Love is the Dark

He supposed that he loved her. I mean, he thought silently to himself, my heart beats wildly every time I see her... I can't even form a valid sentence when I'm around her. And below the waist... 

Seth sits quietly on the stoop outside of his apartment, kicking at stones, looking at the other side of the street, and the beautiful form that speeds across it. Her hair flies back in the wind as she passes, like silken black tendrils for their great length. Her porcelain white skin is perfect and unblemished. As she moves, her beautiful breasts jump slightly up and down; though not overly large, Seth could imagine that they would fill his palm perfectly. She gazes across the street, notices him staring, and smiles, her perfect white teeth rivaling the sun with their bright beauty. Seth attempts to wave back, but ends up tripping over himself, looking the fool. Not a new experience for him.

He is twenty-one years old, and alone. Perhaps in part by choice, as he feels so out of place in groups, and at parties. He also feels things far too deeply; he is overly empathic for one of his few years. But he knows, deep down, that society had rejected him, no matter how much he would like to romanticize the opposite.

Sighing, he picks himself up off the stoop, brushing dust off himself, and turns to the dingy building that he calls home. Perhaps it was once a beautiful place; late at night, he could almost see the grandeur that this place had commanded in the past. It almost brought a tear to his eye that it could fall into such decrepitude.

As he walked up the stairs, he hears raised voices, not an uncommon occurrence in this building, however what is uncommon is that it is coming from the apartment next to his. A usually quiet couple was the Wilson's; the wife was a couple of years younger than her husband, perhaps in her early forties, and was always congenial, if shy. 

Seth can't help himself, and peeks inside the wide-open doorway. Mr. Wilson carries a hastily packed suitcase, with pieces of clothing sticking out the sides, while Mrs. Wilson stands stoically in the doorway; upon closer inspection, Seth sees that she is holding on to the door to keep from shaking. He also notices, to his shock, that she has a blood red bruise growing across her face.

"Don't come back, you bastard!!! I refuse to take it, I won't be scared by you anymore." She does not speak these words loudly, but they hold a level, ominous tone. The husband merely growls in response. He drags his bags to the doorway, takes a scoffing glance at Seth standing there, and storms off. Seth stares off after him, entranced by the feeling of anger that had surrounded him.

A sobbing sound brings him out of his reverie, and jolts him back into reality. He swings around to see Mrs. Wilson collapsing on the floor in a fetal position, sobbing convulsively. Almost instinctively, he runs over to comfort her, but as he reaches her, he realizes that he does not know how. He tentatively picked her up, and gathers her in his arms. She responds by enveloping him in hers, tears streaming down his shirt. Yet he finds himself so torn by sympathy, and so warmed by this position that he does not notice. 

After a couple of minutes, she draws back a little, and looks into his eyes, chuckling a little between the tears. Something about that laugh is infectious, and he returns it, though there is clearly nothing funny about the situation. As the tears subside, she speaks in a quiet, yet musically sweet voice,

"Amy" She smiles after saying this.

"Seth". And so they were introduced. He finds himself unconsciously tracing his finger over the dark bruise that disfigures the side of her face. She winces slightly, 

"Sorry", Seth says quickly, retracting the finger.

"No, it's not that" She responds, "It doesn't actually hurt... This bruise just reminds me of how long I let him......... " fresh tears begin to well, and those glistening brown eyes beg him to stop them, stop this torrent of tears. So he does, the only way he knows how.

He kisses her softly on the lips; they have the texture of silk, and taste so real, so wonderful, so full of life. He had expected her to draw back, or slap him, but she lingers, as if unfazed by this sudden change. He feels the poke of an exploratory tongue against the tight seal of his lips. He opens them, feeling the velvet creature caress his own. Their saliva mingling, forming as one. 

The experience is so intense that Seth draws back for a moment, to look at Amy. She gazes up at him, her hair framing a tear streaked, yet beautiful face. A perfect mouth. And those eyes. Seth knew that no more words were needed... 

He kisses her again, more passionately this time, drawing her up off the ground, meshing the curves of her body with his own. He runs one playful hand through her hair, stroking, supporting her. He pulls back from her mouth, and begins to kiss her cheeks, licking up the salty residue that still lingers there, kissing away her very tears. He could feel that she needed to be loved, much as he wanted to be. He knows that they could share love, and be happy, if only for a short while.