Friday, January 29, 2016

Goodnight Kiss


Dec. 21, 2015

"Hello, handsome," I said.

He stopped, clearly surprised that I could even see him. I let the smile curve my lips - I had dressed up and everything. I was wearing an evening gown of midnight blue, studded with crystals that shimmered like ice in the dim light. I was done up to the nines, as they say - hair coiffed in coils and dyed black. My eyes were thickly lined and smoldered with coal black shadow. My lips were the color of wine, and my skin looked as though it had been carved from stone. The bar was empty, but for we two.

He hesitated, most people would have missed it. But then he slid on to the stool next to me. I poured him a whiskey, and made it a double without being asked. He picked it up, his fingers clinking on the cut crystal and he swirled the liquid and brought it to where his nose used to be and seemed to smell it. He put it back on the bar without sipping it.

Sipping it wasn't really his thing. But he did like remembering - I knew that much. I knew he wasn't here to bargain. But neither was I, it was a night for memories.

The silence stretched between us, but he seemed to like it. So I let it stretch like taffy, and sipped on my aged scotch, licking my painted lips.

"How long has it been?" he finally asked, stirring his scotch with a skeletal finger.

"Since we had drinks?" I asked with a smirk, and he cocked his head at me. Even with no lips, I knew when he was grinning.

"Since the last time you slipped away from me," he said, and took my hand. His fingers were rough, but gentle. He was stroking the back of my index finger and I shivered and felt tears spring to my eyes. I pulled my hand away and finished my drink quickly and tried to laugh, but it sounded frayed. 

Much too much like a sob for my liking. I took a breath and smoothed my curls, pulling my emotions close to my chest, like a shield.

When I looked at him again, his empty eyes were as gentle as I'd ever seen them. And I'd seen him stand coldly by while armies clashed in the field. And I'd seen them when he silently took a babe from a mother's breast. I'd seen him sigh as worlds went dark.

"Please, don't feel bad for me. I had a good run," I said, feeling that old spark deep in my heart. All would be well. It would be one last lark.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"No one's ever ready to go, lover," I said, and kissed him gently.

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