Psycho ➳ H.S.

Chapter 1

The blanket of night had just settled in the sky above Agoura Hills, deep hues of purple and red fusing with the rich blues as the hands of clocks reached half past eight. The smell of processed butter more than generously poured onto cheap popcorn filled the air as soon as Carissa approached the cinema. She cringed, bringing her arm up to mask her nose from the horrendous smell in hopes that the weakening scent of laundry detergent on her cardigan would be able to overpower the saturated fat lingering about- it didn't. She wouldn't admit it, but she was type that snuck in her own food to the movie theaters. There was no way she'd ever be caught shoveling those nasty cinema confections down her throat.

She had been standing in line for nearly four hours to get her ticket to From Famished to Fame, a novel-turned-blockbuster-hit which she had read ten times cover to cover before hearing about its movie rendition that had even the toughest of critics giving standing ovations. It was Friday, opening night for the movie, and she was determined to watch it one way or another.

The wait wasn't as bad as she thought it'd be, for a tall gentleman with a coy smirk stood right in front of her the entire time. He had initially cut in line behind a friend, which infuriated her to no end, but she quickly let go of her irritation once she saw the mischief dance in the luminous green of his eyes. She observed him quietly, how he would run his long, lean fingers through the chocolate curls on his head, how he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when he was thinking about something, and how the scent of his cologne would occasionally drift her way when the theater doors adjacent to the lineup would open, allowing the gusts of wind to carry the smell of him and enveloping her in a cocoon of spine-tingling comfort. Swirls of ink mocked her eyes from under his white tee. She noticed a particularly large spot of ink on his abdomen, though she wasn't sure what it was. His broad shoulders and long, lean body was the perfect canvas for whatever fantasy her little mind could conjure up. He towered over her, standing at least- if not more than- six feet off the ground.

A feeling of guilt and shame rushed in from all sides once she caught herself staring at him for the third time that hour, and for what seemed to be the millionth time since she laid eyes on him that night. Stupid Carissa, she thought, a man like that? Single? You're too naive.

But the chagrin voices were silenced by the sight of his digits running over the curve of his lips when he found amusement in something his friend had said. She couldn't help but to wonder how those slender fingers would feel upon her skin; would they caress her the way other men had not? Would they find their way into the little crevices of her body that even she didn't know about? Would they ghost along the sides of her waist and work their way downwards against the fire of her core, causing her hair to stand up on end? Were they rough, or were they gentle? Would they tease? Would they please? They looked skilled; multi-talented; as if they belonged to a ventriloquist- no doubt he could operate any woman the same way too.

A frightening scenario popped into her head; one of them sitting beside each other in the cinema, pleasantly watching the movie. Suddenly, out of some daring attraction, his hand slipped onto the olive-coloured flesh of her thigh. It rested just above the knee, below the hem of her skirt, tracing little circles into her skin. It was a dangerous feat- someone could see them! Someone would call them out for their promiscuous behaviour! She wanted to scream out, "Stop! Pervert! Get your hands off of me!", but no one seemed to notice his antics, and she couldn't deny that it felt nauseating; revolting; absolutely...divine?

His hand wandered up her leg, that delicious grin playing on his face yet again as he gazed straight into her curious, almond-shaped, hazel eyes. She squirmed in her seat, but his eyes seemed to say, "Where do you think you're going?". So she kept still, as a little puppy learning basic commands would, and let his hand venture up, up, up, until her breath hitched in her throat when he could go up no further. She gripped the arm rest tight, as if one touch from him in the right place would send her skyrocketing to the moon, and anticipated the unraveling of her sanity. She had the sudden urge to close her legs; her face flushed red; her skin ran hot; she was more than just embarrassed- she felt humiliated. He noticed this, scrutinizing her reactions, and pried them apart for easier access.