The Unchaste

The surrender

Lips met? Yes, completely. How deeply? Quite. And then? Furnace booned, blazed.

But the anticipated fire, the passion never came. He gave her all that she had desired yet did not lend her anything desirable. Delilah hadn’t asked for emptiness that he gave. Where, oh, where was the promised warmth? Even the false one would have sufficed. Afterall, hadn’t he been adept at it, kissing her and making her feel wanted, all for his intention?

Today, he was simply cold.

They touched each other, but the assurance of embrace never came. He touched her, fingertips and waist, but did not hold her_ did not curl his finger around to seek harness and suspend the moment, to adjourn it, because_ he knew afterall, didn’t he? Delilah was leaving. She would leave, no matter which way it turned, the roads.

Then why not? Why hold back? If surrendering, why not surrender entirely. Why in parts? Why drop the sword, but keep back the dagger?

This was treachery. Defiance and Mutiny and all things unbrave. And defiant, he may be; he was not unbrave.

Delilah’s eyes were shut, not in rapture though, but in soaked, helpless anguish. She flinched at the kiss instead of softening at it. And she didn’t lift her hand and touch him back. God help her; that would have simply worsened it all ten times more.

The kiss ended single-handedly. Unreciprocated, brief and final. No less moving, no less shattering than_ even if it moved and shattered her all to the wrong side.

He was breathing fast. She was not breathing.

“Here.” He took one step back, eyeing her sad face as if he had just only rightened a rebellious coil of her hair back in place. “One thing honest, you said. Will this do Miss Eves?”

Delilah’s clenched jaw quivered.

“And leave, if you must.” He breathed hatefully. “Go to the very end of the world. Love any man you can. Then, let me know if you still could, hereafter, sleep in peace at night. Dreamless and tranquil. Because if you cannot; which is what, damn you, I hope!_ if you cannot sleep at nights after this day, and lay back on your bed, staring at the night sky; you will know Miss Eves. I meant no harm, never. You did. You were hell-bent on reading me wrong.”

“Don’t.” She pushed her hair back from her face, savage and so sad. “Don’t you turn the blames on me now.”

“Why not?” This time, he grabbed her. But it was a harsh hold, an enemy’s clutch_ not a man’s embrace. “Does my being a man makes me less susceptible to being hurt? Does your being a woman provides you all rights to wound me and be let off easy? Since the day you arrived, you hated. You doubted. Why then? Why do you expect me to explain you everything, when you haven’t explained me one thing in return?”

Delilah bristled, annoyed. “Explain you what?”

“Why, everything.” He deadpanned. “You may, if you like, start with your abhorrence for me.”

“I abhor all men.” Delilah answer clippedly. “Nearly all of them.”

“Yes, nearly.” His eyes flickered; hot, melting quartz. “Because, Edrich Walter, I observed, clearly had the exemption I so failed to achieve.”