nefelibata (a collection of short stories)

devilish love

I call him the devil cause he makes me wanna sin;

And every time he knocks, I can't help

But let him in.

There weren't any words to describe him, except for majestic.

The word was stuck on my tongue, wandering hopelessly in my mind. He was like an ancient artifact on display in a museum. He was so delicate, so worthwhile yet so naked with vulnerability. Eyes were constantly watching him; mouths were constantly speaking of him; ears were always listening about him.

It was an endless cycle, and I had realized that. I had observed that about him. I couldn't help but stare when I get the chance. My eyes were drawn to his olive complexion, his hazel eyes, and the black ink scarred into his skin.

For the past month, I woke up to the same view every morning. His eyelids would be shut tight and his mouth slightly open. A calm, hushed snore would escape every now and then. I'd stare at his complex jaw and cheeks and hold my breath from his beauty. He'd leave me in awe every single time.

This morning was different. I awoke to a warm hand rubbing my arm softly. I opened my eyes slowly and shut them back tight when the sunlight hit my face. There was a chuckle beside me and a pair of lips behind my ear.

"Good mornin'," He whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

I attempted to open my eyes again and got a good look at him. His hazel eyes were big and loving yet his smirk was playful and lustful. "Morning," I responded and moved in closer to him.

We stayed in each others arms in silence; our warmth being exchanged with every breath exhaled. It was a slight comfort to be in his presence. It didn't give me butterflies in my stomach, it only gave me a sickening churning in my insides. The feeling was so uncomfortable but I was begging for more every time.

"You know what I've been thinking?" I whispered to him. He hummed, his eyes were closed. "This is my last year of being a teenager. I, just, sometimes wish I could be nineteen forever, ya know?"

His eyes opened and his stare was intense. "Sooner or later we're all gonna die anyway, so why not beat life to it, 'eh?"

I bit my lip and moved closer into his chest, looking up at his sad hazel eyes. It was one thing I learned about him: he had an unhappy soul that he fed with countless cigarettes and cheap beers.

"You met me a strange time in my life, Blake Ryan," I began to speak softly. "And that person you met would agree with you, but I must argue against your words."

He smirked and his lips were then close to mine. "Argue all you want, love, but I always win."

His lips met mine and I was infatuated. The kiss was enchanted yet so intensified with lust. I felt his soft lips leave mine and trail down toward my neck. I moaned, "No, Blake."

It was so wrong, I knew it. I was so foolish to let it get to this point, but I wanted it all so bad. I wanted something I couldn't have and I still got it in the end.

His hands moved under my t-shirt and soon it was off. I was immediately exposed to my luscious satan. His lustful eyes poured into mine; hungry for more, they trailed down to peek at the rest of my body. In a swift movement, his lips were on mine again.

We were skin on skin by then, taking in each other as much as possible. All the lust to be released and all the love lost in it all. It was so right yet so wrong.

It had all started on a dark night after a lost battle with my love. I was fed up with him and anyone around. My world was collapsing at the touch of my fingertips. I hadn't had any auditions, my ballet practices were weak and slowly coming to an end, and I was looked down upon by others in shame and shock. At the moment, I could no longer take the relationship that I was in, the promise of love that I had devoted myself into.