I taste the bitter air and inhale the smoky atmosphere. Death ruled with an iron fist today. War took its prey and claimed a hollow victory. Lives, innocent lives, were lost... and it's all my fault. The once prosperous fields of dancing moon flower...
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Christian tenderly rubs his cupped hand just above my knee as the long car ride continues. I shutter in pure disgust under his gentle touch. His presence makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Every once in a while, his hand would "accidentally" creep higher, which resulted in me squeezing my legs so hard, you'd think they were glued shut.
"How much longer?" I ask, keeping my tone one note.
"Not too much longer, Princess." His voice is low and soft as he uses his free hand to gently stroke my long blonde hair.
The way he says princess wasn't the same compared to when the wolf said it. When he said it, he meant it. His voice was strong and in control, and made me feel safe. He is a cozy blanket I want to wrap myself in when the days are unbearable and feel protected and loved when things go awry. But when Christian says it, it's not the same. In fact, it's the polar opposite.
My thoughts swing back to the wolf. I wondered what he was doing. I wish I could see him once more... that is, if I ever see him again. No matter how drunk I was, something in his eyes made me want to melt into his hands like butter on bread and give myself totally to him.
Finally, the goons pull into an empty ally, then park in front of a back door entrance. Christian popped out of the vehicle first before scurrying to my side and opening the door for me. He holds a hand out, gesturing for me to take it. I ease my hand onto his palm. I plan on using it as a stabilizer then immediately removing my hand, but Christian had other ideas. His hand firmly gripped on mine as he led us to the doorway.
Jason and Radon hover around us as we walk through the door and into a long, drawn hallway. The grey walls are bare and lifeless. With every step on the white tile floor, an anxious feeling builds in my stomach so fast, I feel as if I'm going to throw up. Fluorescent lights glare above us like the eyes of God as he guides me to an elevator.
He lifts his thumb and presses it against a small dark glass pad embedded in the wall. A thin blue light scans his thumb print, searching for identification, before shutting itself off. An automated voice calls out his name just before the elevator door begins to pry open.
He wastes no time. I'm dragged swiftly behind him into the enclosed space; his goons, steadfast on our trail. We pile into the futuristic, all white elevator as Christian presses 44, the top floor. I cower into the corner of the elevator, praying this is all an illusion, a daydream in which I will wake up sweating beads of fear. Unfortunately, the doors open and my hopes of a daydream are shattered.
As the mighty doors open, they reveal a stunning sight of the early morning city skyline. Skyscrapers and clouds collide in beautiful harmony to create an image so beautiful, Picasso couldn't even capture it with a single brush stroke. Birds fly in great flocks around the pink sky, adding delicate details to the painting. White wispy clouds hug onto the rough and sturdy buildings. Dark colors of purple add depth to the enormous and majestically morning sky.
