Dangerously Close (A Collection of Fictional Short Stories)

| Dangerously Close |

The tapping of the keyboard formed music to my ears though it wrote a masterpiece of words. I found my thoughts float into the imaginative spaces of my mind until this magical world became real. Nothing could stop me from dumping fine details of this handsome man into this scene. He came out of nowhere, that's how I put it, and claimed and owned every space his foot took. When his eyes caught another's eyes they gasped as their lungs melted and their hearts swelled. Their hearts swelled and ached with a yearning to be in his presence forever.

And when he smiled it stole the light from the sun, the charm of the sun. A great breath of fresh air was his smooth clean face. Crisp white skin and high hills that dipped and sunk beneath his eyes of sapphire chimes. Silky hair darker than coal sat upon his head and waved in the breeze of his every movement. Yet, it sent chills up every souls' spine for they knew – I knew – he was a dangerous creature.

A creature of night, of a thousand hells, this man was a bittersweet treat. He'd peek through the crack in my door as I typed. Watching me, intently as I defined him from his beauty to the empty core of his being.

Yet, I want to look at him, to face him, and to give him what he wants the most. But if I do, he'd come closer and never leave my side. So, I continue to tap away, feeling the chill of his presence in the air.

I love you, I want to say.

Good thing this demon cannot read these words I sew together. He cannot hear the moans in my head, wanting him to come closer. 

To touch me. 

He is poison. 

I cannot entertain such a dark temptation. Even as I close my eyes at night, I feel him sitting in my armchair by the closet. He's patient, this man I created. He knows me but I know him more. I think. I shiver when I hear him inhale and wish he'd leave me alone.

Until I give him one bite of a fair lady, to let him drink of her purity, I will give him mercy. I will let him know he is free to wander. But for now, he will follow me, attached to me like an extended shadow to my job, to the store, or to my family gatherings. 

At work, he would stand behind the glass watching me as I present before my colleagues and my boss. I know to glance at the jasper ring on his hand so as not to be caught into the intoxicating abyss of his eyes. He'd enter the conference room, uninvited, unwanted, except by me. Like a dancer and a thief his feet are practiced silence, he touches a shoulder here, he blows into an ear here, he fondles a hair strand there.

Humoring or taunting me, I just don't know. It's as if I am beginning to lose a grip on my character. I press my smiling lips together as everyone twitches and look confused by the unseen violator. The breeze they may think, though no window is open. And as he tries to approach me and circle me at the podium, I continue to concentrate on my speech. I desire to stop and touch him, but then he'd bite me instead, and I'd be his forever.

At the store, I would grip the cart handle, weaving in and out of aisles, hoping to lose him. But he would always find me. I chuckled, feeling like a child playing hide and go seek or rather run and tag. 

I wanted him to find me. 

I wanted him to tag me. 

Yet still, I ignore his watching gaze, prepared to capture me like I'm some delicious prey. He knows I think he's delicious and it humored me to fall into this belief he was in my world.

At family gatherings, we'd sit, four on each side of the dining table. As my family traveled the seen and unseen paths connected to our memory lane, I jab at my food and pretend he's not there. Sitting beside my brother's left, in a spot no chair should be, he doesn't eat or do anything, but grin. I'd catch his grin, so edgy, so wild, so captivating from the corners of my eye, and it makes me squirm in my chair. Then he's gone, only to reappear behind me, his presence so cool and delightfully dangerous. I can feel him wanting to be close to me so I close my eyes for just a minute to clear my mind, my head, my stubborn eyes from seeing the impossible.

So, my mind floats back to my computer screen where my hands have stopped typing. He's standing beside me now, hovering over my shoulder, hand gripping the back of my chair, and he edges closer to the screen. I catch a faint draft of his scented cologne and my lungs collapse in awe as my eyes disobey and look at him.

Unbelievable, I am speechless. 

When did I give him the right to read my masterpiece? 

When did I give him the ability to come so close without my knowledge? 

Though my body quivers, anxious to know his thoughts on himself, I slowly reach out. My hand does not listen as it touches his hair. It falls away like cold water until I slip my fingers through and through. He's rough and cold and I find myself captured into the sea of his eyes. And as he draws closer – dangerously closer – I close my eyes and wait for his deadly kiss.

A minute passed by and nothing happened. 

My eyes fluttered open and tears escaped down my cheeks. My creation was gone but he'd left something behind. At the end of my story were four words I did not type. 

I love you too.

~ THE END ~