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Ultraviolet
Cinnamon
She chews a handful of peanuts and laughs politely as the man across from her
calls her P.J. She puts up with it because he is old and sweet, and because
it is her job. The others at her table seem to have abandoned her. Sam is
standing by the ice sculpture, talking to the Secretary of State. Josh is
leaning against the bar, sipping what appears to be a screwdriver. She does
not see Toby.
He leans against a pillar and watches her. Her hair is up, carefully swept
from her neck and twisted high on her head. Briefly, he wonders if she did
that on purpose, because she knows that the curves of her neck are endlessly
fascinating to him. Gems, in the same regal shade as her dress, dangle
lazily from her ears, quivering when she speaks. He can't stop looking at
them.
She feels familiar fingers glide along the flesh of her shoulder, and
familiar whiskers tickle her ear. Before he finishes speaking, she reaches
across the table and tells the sweet old man that she has to go.
He follows her from the room, amused by the fact that he's walking behind
this woman who is swaddled in silk and shimmer, and he's staring at her
earrings. He lets his hand brush against hers as he passes her.
The lights go on automatically in the T. Frances Audeh Conference Room,
brighter than any light she's ever seen. She grabs a chair and jams it under
the doorknob. Her body is hungry for him, her mouth starved for his. As he
leans against her, pressing her against the wall, she is ready, but he is
not. Both of her wrists are clasped in one of his hands, pinned above her
head. She moans.
He places a finger to her mouth, and she takes it. Her tongue, like suede on
his skin, is his favorite thing. Toby nibbles her neck, leaves angry red
marks from where his beard chafes her, and doesn't care. Her teeth sink into
his flesh; his sink into hers.
She arches her back, struggles free of his grasp, claws frantically at his
tie, then moves to the table, pulling him towards her with her eyes. Her
dress slides off her body like water, and he slides into her.
C.J. is warmth and cool around him. She is taste and touch, scent and
sensation, silence and sound. She is ocean and sky, stillness and tremble,
light and dark. She is in his arms, and she is beyond his reach.
Toby makes her glow. He beats down on her, extends past her spectrum. He
darkens her skin, burns it, blisters it. He hurts her, but he keeps her
healthy. He is a color she can only see with her eyes closed.
In that final instant, the same liquid shade of purple washes over both of
them.
He knots his tie, sneaking looks at her neck as she fixes her hair. He wants
to touch her again, but she shifts suddenly and moves towards the door.
She touches the doorknob and feels familiar fingers on her sholder again.
She expects his hand to travel down her back, but it does not.
He slides the metal hook into her ear.
A smile spreads across her face.
They step out into the world, C.J. in front of him again. And the light goes
out.
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