His Flower

Part 2

They met for a week in secret.

Each day was a gift for the young man, for he got to know his beautiful girl more and more. He was enraptured by her intellect, her passions, and her life. He felt he knew her better than anyone. Yet, in truth, he didn't know her at all.

The day they met, they had talked for hours before she decided to head home, to the great city he assumed. Never once did he touch her. He hadn't earned that right just yet. She was a treasure to be savored, not taken for granted. A gift.

As she readied herself for departure he asked, "What is your name? I know your favorite color, your favorite food, and many other little details, but I have yet to learn your name."

She looked back at him with a sadness in her eyes that he could not understand. Had he done something wrong? In an attempt to bring a smile back on her face, he stepped forward, ready to tell her his name, but was interrupted.

"No," she said, with a firm hand on his chest. Her soft fingers wound through the small hairs on his chest, the rough texture a welcome sensation to her. "No names."

"Why not?"

She smiled sadly. "This has been a magical day for me. I have never met anyone quite like you. You are a kind man, so unlike the men I have known my entire life. If I know your name, you become real. If I know your name, the gods are surely to take this wonderful dream away from me."

"What am I to call you then?"

"Whatever you'd like."

He thought for a moment before stepping close to her with a bright smile upon his lips.

"You shall be my Flower."

"Your Flower?"

"Yes," he said, picking one of the small white daisies by their feet and handing it to her. "You are as beautiful and eternal as a flower."

She smiled and turned towards home, cheeks aflame with girlish giddiness. He stirred something inside of her that she did not know how to control. His attentive ways and engaging talk brought to life a part of her she never knew existed.

When she returned the day afterwards to the small clearing, she was pleasantly surprised to find him waiting, a bed of wild flowers laid out for her. It was magnificent and overwhelming at once. He was everything she could have ever wished for. She must have done something to make the gods happy, for they were rewarding her with happiness of her own.

But in the back of her mind, she knew it could not last. This stranger, this wonderful man, was not hers. She was not his. Soon, he would return to his home and become nothing more than a distant dream swept away with the wind.

Oh, but how she wished to be his. As she lay awake every night she wondered at how it would feel to have her mystery man laying next to her instead of the brute who shared her bed. Would it be different? Would she feel safe instead of afraid? Would she lay awake in anticipation and excitement instead of cold dread? Would she end her nights with tears of joy rather than tears of pain?

Yes, she thought. He would be different.

On and on the days continued, full of joy, if only for a few hours. On the eighth day of being together, the man took her hand and gave it a chaste kiss before sitting her down next to him. He had been rather quiet all day, acting distant, and the girl knew what he was going to say before a single word left his beautifully sculpted lips.