My dearest Anne,
She's gone. They found her this morning, sitting exactly where I had last seen her. She sat before her dresser, eyes locked on the mirror and that dreadful empty Vase. Have I told you of the Vase? It had to be the ugliest thing I have ever laid eyes on. When I asked about it, offering to fill it for her, the nurse told me not to bother. The nurse said she would toss them, muttering to herself again. As for her mumbling, was I the only to hear the story there? The only to know that the pain was real to her?
I decided that her story needed to be heard, and I learned so much more then I thought I would. Such a love, a devotion lost before it was ever truly gained, an obsession with the pain. But I cannot tell her story to you. It is, no was, hers to tell. I wanted to bring you here so you could hear it yourself.. but alas her time was far shorter then I imagined it to be. I am sorry, my precious Anne, that you never got to see her, for though she had a thorny persona, beneath she had her own painful beauty. One forged with years of waiting.
My sweet Annie, promise me we will not end such. I have not a dynamic presence, but I truly love you, and feel it so more so today then ever before. And in feeling so, knowing so, I must relay her story, and wonder how it ends, if it truely has ended at all. Has she found him, do you think?
The following is written exactly as she told it, word for word. I have painstakingly made sure not to miss a thing. I will let you hear it when I come home to you, but for now I simply must write this down. to try somehow to make sense of it all. I have added a bit in places, only to explain a pause or two. Everything else comes straight from her, the Mumblings of an old woman. So read on, my Dear One, and tell me you will love me forever.
It started
simply, for all you had to do was speak TO her vs. through her as so many
did. She would then begin her story anew, and continue until she slept.
I set the recorder on the dresser before her, touched her shoulder and
asked her about the empty Vase. This was her reply.
What is it you want to know? Don't be shy, you've already reached to touch the crimson stain that mirrors the heart, my heart. Ask your questions, and I will answer. What's that? Oh yes. the first one is always "Who?". No one you know, I assure you. He is as gone as the color in those petals.
I was walking late one evening, as I was known to do. Much to my familys dismay, of course. As I traveled the streets of the city, alone and unafraid, I saw him. He was leaning against a wall and I couldn't see him clearly. To be completely honest, I felt him more then saw him. Such raw power rolled off him in waves. How could I feel that? Oh come now, it was as real as your desire to smell a perfect flower, even one whose life has long ago fled its bloom.
He lifted his head, and in a sudden bright flash, I saw his face. His eyes lit up with the flame that he touched to the cigarette hanging from his lips. I could swear in that moment that he saw me too. How could I know? Again, 'tis just something felt. To me, the moment he lifted his eyes, all else disappeared. All I knew was I had to hear his voice. He drew me in as if i were a moth to his flame, the flame of his lighter. Then suddenly it was gone, leaving only the spots before my eyes, eyes that soon told me I had unknowingly traveled half the distance to him.
Well, I was shocked to say the least. I had no intention of completing the journey, none at all. Why do you shake your head like that? Don't believe me? By the end of my tale you will. I can guarantee that. Now, where was I? Oh yes, telling you who he was.
As I continued to look at where he seemed to almost caress the wall, I heard him. The softest, sweetest melody to ever be heard traveled the remaining feet between us. Oh I tried to resist it, I didn't want to know what the power was that I felt beneath the words, or the soft chuckle that whispered its way to me. What did he say? Surely you have guessed. No? 'Tis as plain as the nose on your face, Sir. He said "Come here".
What did I do? My you are full of stupid questions, aren't you? I went to him, of course. My mind was screaming not to, that I had no idea who he was, what he was about. But that voice, I wanted more. As I took those last remaining steps towards him, I swear the night came alive, throbbing with a thousand pulses. I could feel every color that surrounded us, the distance between black and white suddenly filled with every hue, every tint possible. But I am getting ahead of myself...
(here I paused
to switch tapes, and to ask if she would like a drink.)
Hmm? sure.
Help yourself, and grab me a glass while your there.
When I had closed to but a foot from him, his sheer size, coupled with the immense power I felt still, amazed me. I was in complete awe of a man whos name i did not know. One, it seemed, I was completely powerless to resist. Right then and there, I knew I was in trouble.
(i handed her
a glass of water, and perched on the edge of the dresser to listen
to the rest of her story)
Thank you.
Telling of this, of him, always seems to leave me parched. I'm always parched,
like a single flower in a dessert..
I stood there, motionless but for my quickened breath, while he drug his eyes over me. My skin fairly burned, a slow smoldering trail underneath his gaze. I remember thinking that he would hate me, and I would never know. What it is I wanted to know, I had no idea. I still don't. He had me standing there, torn between the urge to run, to him or from him, for what seemed days, but was, in reality, only a moment or two. Then at last he spoke. But not to me.
Well now, there's a question that I, to this day, have not found the answer too. I haven't a clue who he spoke to. Himself? 'Tis possible, but I wouldn't bet on it. T'was more as if to another, one that I just couldn't see. What he said was simple enough, it raises gooseflesh to think of it even now. He simply said, in that dancing voice of his, 'She'll do.' Now what I would do was still a mystery to me, is still a mystery to me. One I am not sure I will ever find the answer to. But again, I digress...
He took a long drag, then exhaled slowly. The world seemed to slow to impossible proportions. I could see every trendil of mist as it slipped past his sensual lips, each delicate curve having its own life. I was mesmerized. It seemed the most beautiful thing I had ever seen until I looked into those eyes.
He had incredible eyes. I've never seen anything so beautiful. Sounds odd to say about a man, but I kid you not, they were the color of melted butter reflected in firelight. I felt myself melting right into them, as if I had lost all sense but his. From a distance, I heard voices, from within, I heard only him.
Ah, you caught
that one, did you now? Very good. It seems you are following
a bit more closely. I had lost all sense but his. The night
around me seemed so very far away, yet as close as my fingertips.
I found myself reaching to touch the silky trendils of smoke that now curled
their way about my small frame. The colors dancing, fading, joining
in a sensual dance of tint and hue. Then I heard his mocking laughter.
Snapping my eyes to his, I felt it.
A simple touch
on my back, between my shoulder blades. I stood there, knowing that it
was his fingers I felt running lightly down my spine, but seeing that he
hadn't moved. Not one muscle, save for the the one at his cheek,
where his lips curved slowly into a smile. I stared at him, confused,
and began to turn my head. A soft, unwilling cry slipped past my
lips as I found myself unable to complete the move, unable to turn
to see what was happening. I was so tuned into him that he easily
bent me to his will.
What did he will? That I was soon to discover, whether I wanted to or not. Was I frightened? No. I still am not frightened of him, but I fear him. There's that look of confusion again. Let me continue and perhaps you will see. Perhaps I will see.
Where was I? Ah yes, the touch. Fingertips slipped slowly from my shoulders to the small of my back. Then I was being held. Hands had slipped around my waist and pulled me back against him, while I was still drowning in pools of golden light.
How could that be? As I said, I am still not sure. Were they phantom caresses? Ones only of my mind? At that moment, I can truthfully say that I didn't give a damn. All I wanted was for the caress to continue. And continue it did. I felt consumed by each tiny flutter of sensation. My heart began to pound. I could feel it at my temple, my throat, my wrists. I again tried to turn and see, but was held fast by my will, which had become his.
He leaned in closer to me. I could feel his breath, the chill of his skin kissed by the evening breeze. As he leaned, those damnable hands pulled me away, teasing me. Oh, I was furious. I hated him fiercely at that moment, all the while not knowing why. And more then the hate was the desire. I wanted to feel him tease me, feel him in every way possible for as long as forever. Yet in the same breath wanting it to be over. Done. Finished.
But it was not to be so. He leaned in and whispered to me. I froze, unable to comprehend at that moment what the words meant, mesmerized by his very smell. Aye, that does sound funny doesn't it? But that too will become clearer, hopefully to me also. What was it he whispered? Four simple words. "A Rose Stands Alone."
I hadn't a clue what he meant, and at that moment I cared not. I only knew that I could feel his breath across my ear, the heat of his body so close, yet untouching. The hands at my waist, holding me forever apart from him. Or so it seemed.
He looked into my eyes and took my hands. He raised them up between us so I could watch him lace our fingers together out of the corner of my eyes, seeing us surrounded only by pulsating darkness, he smiled and I couldn't help but summon a returning grin to my lips. I felt his hands in mine, I felt his hands at my waist, and a part of me wondered at the contradictions. The majority of me only seeing those eyes. Then he drug his eyes across my skin again, this time tracing the contours of my face. Across the delicate line of my jaw to my throat, to the open collar of my shirt. I was on fire beneath his gaze, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nor was there any wish to. I felt as if I were blossoming before his very eyes, as if I were pushing myself out from beneath my skin to see only the sunlight of his smile.
My breath seemed to be drawn out of me in a long single gasp as I felt his burning gaze intensify even further. He bent his head, and I arched my back up to meet him, his lips swooping to claim mine fiercely. The power I had sensed in him was overwhelming as he touched me. I fell against him, growling low in my throat in response to the sensations tingling through my body at the caress of his tongue against mine. Both fighting for control, conquering one another and retreating only to attack again.
In the midst of this, I felt again the hands at my back, smoothing down across my hips and back up again. Sliding around my shoulders as his voice seemed to croon at me, repeating those words over and over as I continued to fall under his weaving spell. Aye, that's what it was, alright. A Spell.
Nope. I mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. No touch, no presence, Nothing. He was gone, and I was left standing alone on a street corner. As I looked around in confusion, my eyes fell to the walk at my feet. There, there was a rose, perfect in blooming health. Then I heard his voice, his power ringing through my mind as I bent to pick it up. Pricking my finger on a thorn that already glistened with moist crimson, I raised the bloom to my lips, breathing in the scent, His scent. Listening to his final words, practically his only words, to me. 'A rose stands alone, till I come to take what I have claimed as mine'.
Oh dear, where are my manners? I havent introdced myself. My name is Rose, Rose Delany. And the skin so young at first prick is buried beneath the wrinkled hag you see before you now. And yes. I still stand alone and wait, for no other could compare to the power of Him. I will settle for nothing less then the one who scarred my skin and my mind with that damn rose. It's still there. Go ahead, take a peek. If you look close enough, you can still see my blood on the thorns. But I wouldn't if I were you..