It’s Hard To Hate Someone Once You Understand Them.
I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evil.
You won’t be able to hurt me, or touch me.
I was surprised at her gentleness, her willingness to give in.
I thought you didn’t want to let me go.
How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
It was like I existed in a kind of parallel universe, thinking thoughts and feelings that no one else understood.
It happened like this. I was stolen from an airport. Taken from everything I knew, everything I was used to. Taken to sand and heat, dirt and danger. And he expected me to love him. This is my story. A letter from nowhere.
I didn’t look back, but I knew you were still watching. It probably sounds weird, but I could just feel it. The hairs on my neck bristled when you blinked.
Your eyes were too intense to stare into for long.
The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
I remember the lights turning into blurs of blazing fire. I remember the air-conditioning chilling my arms. The smell of coffee smudging into the smell of eucalyptus.
Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
You know, maybe if we’d met as ordinary people, one day, maybe... maybe things might have been different. Maybe I could have loved you.
Everyone will look. Even if they think it’s impolite, still they will look.
People love what they’re used to, I guess. No. You shook your head. People should love what needs loving.
I wish I had amnesia so I could forget what you look like.
Anyway, it’s easy to be what people want: give them something to stare at. nod and smile, tell them they’re gorgeous.” You flashed me your best charming grin before you added, “The three steps to money.
All I could think about was you. I wanted you in that apartment. I wanted your arms around me, your face close to mine. I wanted your smell. And I knew I couldn’t – shouldn’t – have it. That’s what I hated the most. The uncertainty of you.
Pain means it’s healing.