by Poppet
Strolling absently into the bathroom, I bend over the pink tub. I never liked pink. But now it feels right. And I never thought I'd ever purchase lavender bubble bath. But I use anything I can now, to soothe frazzled nerves. I'm trying to heal, I really am. One day I'll sleep through the night. One day I'll tell someone about him, and for once I'll be believed. One day I'll be free.
Sighing heavily, I swirl the water. It's soothing, mesmerising. Water is so tranquil. Did he ever bath me? I can't recall. It needs more cold. Adjusting the taps I get the temperature right. What I don't understand is why, now, I can only sleep in white. Am I subconsciously afraid to wear another colour to bed? I'm not sure. I do know I'm too afraid to go shopping much. I hate crowds. He could be anyone, anywhere. He could be right behind me in a queue and I wouldn't know it. I know it's unhealthy to keep my own company constantly, but I'm afraid of the world now. I'm afraid of everything beyond my front door. I still need to hide. Licking my mental wounds. Stitching my frayed mind with solitude. I turn the taps to silence. Placing my glass of water next to the bath, lighting the pink candle.
Softly whispering through my home. It's apt that I'm a shadow living in shadows. Putting Andrew Chester into my Mac and pressing play. Float infuses the space with melancholic tones. Soothing, gentle, tranquil. Closing my eyes for a moment. Twirl on the ball of my foot. Toes pointing, arms swanning. Ballet never leaves you. Instrumental music balms a raw heart. Maybe darkness is my friend. Maybe it is kind. Sigh.
Killing lights as I walk back to the bathroom, I pause in candle twilight. I wish I could have a lover again. Someone to hold me at night. To love my pain away. Kiss my fears, catch my tears. Closing my eyes, I pretend for a moment. Lifting my satin slip over my head. Standing naked before a shadow. Wishing he'd materialise. Hold me in warm arms.
Instead I step into the bath. Letting warm water be my embrace. Lavender his cologne. Water the kisses and caresses. One day …
***
I treasure these uninterrupted moments of privacy with her. Our solitude is absolute. Like Father, I watch over her day and night, enjoying my role as her guardian and reformative angel. Through concealed digital eyes I survey her sleeping, cradled in my presence, in slumber I witness her vulnerability and trust.
She is transformed. She's become shy of strangers, unable to meet anyone's gaze except her own in the bathroom mirror. She has unexplained outbursts, when she huddles and cries. This must be part of the cleansing, remorse and shame are good portents for our future together.
Occasionally I catch true fear in her eyes, but take comfort in knowing that I will be the one responsible for removing fear from her vocabulary. The time for approach is near, when I become more than a voyeuristic angel, and move into her tangible daily life.
Studying her fluid grace as she moves to the tub, dipping her hand into the foam, swirling it as if recalling the holy water, I appreciate her female beauty. Subconsciously my waif knows that she's tapped into the river of life and I cherish watching her bathe in her daily ritual. Often scrubbing furiously as if trying to scrub the sin from her body. Oft times she emerges from the cleansing with skin almost ruddy from the scalding heat. I've studied psychology and know this is a symptom she shares with rape victims. Her soul understands that I am the catalyst that showed her the sin of the flesh. And she punishes that flesh with scrubbing, like the truly devout.
When she weeps and covers her face with the sponge, she does not hear my reassurances that I will keep her safe from harm. She doesn't hear me when I tell her how God sees only her beauty now, trying to halt the trembling of her lower lip when she stares straight into my eyes through the mirror.
The next time she whimpers my name in her sleep, I intend to be there to wrap her up in my strength, the way she wraps the bath towel around her body now, her skin flushed from her latest cleansing. She moves like a dancer, like a sapling in the wind. God's breath swirls around her and she reveals His subtlety in her movements.
Free from the perfect darkness of captivity; subconsciously speaking to me in her sleep; I crave the day she says my name in my ear, "Vengeance."
Chapter 6
The virtue of the camera is not the power it has to transform the photographer into an artist, but the impulse it gives him to keep on looking.
~Brooks Anderson
I always feel better after dress up. Starting with sexy underwear. Rifling through a drawer I uncover sheer white lace. Doing a reverse strip tease to the music still playing, watching myself in the mirror. I stay in view of myself, posed on the pale blue bed, combing out long hair. I miss admiration. Looks of appreciation from strangers. Silent validation in a stolen glance. I miss watching my hair stalk kisses across skin. What's the point of having long luxurious hair with no one to touch it? Smell it. Revel in it; catching it between fingers?
Annoyed. I move to the dressing table. Flicking open the mother-of-pearl inlaid box from my grandmother. Selecting scarlet lipstick, I uncap it, twisting it out. Phallically horny, the red pillar glides over pouting lips. Blowing the girl in the mirror a kiss, I twist it down. I stare at dark eyes, the pupils dilating due to half light. I'm feeling nostalgic. I like it dim. Shadows suit me. They soften the pain etched into my face and glaze the haunting in my eyes. I almost like what I see. Selecting First, my favourite perfume by Van Cleef and Arples, I spray liberally. Closing lazy eyes to inhale my wrist in appreciation.
I need my red dress! It's so seductive. Off the shoulder with a scalloped edge. Tight over plump breasts, snug to my waist. Highlighting who I was. Showing off what men used to see. Excited now, the shroud of depression lifting, I catch it off the hanger. Slipping it on, it hugs me. Loves me. It just ignites sexy Shauna. Where are my sinner's rubies? Hmmm. Sucking my finger thoughtfully, I ponder where I put them when unpacking. Top bedside drawer, I think. Flouncing around the bed I collapse onto it, feeling ready for a lover. I sink momentarily into pillows, cradling my head as if in a lover's crooked arm. Casting my memory back to damask nights laced in spicy aftershave. My nose remembers every one of them.
Snapping up, I rifle for the earrings. Seizing them, I slip them in. Rushing back to the mirror, the sparkle of blood gems flare my passion. My joie de vivre. Heels! Tall, sexy, elongating heels. I prowl back to the closet. Choosing the wine red five inch heels and slipping them on. Cat-walking back to the mirror. I could never be a model. I'm too short at five foot two. But in here I can be anyone. Right now I am Shauna, queen of the night. Miss sultry delight. My neck looks naked. It needs a kiss. Tilting my head, arching my neck, I wallow in kisses long gone. My teardrop necklace will have to suffice tonight.
I return to the mirror, running languid hands down my sides. Pretending for a moment that they belong to another. Someone who can love me. Who doesn't think I'm crazy.
That thought pops my evanescent bubble of joy. The reawakening forced back into the cocoon. Suddenly afraid, despising her, that girl in the mirror; that girl got me hurt. I snatch out the earrings, throwing them at the bed. Fevered, panicked, I unzip the dress, standing on it as I take off the shoes. I rush to snatch a tissue, wiping hard at my lips. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Shauna don't you cry for him.
***
Watching.
I'm comforted in this womb of darkness, the only light coming from the squares revealing what my manmade eyes see inside her home. The discomfort of the heat from the leather of Vengeance's armour reminds me of the lesson of responsibility. It's often uncomfortable to walk the path of the righteous, responsible for turning the fallen. She has never witnessed me, thus she's never seen me in God's regalia. Some have, those putrid sinners covered in the stench of fear and sin. Dressed like this, I feel powerful. This is who I am when I am the right hand of the Father, and those who've seen me as such have spent their last breath staring into the slits of the eyes, a vision of terror as I wield God's sword to smite them from the Earth. Their last vision being the red horns on the black head-mask, a visual reminder of the fallen.<
br />
It's merely a metaphorical representation of the task. My life has been spent in this service to the Lord. I was chosen at birth and Father blesses me with a heavy purse to purchase the very latest in technology. Underneath the black leather covering my skin, I wear the mark of the chosen. The omega stamp on my arm bears testimony that I am the end. When He sends me to you, it's often to remove you – permanently; forcing you to stop sinning and preventing the damning of a once perfect soul.
Standing, I walk with her from screen to screen, always at her side, dependable, a silent chaperone. What is this vanity? Why does she tease me with the way she's dressing? Posing carefully before the mirror, going so far as to taunt me by blowing a kiss at me after smearing her lips with Lilith's stain? Misting perfume onto her reborn skin, unsettled I stop to stare at the red sin of the velvet dress that pushes swells up to tease weak men to touch her.
What is she doing? Indecision swirls my senses. Is she going out? How is this possible? I know everything. She has no visitors, she does her shopping online and only the delivery men visit her door across the hall. Even then she has the standard instruction that they deposit it and leave. I've a tap on her phone, she's made no plans. She's cautious now, and I'm so proud of her for keeping herself chaste for me. She's had no phone calls, I have every minute of her day digitally recorded.
Who are you dressing for, Shauna? How did you deceive me? Why? Why after all we've been through could you betray me this way?
She's heard me. I settle back down when she rips at the dress, kicks off the shoes, wiping her mouth in distaste, baptising herself again with tears.
"Don't cry. You cannot be that sinner any longer. I'm here. Right here, with you."
Chapter 7
To manipulate an image is to control a people.
~Carolyn Gerard
"Hello?"
The worry reflected on her face claws at me. Fighting my reflex to touch her, I give her the false security of believing the pathetic chain holding her door askance is keeping her safe. Her blue eyes deepen to midnight, betraying terror.
Adopting my tranquil tone, I offer a half smile. I can be exceptionally ingratiating and charming when the need arises. This is the first contact; impressions are paramount. Turning so that I appear to be indecisive, bordering on walking away, I inject warmth into my tone, knowing my eyes appear gentle and unthreatening.
"I apologise for the intrusion. I live across from you at number 616, and I've noticed that you live alone and get everything delivered. I'm on my way to the gym and plan on stopping at Woolworths on my way home, and thought it was time I did the neighbourly thing and offered to pick up anything you need while I'm there."
I catch her staring at my arm, the strength in them I can't hide, she's definitely afraid. Using reverse psychology, I attempt my bashful awkward smile, adopting embarrassment, "Never mind. Sorry to bother you." After two languid steps I hear the chain slide off the door.
"Wait. I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone and you startled me. I do need eggs."
Turning back, I maintain the distance as I face her. I can smell her, her voice sifting unhindered through the air to me coupled with the unsure smile she's offering, are pure aphrodisiacs. I nod acknowledgement, as if unsure.
"Let me just get my purse …" her voice fades as she darts back indoors, forcing me to follow her. She tests my faith relentlessly. Bending over, presenting diminutive curves as she rifles through her bag.
"Please, no money required. Consider it a gift from one neighbour to another."
Thank God she stands erect again, pressing full lips together in displeasure. I assure her, "I'm very well paid, it's no sufferance. It's a gift and my pleasure to be able to help a neighbour."
Wiping her palms down pink jeans, she offers a hand, stepping closer, "I'm Shauna."
Her touch shocks my heart, staring down into gullible cobalt eyes, I'm forced to swallow before responding, "Victor." Releasing her hand after the briefest of contact, I turn and stride back out of her home, pausing on the doormat, "I'll knock on your door in about an hour. Nice to meet you, Shauna."
"Thank you."
She's followed me and is leaning with one hand on the door, ready to close it again.
"Any time."
"Victor?"
Turning back from leaving, I face her again, noticing the change in her demeanour, "Yes?"
"You keep strange hours. Do you work from home?"
"I'm a doctor. We do keep all hours depending on the needs of our patients."
Her smile beams approval.
"See you later." She waves briefly before closing and locking the door.
I wait for the scraping of the chain before indulging in a smile, leaping down the stairs with euphoric bounce at our contact. Our future has begun.
***
"Shauna, stop being so stubborn. He's perfectly nice, Sandra has assured me that he's lonely just like you. What harm is there in dinner? You have to get out. You're too young to lock yourself up like an old spinster."
"Mother, I don't want to go on a blind date that Leanne has set up. I like the way you trust her mother to manipulate my life and gauge my taste. Her idea of nice, and mine, are two totally different things."
A knock on the door interrupts my diatribe.
"Mum, just hang on a sec."
I rush, wanting to catch him, to say thank you. I baked coconut biscuits and have some to give him in return, a gesture of gratitude for random kindness.
"Victor wait!" Without thinking I fling the door open wide. Sneaking a glance past him, briefly absorbing the sight of his home beyond the open door at his back.
I don't know why but I'm suddenly self-conscious as he turns brown eyes intently on me. "Sorry, I'm on the phone, please come in for a moment. Let me just say goodbye to my Mum."
An assured smile communicates assent.
I rush back to the phone; I really need to get a cordless one. "Mum, I have to go. My answer is no." …
"Will it get you to leave me alone if I go on this despicable date?" … "Fine. I'll be there at eight. If he's one second late, I'm leaving." …
"Love you too … Bye."
Last night's thoughts jump into my body when I turn to acknowledge my neighbour again. His t-shirt is taut over biceps. Must be nice being in good shape. Maybe I should join a gym. Frig, I hope he's not allergic to coconut. I pick up the tin, presenting it to him.
"I hope you eat coconut. It's a token of thanks."
He hands me the carton of eggs, exchanging it for the tin. I stare spellbound for a second too long at his mouth. I really need a good shag. There's no way I should be looking at this man like an aperitif for a starving waif. His eyes register. I know he knows what I was thinking. Feeling hotly uncomfortable, I'm regretting inviting him in. This is awkward.
"Thanks. That's very thoughtful of you. Hot date tonight?"
I roll my eyes, wishing for a moment of wearing heels. I'm tiny next to him and am strangely intimidated. "I doubt it. But if it gets Mum to leave me alone for another six months, I'll go."
He nods, gesturing at the door. "I should leave. I have negatives I have to process before noon."
"Negatives?"
"I work three mornings a week as a cosmetic surgeon. But it's not my true passion. I'm phasing out the surgery and focusing on photography. I supply several magazines and a few websites with material. I have to get them developed to meet my deadline."
"Oh wow. I also work from home. DTP. Similar passion I suppose."
He gives me a knowing smile. A simple shared passion for images well rendered, sparking chemistry. "You have perfect symmetry. Maybe sometime you'll sit for me?"
I'm caught up, happy to be making a friend. I don't think, "I'd like that."
He turns, "Thanks for this. I'll enjoy eating them."
He tilts his head back, piercing eyes impaling mine, as if reaching into my soul, stealing my breath, pausing my heartbeat, my stomach tightens. "How did you know coconut
is my favourite?"
Twisting my hands nervously, I shrug, "I didn't. But it's my favourite too."
His smile is delicious. It transforms his face completely. "Nice meeting you neighbour."
I watch him walk away, pulling the door shut behind him, "You too."
I feel weak as I pad to chain the door and bolt it. Wow. What the hell was that?
***
*The Watcher Watches*
Who is this man? I've been watching Shauna for months. It's almost as if he knows where the cameras are. All I see is the profile. No! My clenched fist jars the flat screens as it impacts the desk. She belongs to Vengeance. How dare you!
***
Victor closes the door, dropping the neighbour mask. Suppressed rage bobs up faster than a bubble.
I need my leather mask. That will return my control. How do I prevent her mother from doing this? If that bastard lays a finger on my angel, vengeance shall be swiftly executed.
Chapter 8
Your nakedness shall be exposed, and your shame shall be seen. I will take vengeance, and I will spare no man
~ Isaiah 47:3
Practised stealth has rewards. For someone who lives in paranoia she's not an observant driver. I've maintained a decent twenty meter gap of traffic between us as I follow in my azurite black, two door M3; she hasn't noticed. The Waterfront is an easy meeting place, and it's even easier for me to blend unnoticed into the milling crowd. There's a bar with a clear view of the restaurant she enters. Opting for the bar, I choose a table in the corner with a good view into the place opposite.
