I watched the fear roll across her face as she backed into the corner of the room. I could taste her pulse on my tongue, a rapidly beating thing, and I wanted more of it. She was trapped, captured. I waited for her to run, but she simply held her palms out, as if to hold me off, before she sank down, her back against the wall, and huddled into a ball.

Her eyes were staring at me over the fold of her arms, as I pulled off the jacket and tossed it onto the bed. She missed nothing, I could feel her glossy stare burrowing into my skin. When I turned, she gasped and caught sight of the holster which kept my gun neatly tucked beneath my arm. She shook her head rapidly and I arched a brow.

‘Afraid?’

She stopped moving at my question. Her eyes followed me, but more accurately, followed the gun as I walked past her and sat on the edge of the bed. I leaned forward and pulled the 9-mm from its holster, moving it from one hand to the other. I removed the magazine and ran my fingers over the two bullets showing at the top before shoving the clip back in. I watched her jump at the noise, and smiled as I pulled the slide and heard the click as a bullet slid into the chamber. My eyes fell upon her, dead as winter.

‘Close your eyes.’

I could hear her swallow and see the wave of fear that choked her before she acquiesced. I wasn’t sure if she knew that tears had began to fall from the closed curtain of her lashes. I walked to her and crouched. When my hand touched the side of her face, she jerked, but when the cold metal of the gun kissed her cheek, she sobbed out violently, ‘Oh god.’

I moved the gun along her cheek and my other hand slipped under her chin, tilting it upward. Her body began to rack with sobs and when I spoke, they suspended for a briefest of moments. ‘Open your mouth.’

A low sound of alarm escaped her, a warring between fighting me and fighting herself. She seemed suspended, frozen and I lowered my voice until it came out in a warm, seductive tone. ‘Open your mouth, pet. Take it in. Be my good little girl.’

Her eyelids fluttered and she seemed to calm before parting her lips slightly. I pressed the barrel of the gun in just a fraction. My voice was still low, almost a whisper, buttery soft. ‘Good girl, that’s it.’

The barrel slid just a fraction more across her tongue, her body shaking violently as she countered her instinct. Her throat jerked and her lips closed over the tip and I wondered if she were going to be ill. Still, my voice continued in her ear, ‘Suck, pet. Suck on it like you would my cock.’

Her eyes opened and narrowed. I saw the spark of rebellion finally find her. I shoved the gun further in and it quieted as her fear took over again. Her cheeks hollowed as she began to draw on the metal. I could feel the moist escape of her breath, make out each measure of stolen air. I pulled the gun from her mouth and smiled as she opened her eyes. I pointed the gun towards the floor and there was a soft click as I slid the safety into place.

I read the confusion as it passed over her eyes and a soft laugh escaped me. Anger began to settle into her face as the fear waned. I stood and walked over to my dresser, placing the weapon there before removing the leather holster. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her slowly rising out of the corner. ‘You never…were going to do anything?’

I shrugged out of my oxford shirt and tossed it over the club chair to my left. ‘No. I’m quite partial to you.’

She seemed to process my answer for a moment and took a step towards me. Her eyes searched mine, her own were still puffy, glossy. ‘You…you were so angry.’

‘It was an illusion.’

Her hands settled on her hips. ‘So, you lied to me.’

I smirked and stared at her. ‘You think me capable of murder. Which is worse?’

[I’ll state the obvious and say to those out there…that no one should ever play with a loaded gun.]

Back from vacation - Back to work Monday, assuming I can avoid the blinking lights until then.

Aine, you wicked girl, you managed to find something that makes me curious.

For those that wish to follow the link, here you go:
Johari Window - The good things.

And if you care to outline the evil me, here is the one for that as well:
Nahari Window - The bad things.

There are days that I realize that I am utterly jaded. Ruined. Unable to be astonished by the worst of the world or impressed by the best.

Ever feel like you’ve been there, done that? I’ve lost my ability to be surprised by anything - well almost. Those closest to me are capable of shocking me from time to time when they step out of their box - their comfort zone. When I’ve seen people wallow in their own faults, like myself from time to time, I tend to be a little amazed when they stop.

Still, nothing shocks me anymore. I have a sister, who closed the door on a divorce, and who has moved in with my mother (God help her) temporarily while she recovers from the aftermath. She recently began dating…and caught her new love interest trying to tape them having sex.

*sigh*

That basically sums up my reaction to the news. I didn’t feel a wave of rage, mild disgust perhaps, but I was more interested in how she protected herself. Tape destroyed? Police called? Had she done a background check on him?

She told me, quite matter-of-fact, that she expected me to go over and ‘kick his ass.’ I told her I could arrange for mace during his arrest if she would like….but, she didn’t press charges.

Still that little side trip into my personal life aside, I just can’t be moved that easily. The concern has died in me. The ability to empathize is gone. I don’t seek to understand how they feel, I am more interested in what they are doing to improve it. Rather like a Tony Robbins goal mastery course on speed and minus the charisma.

I’m not moved by the stated emotion, but by the taken action. I don’t like to read about depression and suicide unless you plan on ending it forever, or getting over it. I respect results, I admire action, and I don’t want to read about how you feel during the conflict. I like the story that bottoms in the middle and points towards a more hopeful horizon.

Don’t mistake that for optimism. I’m too much of a realist to enjoy blowing sunshine up anyone’s ass. I fully expect you to fail many more times that you succeed.

So where does that leave me? Cynical. Jaded. Untrusting.

Holy shit. I’m an asshole.

Now that made me smile.

For N:
She who reminds me that all things are possible,
that success finds those that look ahead to the goals of the future and don’t dwell on the failures of the past.
that forgiveness is a gift
that a smile won’t break my face,
and that I am as much in her care as she is in mine…

Happy Valentines day, pet.

Your own,
D

On a display of “I love you only” Valentine cards: Now available in multi-packs.

Currently occupied with everything I don’t want to do. Perhaps tomorrow….

I’ll finish the story another time, but I will get it out soon.

I’m writing at the moment to vent some pressure that seems to be accumlulating inside my stomach. I’ve scheduled that vacation, at the end of February, finally, for those that may want to know. I’ll have to manage many things to make it happen, but I’ve just reached the point of enough. Enough.

Im moved to violence. I feel it curling inside my body waiting to explode. Yesterday was the same. I’m prowling as if I’m caged. I’m not, but knowing that isn’t changing a damn thing. I know exactly what I want to do, but I won’t do it. I’m not that much of a bastard. I’m not that out of control.

N isn’t going to serve as my pressure valve this time. I won’t allow it.

I’ve got a headache from hell. I’m sore from running, exercise and now, feeling as shitty as I do at the moment, I still want to cut her up.
It would be voluntary. N would yield, but the reasons would be wrong. It wouldn’t be a mutual enjoyment of pain, but rather her pain to temper my beast.

Still, I won’t. Because one thing I realize now, after having done exactly what I’m fighting not to do now, is that I value N’s trust. I value the fact that she can come to me without fearing pain everytime. And it means that times like now, when I most want to rage upon her for no valid reason, that I must exercise some control.

I’m a harsh man. I see in black and white. Right and wrong. And it would be wrong to go to her like this.

But I am taking the rest of the day off. Atlas is leaving them to fend for themselves.

A massage sounds good.

I can’t find a place to start.

There is nothing for you here.