Her Pacifier: Secrets From The Past

Chapter 5

"What is it that you're afraid of?"
She can't be afraid of me. Unless it is my touching that's scaring her? I own no bad bone in my body that could cause a beautiful woman like her any sort of harm.
Her nails curl up like claws, fingers drawing into her palms balling tight fists.

Passion doesn't answer my question and motions her head to mine but my hand is still caressing her smooth scalp as comfortable as a lizard in the sun.

Like magnets, our eyes are contracted.

Like electricity, negative on negative, I feel my fingertips release sparks.

Like fire and ice, I feel my chill cool her heat.

Our eyes meet and I see they're aren't green anymore. They're purple. Purple?
Affirmatively purple. Rose purple with black sparks of what looks like lightning or thunder all around her irises. When I lean forward to look closer, she glances away.

"Let go of my hair," she whispers, "please let go of my hair."

I obey.

Terrified by her eyes or worried by her words, I don't know which is which but I'm caught up in mixed emotions. Her curls bounce down her shoulders as I hesitantly let them go, hiding the hair that stood on end at the back of her neck.

"How dast you-" she trails off. A pure miracle I'm blessed to receive she does.
She slowly gets off my lap, standing on her two feet, touching my thighs and something else for support then the table in realisation of what she touched before, was not the table.

Passion saunters back, I see her eyes have changed colour from green to purple then purple to green. Now they're green.
Impossible. Eyes don't change colour or do they? I blink repeatedly, locking my pupils with hers and as I close my eyes, I vision the black lightning and thunders I saw in her irises soar up my neck. In between flesh and muscle it soars further up to my jawline, like on X-Ray I see every strong bone in my body. Everything is as visible as can be. The black sparks soar and halt on the nerves on my forehead. A throbbing headache is what I'm left to deal with as the aftermath.
My eyes burst wide open in agony whilst my fingers rub my sinews.

"Impossible," I mutter in disbelief.

The headache vanishes when she glances to my hand. Now I'm spooked. "Is it better?"
It takes me a moment to figure out she's asking about my hand and it certainly is. It feels lighter and no throbs intertwine my fingers or pinch my knuckles.
The pain...is gone!

"Y-yes. Uhm..it is." I sound like an imbecile stammering.

"Dinner is at 18:00, we should be done cleaning by then." She begins wringing the wet spaghetti mop, smacking it on the tiles, mopping carelessly.

Passion shows me no attention nor seeks it, I'm defeated at that.
The moment we shared seems to have happened a long time ago in the past...when it only happened minutes ago for Christ's sake! Who on earth is this girl?
Dinner. I forgot boarding schools have that. When I arrived here at Bridge Villeneuve on Saturday, I spent the allowance my dad gave me on eating out and buying a few room decorations at a furniture store. I refused to eat this school's food and the cafeteria was closed for the whole summer anyway. My tummy rumbles again, this time at the word "dinner." I'm lucky I ain't shaking like a shaken tambourine.

"Oh y-yeah. D-dinner," I stammer again.
She pauses her abusive mopping to look at me ridiculously with both her arched brows and her head cocked to the side. I expect a statement or a flat, questioning smile but nothing comes out. Instead she shakes her head, getting back to duty making my expectant face frown.

"Check the time," she orders.
I scurry my fingers in my jacket pockets, tracksuit pockets and inner jacket pockets for my iPhone. I can't seem to find it.