Like a Moth Drawn to a Flame
By ShaddyrHe stood there, watching, hidden in the shadows. Watching her.
She filled his senses, his thoughts, obsessed him. She was like an addiction, he was the addict, the need only temporarily slaked by this poor substitute of a fix, never truly gone. He watched her.
She moved throughout the house, walking into the front room to answer the phone, gliding into the kitchen to wash her few dishes from diner. He followed her as she moved, remaining in the shadows as he skirted the house to watch her from a new vantage point as she sat out on the veranda.
Watching her was not a choice, it was part of an overwhelming compulsion. He could get away from her for weeks, even months, but sooner or later, something forced him back. He could try to fight it, but he always lost the battle. He had to come back. To her.
He watched her.
So far, his self-preservation had asserted itself whenever he felt himself teetering on the brink-- the maddening desire to do more than watch, to scale the side of the house, and, ever so easily, slip into her home like he had one more than a few other occasions - to quietly make his way to her, take her in his arms, crush her body against his, bend his head and claim her lips for his own—
He watched her.
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She sat on her sofa, legs crossed, empty glass of what had been vodka on the table in front of her. The phone call, short and terse, had confirmed that yet another lead was a dead end.
She sighed, stood up and took her glass back into the kitchen where her dishes still lay strewn on the counter after her meal. After pouring another drink, she quickly cleaned up, then carried her glass out to the balcony where she curled up with her legs under her in a big patio chair.
The night was cool and clear, several stars already twinkling in the velvet backdrop of sky. She shivered slightly, the light breeze raising goosebumps on the exposed flesh of her arms. Inhaling deeply, she enjoyed the heady scent of the magnolias that were perfuming the air. She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes as she slowly let the breath out, and made a conscious effort to exhale the days’ tension as well. It has been another long, stressful and tiring day at work, and she wanted nothing more than to sit back, relax and let her mind go blank.
She shivered again. Opening her eyes, she looked around, a mildly puzzled look coming to her face. There was something… something she couldn’t put a finger on. It was that feeling again.
The feeling came once in a while. There was no rhyme or reason to it. She’d been unable to figure out what brought it on. There had been a time she’d felt it every night for a week, and had been at the point of wondering if she had finally snapped. Then, inexplicably, it had gone away. Mostly it was sporadic, one day here, one night there, with days, weeks, sometimes months between occurrences.
Shivering violently this time, she clutched her glass and quickly walked back into the house, locking the door behind her. It wasn’t that she felt she was in danger. She just felt vulnerable, exposed. Locking the door didn’t diminish the feeling, but it was all she could do- other than making sure that her 9mm was loaded.
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He saw her sudden discomfiture, and smiled. She knew. He was aware, in some rational part of his mind, that he was insane to be here, to be so close to her. To be so consumed with her. To be watching her. He agreed with that part, but he was helpless. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he was drawn to her.
As she bolted the door, he darted through the shadows until he reached the side of the house. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was at the window of her bedroom, flipping the old lock open with ridiculous ease. It occurred to him that he hadn’t planned to cross this boundary, but tonight, as he stood watching her as he had many times before, he hadn’t decided not to. He simply stood for a moment, reveling in just being there, surrounded by her essence. He realized, unaware as he may have been of it, at some point since the last time he’d watched her, he’d made the choice. There was no going back.
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Light flickered off the wall behind her as she flipped through the channels. She sat cross legged on the couch, a comfortable afghan drawn loosely about her shoulders to ward of the mild chill, favorite pillow tucked behind her, drink within arms’ reach on the end table. Morosely she stared at the television, hoping that something other than mind numbing drivel would magically materialize on the tube.
Flick.
Flick.No such luck.
She finally tossed the remote onto the end table and grabbed her drink. After downing it with two long swallows, she decided that a hot shower would be just the thing to help her relax. That, and another stiff drink.
The feeling was still there, the tension that it always brought slowly building in her back, right between her shoulder blades, reminiscent of a spring being wound tighter and tighter. If she didn’t do something to relax, she knew she would end up tossing and turning the night away. Insomnia was the last thing she needed to deal with. Decisively she rose, the afghan falling to the couch forgotten as she strode into the kitchen to pour herself that drink before making her way to the bathroom.
She turned the water on, running it as hot as she could stand it. Taking a drink, she contemplated her collection of body wash, finally choosing a deliciously tropical one. Stripping down, she tossed her clothes into the hamper, before grabbing the wash and stepping into the already steaming shower.
It was wonderful. The powerful jets of hot water pummeled her back, as if the could beat the tension out of her muscles. She took a puff and applied a generous dollop of the body wash, slathering it all over her body, scrubbing as if to wash away the cares and worries of the day, the unease within her. The heady combination of vodka, hot water and the powerful tropical fragrance made her a little light headed, and she smiled as she realized relaxation was beginning to set in.
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Trailing his fingers lightly over the pillow, he grasped it, lifted it closer. As the scent that was uniquely her enveloped him, he buried his face in it, heart hammering violently in his chest as he sought control, only to feel it receding to lurk just beyond his reach.
He began to go through her room, not as he had in the past when looking for a clue or leaving something for her to find, but rather as a starving man searching for a morsel of sustenance. He touched everything, even if only lightly. Opening the top dresser drawer, he found silk camisoles and underwear, stockings and slips. As his fingers caressed the lingerie, he felt himself becoming intoxicated. It frightened him- and he liked it.
The sound of running water caught his attention. It took a moment for him to realize she was in the shower. It hit him like a bolt of lightening. She was mere steps away from him, in the shower, the warm, steamy shower, rivulets of water running off her body, beading on her smooth, creamy skin…. a slow flush of heat traveled the entire length of his body, and breathing became very difficult as his chest seemed suddenly too small.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he carefully replaced the garments he’d disturbed, gently smoothing them into place. When he could function somewhat normally again, he quietly shut the drawer, then softly stepped across the room to the door. Opening it, he slipped through and made his way down the hall, towards the bathroom.
He stood beside the barely open door, the steam curling around the door frame carrying with it a tropical scent, one evocative of rainforests and exotic fruit. It quickened the senses. Before the rational part of his mind could raise any objections, he pushed the door open, ever so slightly, just enough to enter the room, not so much as to let in a telling gust of cold air.
The precarious position he was in only seemed to heighten the thrill. Inches from her he stood, balanced between the risk of being found out and the danger of obeying his primal urges. He embraced the tension, tasting the fear/excitement, feeling it course through his veins. He felt more alive, more aware more in the moment than he had ever felt in his life.
Out of the corner of his eye, the half full glass beside the sink caught his attention. He reached over, lifted it to his nose. Vodka. Replacing it, he glanced up at the mirror, caught the edge of it and pulled to open the medicine cabinet and examine the contents.
His eyes lighted on a small brown bottle. He glanced back at the shower curtain briefly before taking the bottle and reading the label. A smile came to his face, and he removed one of the small white pills. He closed the cabinet, catching a look at the smile he wore - he froze. The look in his eyes disturbed and unnerved him.
He stared into the eyes in the mirror, mindlessly crushing the pill into his palm, grinding it into a fine white powder before sprinkling it in her drink, all the while continuing to stare at the stranger he beheld in the mirror. A movement of the shower curtain captured his attention, and he turned toward it.
There was visible through the opaque curtain the slightest suggestion of the outline of her body.
He watched her.
Without warning, the water went off, and fear spiked through him. In one swift move, he ducked and silently bolted out of the bathroom.
***********************
Her fore head resting against the tile of the shower wall, her arms outstretched above her, she sighed in contentment as she enjoyed the penetrating dance the water played out all over her back. She could stay in here forever.
The water began to run cold.
Reaching down to turn the taps off, she sighed again. She decided that buying a larger water heater was really not that much of indulgence, and mentally put it on her list of things to do. Pushing the curtain back, she shivered. A bit of a draft from the partially open door chilled the water still glistening all over her body. As she grabbed a towel and vigorously dried her body, she cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement. She thought she’d closed it more than that. With a shrug, she used her toe to push it closed, then turned to the sink to retrieve her drink. She took a long swallow, replaced it, then towel dried her hair. When she finished, the towel followed her clothing into the hamper. She brushed her teeth, flossed, then grabbed her glass and exited the bathroom, the cool air of her house raising goose bumps all over her body. She hurried to her bedroom for her robe.
As she walked in, she flicked the wall switch, turning on the lamp at her bedside. A luxurious green velour robe laid on the white whicker chair standing in the corner of her room. She took a drink, then placed her glass on the vanity while she wrapped up in the warm, comfy house coat. Much better. She sat on the elegant stool in front of the vanity and began to comb out her damp hair. The repetitive motion was soothing, and she found herself staring into the mirror, daydreaming. The vodka seemed to be doing its work more quickly than usual, she noted, and she realized she was starting to feel rather woozy. Yawning hugely, she placed the comb back on the vanity. Finishing her drink, she walked back into the living room to turn off the house lights before she retired for the evening.
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He stood, back pressed into the corner, lurking in the shadows provided by the antique oak wardrobe and watched her. His breath caught in his throat when she walked in, her body backlit by the light of the hallway, then suddenly, as she turned on the lamp, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to breath again. He drank in the sight of her, shapely legs, the curve of her hips, tapered waist, small perfect breasts.. the image was indelibly etched in his mind, seared into his memory. An instant later she’d wrapped herself in the robe, but the vision of her shower-fresh body still lingered before his eyes.
He watched her as she drew the comb through her dark auburn tresses, becoming mesmerized by the action. Several times he had to consciously hold himself back, the desire to step up behind her and run his fingers through her hair almost irresistible. The sound of blood pounding through his body filled his ears, and he felt his face growing warm, his knees becoming weak.
He watched her.
Her motions were becoming languorous, her head nodding forward slightly. Intently, he watched as she yawned and put done her comb, the left the room. He waited, heard her footsteps as she walked around the house, noticed the light in the hallway go off before she re-entered the room.
As if in a dream, she walked over to her bed, then let the robe slide off her shoulders, down her arms, falling to the floor. She pulled the sheets back and crawled in, too tired to even bother with her customary nightgown. Pulling her comforter up to her chin, she snuggled into her pillows, adjusted her position, then became still.
As the minutes passed, the slow, deep rhythm of her breathing told him she was indeed asleep. Silently, he stepped out of the shadows, his face illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the half open curtains on her windows. There he stood, at the foot of her bed, and watched her.
The sleeping pill he’d found in her medicine cabinet had acted quickly. Just as he’d hoped, the vodka had helped it along. He reached out and placed his hand on the comforter near her feet, the satin of the duvet cover cool to his fevered touch. With an almost suicidal boldness that shocked even himself, he crawled up on the bed behind her. He froze, mid-crawl as she stirred, then resumed when it was obvious she was not going to waken. Finally, he stretched out beside her, his face laying on tendrils of her hair splayed out across the pillows.
He watched her.
The slight rise and fall of her body, her outline under the covers… he absorbed every detail. He noticed that the comforter had come untucked when she’d shifted while he was getting onto the bed. He reached out absently to tuck it back in, the realized the foolishness of the gesture when he inadvertently touched the skin of her neck. It was like an electric shock coursed through him from fingertips to toes, galvanizing him into action.
He ran a finger lightly up and down the exposed skin of her neck, following the jaw line, tracing the outline of her ear, before dragging it back down. He moved in closer, right up against her, till he could feel the heat of her body right through the blankets against his. She sighed softly, eliciting a tingling sensation all through his extremities.
Gently brushing her hair away, his lips found the back of her neck.. Carefully, he eased the comforter down, leaving a trail of feather light kisses down her spine. He had one hand entwined in her hair, and the other unconsciously snaked under the comforter and around her waist, holding her securely. A quiet moan escaped her lips as her lethargic body began to respond to his attentions.
In that instant, the full enormity of what he was doing hit him. Cold guilt crashed into him, completely extinguishing the desires within. As quickly and gently as he could, he disentangled himself from her to roll off the bed in one smooth movement. A war raged inside him, longing battling with honor, desire with respect. That he would do the things he’d done, sink to this level… he was becoming worried that next time he might not be able to restrain himself. And all the while, he watched her.
With one last regretful look at her, he stealthily slipped out the window, his exit as unnoticed as his entrance had been. After he reached the ground, he stared up at her window with longing for a few moments, before melting back into the shadow.
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She woke with a start, heart racing, gasping in fear. Her hand groped out for the 9mm in her night table, and she flicked the lamp on. Squinting in the sudden brightness, she glanced around. Nothing.
Letting out a shaky breath that she had not even been aware she was holding, she put the gun back, and turned the light back off. She felt groggy, unbalanced. And she’d just had this dream.. well, it was some dream. It had been so real it was scary. She could almost feel the fingers still on her… but suddenly she’d been all alone, abandoned. As she closed her eyes, she pondered the feelings, but very soon all thought ceased as sleep claimed her once again.