, humming through my nose a tune I'm making up as the notes pop into my brain. Slipping from the bed, I turn to glance outside and the lush field that greets me reminds me that we're not in the city anymore. It's nothing but grass and weed and wildflower that spread far against the horizon. "How many cakes do you want?" Crimson steps into the doorway wearing a ridiculous looking apron featuring large purple polka dots. "Four, please. And that pattern looks stunning on you." "I hear Armani is coming out with a whole line." I follow him through the hall, my bare feet touching upon the scratched wood floors, my fingers running against the faded blue walls. We pass the living room which is small and round; a beige sofa, brick fireplace, coffee table and two stained glass lamps huddle together beneath three canvas paintings that hang on the walls. I'm the one who painted those bold acrylics. The girl in the second painting is staring at me, so I wink at her as I turn into the kitchen. "You missed the sunrise again," Crimson says over a pan of frying eggs. "I hate waking up early. Add some more pepper to those eggs." "It was gorgeous." "Aren't they all?" Crimson moved past me with two steaming plates. I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the basket of strawberries we'd bought at the market yesterday. I gathered a handful of sugar packets to dip the berries in and sit down to the dining table. The wooden table was so small our knees were brushing together as we faced each other, and Crimson is too lazy to buy a larger one. I don't mind his knees though, and this closeness always feels comfortable, not claustrophobic. "So, Crim, whatever happened to Sylvia, that girl you met last week?" Strawberry juice is dripping down my chin as I take another bite, the sugar crystals coating my tongue. "She was just a girl I met at a club. She was too silly though, all clingy and stuff. I haven't talked with her since she left that morning." "After you slept with her." � He was watching me. "She was good for something." "Crimson!" I kicked him under the table. He was waiting for it with a smug grin on his face as he took the attack. "You're so easy to rile up." "You're serious. That's why it bothers me." "You know I don't carelessly toss women out." "No, you just politely ask them to remove themselves from your presence forever." He laughed loudly and continued to eat his breakfast. I glanced down at the worn table, the scars from a past life etched into its chestnut colored top. [unfinished...] |