The Girl - Draft 3 #amwriting

I had, of course seen her earlier that day in the market, but I was so rushed to get back to work that I barely noticed anything beyond her short stature, and unusual accent and dark hair which marked her out as being decidedly 'not local'. Why was she asking about the Wardens? What had she noticed? Where had she come from? In the bar that evening I was kind of surprised to see her there. That she had read my note and accepted my suggestion to meet. Of course she didn't know who I was and as I ordered my drink, she was focussed intently on the notes in front of her, so utterly absorbed that she didn't notice me, staring.


Thinking about it now, I was quite blatant as I sat across the busy room, drinking in the utter glory of her. She was flawless. Not a wrinkle or blemish dared to touch her warm, faultless skin. I wanted to reach over and run my fingers over her lightly flushed cheek, to know how perfection would feel, but my ink-stained hands, which were as rough and splintered as a carpenter's by comparison, would have been an insult to her flesh.

My eyes fell to her plump red pout, and it was like a cushion to my soul. Soft, full and the same deep claret as the blood I could feel stuttering in my veins. Unconsciously she was pursing her lips as she worked, like tiny kisses directed at the notes she was making.

Her dark-lashed eyes darted back and forth between her note books, lost in the task at hand. I wanted her to look up. To see me. To cast that dark gaze my way, but I knew instinctively that one look from her would be deadly, that I would be lost in those deep brown pools. Oh, but it would be like drowning in the smoothest, richest cocoa. Intoxicating and deadly, but delicious nonetheless.

She had no idea I was fixated on her long, slender, graceful fingers as she tapped her pencil on the rough wooden table top, making dust motes dance across the desk, excited by her presence. A frown flitted across her face, resting briefly like an agitated bird. She waved it away, bowing her head slightly, allowing a heavy wave of silken, inky black hair to flow across her hand, falling back to brush her narrow shoulders. She shook her head minutely, sending ripples through her mane which echoed the tingling feeling coursing through my body. The movement of her hair created a turbulence in the air that seemed only to reached me, but I felt it deeply, vibrating through my core and leaving me gripping the edge of my stool for stability.

I sighed and closed my eyes, resting them from the ache of watching her. Maybe I had imagined her? Maybe now I'd broken my trance I might have ended the spell and she would somehow become less luminous, she would suddenly blend in with the very ordinary fabric of the dingy, stained and dusty bar room. I blinked. She was still there. I don't know what I had expected, but in the split second I had looked away she seemed to have gained gravity, taller now, more defined. She was suddenly more real than anything else in the building; as though someone had allowed a panther into the chicken coop and I was the only one who had noticed.

I should have paid attention, I should have sounded the alarms, called for help. I was beyond reasoning when it came to her. If only I'd listened as my amygdala cried out for me to run. Maybe I could have saved us all.