The Light in Her Eyes

by A R Shane

  ***~~~***

  The Light in Her Eyes

  By A R Shane

  Copyright 2012 A R Shane

  Eiso Publishing

  *

  This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead or otherwise, is purely coincidental.

  ***~~~***

  I walk up the stairs to the door. The aroma of six sprays of cologne lingers in my nose. She's supposed to be waiting inside. I knock once and stand back. The building is made of wood, and in this heated hallway a smell like a sauna permeates the air. I stamp my feet and knock again, giving the knob an extra twist incase she left it open to surprise me.

  H e l p .

  I cock my head. Did I just hear something?

  I jiggle the door and kick it with my foot.

  Jenny? I say.

  Help.

  I hear that cry as it tickles my gut. It's her, all right, but she sounds weak, as if she's being smothered.

  Jenny? Give me a second.

  I kick the door, but it's made of solid oak and doesn't budge one inch. I step back and kick again. The door makes to sneer at me by not moving an inch. Instead, vibrations travel through my body. It's painful. I broke both ankles in a car accident, so I decide not to kick the door again.

  The neighbors, maybe they keep a spare key. I run over and knock. Nothing. I knock again and yell. Nothing.

  Back at Jenny's door I smell wood burning.

  Help, fire.

  I have no time. I know I can't call the fire department because they are more than an hour away. I'd always said it was stupid to live someplace so far away from civilization. Now she's paying.

  I think back to my days as a teenager, and pull out a paper clip. I run outside the building. Gray skies sulk down on my head. The cold air attacks my lungs and skin. I find a rock and head back to the warmth of the building.

  Help. Her voice is louder now.

  I stretch the paper clip out and slam one end with the rock until the paper clip is flattened. I hurry back to the door. The smell of something burning is distinct now. I jiggle the keyhole with the clip. Nothing. Five minutes later, nothing. I have to get in. I wonder if I can climb through her window.

  I run outside, hugging my coat as the air surprises me again with its ferocity; a wind has picked up. Beneath her window, I check and see that there's no way to climb up. Nor do I have rope to rappel from the roof. I check out the trunk of my car. Still nothing. Why don't I have anything of use here?

  The tool shed. The building maintenance man keeps a toolshed stock full of goodies. I run over to the small red shack. It's bolted shut. I jiggle the lock a few times. There's no opening it. I rap my knuckles against the wood side. I give it a soft kick, wary of my ill-fused bones.

  My heart is trying to break out of my ribcage now, and even though it's cold, I'm sweating. I can taste something like blood in my mouth. The side of the shed is strong. I can't kick through it.

  The car.

  I sprint over, slipping on ice and falling on my knee. I limp-run over, start the car, and pop it into first gear. I grip the steering wheel and steady myself. Yes, this has to be done, and you can ask for forgiveness later. I slam the gas. The car takes off, the backend wiggling. I aim for a corner of the shed and slam into it. The car shatters the corner. I back it out.

  Half of my car is destroyed or scratched to death. I step inside the shed. An ax.

  I run back up and hack at the door. I don't hear anything from inside when I pull the ax out and slam it into the door. The sound of wood giving way is very comforting. Soon I have a hole and I stick my hand through it and open the door.

  Inside her place nothing has been moved and the air is clean.

  I hear faint clapping. I turn from the hallway to the living room. She's standing in the middle giving a mock golf clap.

  Bravo.

  I shake my head and drop the ax.

  She jumps in the air and claps her hands more fervently. Perhaps she's pantomiming a child, or perhaps this latest stunt of hers has her so excited that a child inside her psyche has come out. I'm not certain. I've never been certain with her.

  What's this all about?

  It was a test! She says with a grin.

  You passed!

  That was fucked up.

  I'm sorry. I've been bad.

  Yes you have.

  The quickness with which she turns on the sexuality, or is able to tickle my sexuality, is probably the reason I'm still with her. Crazy bitch, but she's just right for me. Besides, it's not like I'm all that perfect. One year after getting back ito civilian life and she's not sick of my antics yet.

  I take her as she pretend falls into my arms and looks up at me. I can smell her perfume and the rub of sandal soap on her light skin. Her eyes are greener than cracked chem-lights. I kiss her. Full lips. My hands move down to her waist, thin, and her ass: round. There's a host of things to attend to and I realize that I can't fuck her brains out like I want to, like my body is screaming at me to do.

  What about the landowner? I ask.

  He'll kick me out. But I don't care about that.

  What do you care about?

  Us.

  Yes, I'm a sucker for her words too. We kiss harder, her hand moves to undo my pants.

  Are you asking to move in with me?

  What am I, domesticated? She asks with a condescending squint.

  I pause. I fondle. I don't really think of answering, because with her you have to know when to care.

  Well, let's go then. She says and pulls away from me.

  My place?

  I'm packed.

  She shows me her suitcases and smiles.

  You're ready to go too, right?

  I pause: It'll take a minute.

  I throw her things into her car.

  She runs back to her place then jumps into the passenger seat.

  Drive!

  I pop the car into first gear and it takes off. In the rearview mirror I watch my car as it disappears around the bend. When we get to the highway, I swear I can see smoke from the direction of her building. I look at her. She's looking back too, bubbling in her seat. This is a bad idea, a part of me says.

  When did you get this idea? I ask when we merge into the freeway.

  Oh, just now.

  And where, might I ask, are you going to go next?

  We, silly, we're going to someplace nice.

  I stare at her like she's nuts.

  You quit your job again?

  I got tired.

  She had a good job as a manager at some store. She'd been to college. Hell, she even got an MBA, which is something I never really understood, especially for someone with her personality. A cage, she called her job. And since she was free, she jumped from job to job as she felt. Was I coming along too? Of course, I had a job as a security manager that I didn't care for. Nevertheless a part of me was jumping up and down, pointing at her messed up personality, and telling me that I should reconsider going with her. Most of me, however, was too excited about her to care.

  We get to my place, a room I'm subletting in a house, and I pack my things. It all fits in my backpack.

  So where to now? I ask back in the car.

  Anywhere beautiful. She says.

  She says this and looks at me. Such a dichotomy. Half of me wants to slap her, while the other half of me wants to fuck her on the car seat. I've yet to use the word love with her, but I'm pretty sure that the lust I feel for her is stronger than most.

  How about Canada?

  Okay.

  She snuggles up to my arm when we're back on the freeway and I drive the early part of the night away. My concentration must have looked l
ike worry because she tugs my ear.

  Don't worry, love, I have enough money to take us anywhere. Okay?

  I nod. It isn't on my mind, but if she's been saving up for this, then she must have had this idea for quite some time, right? I wonder if I should ask. She's not good under questioning. She's probably amazing as a spy, since she can evade and smile her way around whatever it is that she doesn't answer. Why am I with her again? I guess I'm not all that certain.

  I pull into a motel when my eyes finally squeeze tight for a moment that's longer than a few seconds. I look over at her. She's crawled up in a ball, sleeping. She's in her shorts, and I can see that place between her legs, highlighted in my smell and my sight. I want my reward.

  Are we over the state line?

  She asks as she opens her eyes a shadow.

  Yes. Barely.

  Good.

  We get the room and she heads straight for the bathroom.

  I stare at the old worn carpet, smell of smoke in the periphery, and the sheets that have a few stains that look like they'll never be removed.

  I flop down on the bed. I've come a long way in my life and in her arms, and yet there is always the possibility that I'm being played. I wouldn't be the first... man that is, in this world or in her life. So what am I doing? And what do I expect to happen? I think about the door I axed through. The landowner must surely have seen it by now, that must mean that he's called the cops. I'm sure there's more to her wanting to leave and quitting her job than I know. And even though I'm being dragged along this ride, I'm not sure if that means I have the right to ask her any questions.

  You fool, I think. You're still living a life where you're hoping for a perfect woman instead of settling with something stable. You fool, leave now, or else you will pay with your life. What could you possibly gain by coming along here?

  The bathroom door opens and she's standing, posing against the side of the door frame, a smile on her face, and a see through lingerie hanging from her body. Hanging, holding onto her breasts and her stuck out hips that highlight her round ass—the edge of which is what I see from the front. The blood that has swilled around my head, fueling my cogitation, now rushes to my cock and I try to stay strong. Don't fall for this siren call. She's spoken to me about her ability to control men, and I'd always tried to stand above the fray by pretending not to care.

  I try to look away from her body.

  In a few strides, her hips swinging, she's in front of me.

  So, my hero. I bet you were thinking about leaving me. Weren't you?

  She says this with a smile on those pouting lips and her hand on my erection that bravely pants from my jeans.

  Whatever you mean?

  I keep my eyes on hers so that I may better stay strong. It's a fool's hope. She pushes herself in front of me and the aroma of her sex, wet I imagine, hits me, and all resolve—if I ever had any—disappears and I let my hands trail her hips. She's been chiseled from the greatest material. She's so beautiful it hurts, but right now it wouldn't matter because my perception has minimized the visual and I only think in small moves, in small hopes of small moves, in smell, and in lust.

  She pushes me down and removes my pants. I feel her hand moving, like she's always known how to move, and I breathe so that I don't convulse to her touch. Soon I have all of her in my hands, then all of me in her. The first shuddering doesn't last long, and I take all of her in my move. Nibbling, a sweet and sour taste that only she manages to keep so delicious and as I hear her moan, see her arch her back, I grow larger and I see that there isn't a thing to stop the desire that launches itself again in my heart and roars out at her. An anger grows. She smiles at me. I slap ass. She moans louder. Again and again. I push in. I slap face. A look of surprise. I slap again. She arches her back. Further pushing to a side she prefers, further holding myself back. She writhes. I am in charge, but if that was ever true it lasts until the burst.

  The next moment we are next to each other, now only exploring the skin, leaving the lust behind. Only talking. Now. Just the talking. That hope that we can penetrate the not knowing with knowing through talking and the combination of an act that can only be considered exposure of more than normal.

  You liked that?

  Of course. I say with a gruff voice that comes out of nowhere.

  She leans herself up on her arm on one side and stares at me.

  Have you ever been scared?

  It's an odd question and I ponder what she means to gain by it.

  Just answer.

  Why?

  You're always scheming, aren't you?

  I think for a second. It seems a rather hypocritical charge.

  Oh come on, and answer. She pokes me when she says this. I feel a deflation of the connection between us and I think about what I'm doing here.

  It depends on what you mean by scared. I say and hope that she doesn't push into my time in the military. It has, for the most part, been an out of bounds topic.

  That is such bullshit. She says and fake punches my cock and I laugh. Her eyes are sparkling. She always did like a challenge.

  It isn't bullshit. Have you ever been scared?

  I have. I've thought about you leaving me and I've been scared.

  That seems like a bullshit answer, but I know not to say anything about it. My hand glides over the valley of her waist, from her hips, it falls on her ass. Round. Ridiculously round.

  What did you do? I ask half afraid of the answer. Have I ever been scared? Of course, I desire life don't I?

  You're getting that look again. She says, playfully tapping my nose.

  What do you mean?

  She smiles at my defensive remark.

  You know exactly what I mean.

  Does that mean you're not going to answer my question?

  I was tired of that life. It's the same everywhere, isn't it?

  I am careful not to answer her in any manner that will agree or disagree with what she has just said.

  More. I say.

  Well, I mean, it's the same thing. I know with my job I have a lot of security and now I have more money than I know to do with.

  My heart jumps, and yet I'm still careful to not fall whole-heartedly for what she's saying. If what she says is true, then it would only be another reason to let myself fall further into the grips of her lust, love, or what have you.

  And...

  I say, my hand winding up asking her to further explain.

  Well... She says this and looks at me then at the ceiling.

  I am, of course, thinking her past actions out through my head. I haven't known her to be particularly material. This world is material, as more than one pop-star has pointed out, and yet as a veteran getting used to the civilian life I have been nothing but disgusted everyday with the proliferation with the material in the civilian world...

  I need a new life. She speaks with a very specific yearning in her voice. Still I want more from her.

  What do you mean?

  I mean I want something else.

  No more work? I ask then move away from her. Funny how her aesthetic beauty can sometimes interfere with a serious topic. Especially this one.

  Not the work I have right now.

  Then what?

  There are still many questions left to be answered, but she's the type of person who gets annoyed after a few. As a result I'm thinking of which ones are the best.

  Anything. She says with a sigh that seems angry with me for not getting it.

  I'm still wondering what anything means, and part of me thinks that perhaps it implies that I won't be in her future. Anything. What a word. I wonder if she has gone off the cliff, and what I would do if she has. Will I follow her? She has, as much as I hate to admit it, been a great find for me. She has managed to coax out the pieces inside me, eat me and spit out the man who I am. Never good to admit such a dependency, but there was a reason I was willing to ax down her damn door. She was crazy, but she gave me everything. Even I was smart enough
to know how fucking rare that was.

  Her tension pulls her away.

  And so is this how it ends? I feel the physical distance between us multiply the emotional and suddenly I want to hug her, but decide, instead, to be absolutely tough about it.

  She, however, looks at me with a hurt look. I wonder why I'm being so distant. And yet I still don't know everything in her head, do I? I can't very well just assume that my hopes and dreams are correct, should I?

  My stillness inflicts a restlessness in her and her voice now sounds like it's trying to catch up to something.

  I'm not certain. But it will be with you. If you are willing to come along.

  And there it is. She wants a blank check. Whatever she wants to do, she wants me to drop everything I have, take her hand, and go with her. In the Army we had a word for this. She's trying to fool me. But I fight back those words that the military taught me. Something deeper than that tells me to take the risk, to move forward and not worry.

  I am.

  The sucker borne, the jeering harder part of me that still thinks like a soldier calls out. Why don't you just tell her you love her?

  She reaches for my hand and I take hers. I pull her warmth into mine, and push mine into hers, and we hold each other trembling, until sweat beads up on my chest. I let her go, and she pushes her face into my chest. This is the way it should be, I think.

  The next day I wake up to her looking at me as I sleep. There is something else in her eyes and I'm not certain what she's up to. The soft eyes of the previous night are gone and all I see are hard and rigid orbs glaring at me.

  What is it? I ask and rub out the crust from my eyes.

  Nothing.

  The softness returns. This has always been her way. Back and forth, passion and coldness, but now that I've decided that quitting my job, walking away from all the 'career' I've worked up to, is the way to go... I feel that this change in her is almost uncalled for, sinister, conniving. Do I do all this in the hope that she will change? That is definitely a fool's calling.

  We get in the car and drive. I want to ask how much money she has, but I decide not to. We are soon in a mountain range I have never seen before. The rocks here are sharper, the peaks more creative and bolder. The plants are wrecked pieces of life rising from the rocks like demons. We drive up a pass. When I get out during a short break, the cold air comes screaming at me, wiggles inside my clothes, tearing away the cocoon of warmth I have built up. I shiver. The air smells like something foul, which doesn't make sense in this cold air.