It is hard to describe the pull she had on me.
When she enters the room, it is impossible to look away. You can see the entire place take a collective breath, before each reasserting themselves, berating themselves for their momentary lapse.
Why did she come to me? I often ponder this, though I know the answer. My heart is hers the instant those wild verdant eyes meet mine. She starts to approach me. The click of her bright red heels sets an uneasy tension in the room, as people hurry out of her way as quickly as possible. I alone stand still though every muscle in my body fights to try to steer me away. And, as she closes upon me, it seems to me that she will be unable to stop. That, through sheer force of will, she'll have me part before her like the air before a speeding arrow.
But there she is now. Somehow managing to comfortably situate herself at a less than comfortable distance from me. It was then that I knew it was too late for me. And though she did not have a physical grasp on me, I was now completely captivated with her. Every little movement, the slightest breeze that blew upon the length of her rich dark brown hair was commanding my attention. She held me in the palm of her hand, and she knew it. The smile that spread across those rosy cheeks shone with triumph and a pure ecstasy.
She took me that day to my father's orchard and laughed as I scrambled to unlock the gate under the poor light of a solitary streetlamp. She laughed again with a brazen glee when the heavy lock clattered to the ground. The gate swung open with a squeak. Here now there was nothing sacred and in our wake lay a trail of garden fruit, twice bitten, abandoned. Our depravity worsened. As we continued flowers we tore apart in our ravishing and stone fountains we stained with our young hot blood. I was unrestrained in my pleasure; being enamoured with this force of nature. And as I lay stripped of sanity and clothing amid the waste I had spew forth, there was a quiet squeak of the gate once more being opened.
Quickly I hid - shaking - among the ripped-up leaves and debris. It was sunrise when my sins became known, and my father was calling my name. I stood up, though my heart sank into the ground and died. Here, the fury of my father was not to be subsided, his curses he would not take back. He pronounced me death and suffering all my days. And while he drew his breath, and before he could afflict me any further, in desperation I cried: "The woman made me do it"
But there was no woman.
So now I sit in that same room. And when she arrives, like summer does after spring, my breath is stalled as in sheer panic I scramble before her great pervading presence.
