Desire

"Man, would you just ask her out already." I frowned at Brock, sipping my coffee. Brock was someone I could always count on to be blunt. He sat on the counter in the office lounge, legs not quite touching the floor. "I mean it's not that she'll say yes, but the sooner she says no, the sooner I can scoop her up." he said this while a smug grin slowly materialized on his face. I knew that face, it was his I'm joking, but not really face. He'd left Desire alone, knowing I'd had a crush on her since she came to our department two years ago, but I knew he was getting anxious for his chance.

I sipped the coffee from my mug once more, giving a contemplative look. I was merely stalling, searching the corners of my brain for another excuse, but almost two years of excuses had begun to catch up with me.

"I'll ask her out next time I see her." I lied. "Really?" Brock's smirk dissolved, a true look of surprise took over his face, or maybe of concern. "Yeah, I need to get it over with, and hell, why not."

It was funny, I was being bold toward Brock, but I could think of plenty of reasons why not. There was the fact that she was technically one of my bosses, or that there was a possibility that she in fact, didn't like men, a common rumor among the men around the office. But that was an overused strategy with men, if she didn't look at any men openly, they just had to be a muff diver. But of all the reasons, there was only one that consistently kept me from speaking more than two words at a time to Desire, her unparalleled beauty. Standing with other women, she was a deity among mortals. She had a beauty that you felt when she entered the room. A beauty that simply paralyzed my ability to communicate with her.

"Well anyway" Brock said, "I've gotta get back to work, you know how they've been breakin' balls around here." He got off the counter, stretching a bit. "Yeah, I definetly know how you feel." In reality, I didn't how he felt, Brock was the kind of employee that did just enough to keep his job.
Looking at his watch, Brock belched, then straightened his pants by pulling at his belt buckle. At this, I stood up, and followed him out, heading back to my own cubicle.

****

As I strolled down the aisle, I thought about what I could possibly say to Desire, all the while flashing half smiles into cubicles and offices I passed along the way. You know, the whole friendly co-worker bit. As my thoughts of what to say to Desire were invaded and overrun by thoughts a good catholic boy like me shouldn't have about women, my heart skipped a beat. Coming down the lane, tossing her hair to one side, Desire revealed the stern look on her face.

Oh shit. I practically hugged the wall, but the width of the aisle was shrinking with each of her steps. She was within a few steps now, prompting my natural reaction, to look down. As I sensed her proximity, I looked up quickly, forcing a smile. Her stone expression was gone, flashing me a vibrant smile as she passed. Say something. But I couldn't, what would I s-
"Jaysen?" I was startled, almost tripping over my own feet. Had she said that?

"How are you?" Yes, it was Desire's harmonic tone. I turned to greet her, "Oh, I, uh..." I stammered, "I'm good, you?"
"Ugh, I'm all right, just wanna get outta here."

I didn't respond, just smiled, entranced by her flowery aroma. "So, Brock says I needed to see you about some modifications to the Kaiser grant?" That son of a bitch. Of course, I hadn't made any modifications to the Kaiser grant. "Oh, I was just wondering about the presentation date?" The presentation date was hardly a modification, and I certainly knew the presentation date, but it was the best I could do. "Oh well um, next Thursday, so..." She pondered for a moment, "the tenth."
"Oh, ok" I said, "great, it's just been so hectic around here." She nodded.
"Uh huh, well I can relate to that, but no modifications?"
"Oh, no, I decided against them in the end."

That was a slightly improved explanation, I convinced myself. She nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Ok, well, if you've got anymore questions, feel free Jayce."
I loved when she called me that, Jayce. "Ok, thanks."
"Don't be such a stranger" she said "and have a good weekend if I don't see you later, Jayce."
"All right, you too."

She gave a concluding smile, and started back down the hallway. I stood there for a moment, cursing myself silently. I turned, heading toward my desk once again, then stopped.

Maybe it was the thought of Brock laughing at me again, or maybe it was the fact that she had said not to be a stranger, I wasn't sure, but it was something. "Dee?"

she quickly turned, "Yes?" She began walking back toward me, seeming to have expected it. I swallowed, unsure what to say at this point. "I, uh, well, I was wondering."

"About the Kaiser grant?" Not a good sign. "No, actually, we've been working together a while now, and I was just wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me sometime?"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, doesn't have to be dinner, just a drink over at Bentley's."

She raised an eyebrow, but finally gave way to a subtle smile. "Well a get together sounds great, but I'm a lady, how about dinner?" Even better. "In fact" she said, "what about Balducci's, over on 9th and Rivera, I hear they're having a jazz band tonight, and I love Italian." I couldn't help it, but I was almost sure I was smiling like a maniac.

"Pick you up at eight?" This was a joke, but apparently the clich'e wasn't as funny as I thought, and she seriously mulled over the comment. "Eight thirtyish?" She half stated, half asked. "Great." I wasn't sure where to go from there, she now looked as if we were simply discussing business.

"Check your mail in a little bit, I'll send you my address." I'm not sure if I said anything after that, but she winked, and began back down the aisle. I watched her intently until she turned down another hall, out of sight.

****

As I sat outside Desire's townhouse, I clutched the steering wheel of my battered Ford Taurus, replaying in my head the events of the that day.

I remembered most vividly the shock on Brock's face when I had told him I'd had a date with Desire. He looked as if I had told him I just maimed his wife and kids(if he had any that is).

I mentioned the disappointment on his face, and he explained that he no longer had wingman to go to Bentley's tonight. I assumed he was lying at the time, but now felt a sliver of guilt, for a little over a year now, we had gone to Bentley's Bar & Pub almost every Friday evening.

Still, I was deliriously excited and could hardly keep still on the drive to her house, now that I was there, I could barely take a step up her walk way. I thought back on reading my email that day, like Desire had told me. I remembered my heart inching further and further up my throat as I read the email from [e-mail]. I had read it over and over making sure I was reading correctly, and again once I had gotten home. I had it almost memorized at this point:

Hey, Jayce
I feel kind of bad for pushing Balducci's on you like that, so I was thinking, did you want to stay in tonight??? I'll cook, what do you say??? I'm not that bad I swear :) Anyway, my place is over by Barrington Square, 1252 Hauser Road. Also, I have a couple bottles of merlot with a good layer of dust on them, so we can still have that drink.

P.S. You're not a vegetarian are you?

****

The humid night air thoroughly sticking to me, I stood at her door, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. I was having a sudden panic, had the roses been too much?

It was too late, I had already rang the doorbell. A moment later I heard a muffled "Just a minute!" and movement inside.

Almost a half minute later, I finally heard approaching footsteps behind the door, followed by the clicking of multiple dead bolts. I felt a whoosh of cool air as she opened the door, and realized I was slightly perspiring. "Why hello there." she said, batting an eyelash, "Don't you just look yummy."

This was a side of her personality I'd never imaged. I'm pretty sure I said "Hi", but one can't be sure, as I was occupied by her revealing black dress. It was made from some sort of form fitting material, displaying the curves she usually kept well concealed with conventional skirts and blouses she sported at the office.
"Well are you going to come in, you scrumptious thing you?" She stepped aside, making room in the doorway. As the sweet aroma from her cooking flooded my senses, I remembered I had been holding the roses behind my back, something I now felt childish for, and brought them forward.
"Aw, you're just a little sweetie aren't you." she said, smiling. "Thank you Jayce."

As I followed her down the hallway, she explained that dinner wasn't quite done, so, according to her, I had to deal with her until then. That was fine by me, as we sat down in the living room and talked casually about work, background, and interests.

I began to explain how my frat house pledging had gone awry, when she interrupted, "So what took you so long to ask me out?" I almost choked on my words, as I was comfortably rambling at that point, but she had rendered me speechless.

I opened my mouth but no words came out, causing her to raise her eyebrows in that feminine way that pushed for a response. "What do you mean?" was all I could manage. She pursed her lips in another display of urging female body language, saying, You know what I mean.
"Well, I don't know, I'm not good at that sort of thing." I said.

"Oh please, I've heard more than enough stories about your escapades down at Bentley's, regular Casanova I hear."
This caught me by surprise, prompting my response. "From who?"
"Brock."

I laughed lightly, of course from Brock. I was hardly a Casanova, I had picked up a woman very seldom at the bar, when I had consumed enough Jack Daniels. On the other hand, Brock reeled in a female companion almost every Friday, he was just the type of guy who was completely comfortable talking to the opposite sex.

"You know Brock, exaggerating at times." I said, trying to decide whether he was trying to help me or sabotage me by fabricating the truth to Desire.

"Yes, I suppose you're right, he is a character."

I quickly changed the subject, asking what we were having for dinner. She replied "Well, you'll see in a minute, it should be done." At that, she got up, heading back toward the kitchen and motioned for me to follow.

****

Sitting at her dining table, I stared into the kitchen taking it all in. She was restlessly squirreling about in the kitchen, going from the stove to the fridge, to the table, and back to the stove again. She seemed a little flustered setting up the dinner, so I asked if she needed help, but she shook her head with a distracted look.

She was at the fridge again now, staring into it's metallic frame as if she was trying to decide between something. I got up, heading toward her, "Here, I'll help you." I said, but she quickly looked up, clearly surprised, snapping the refrigerator door shut.

"Oh no, Jayce, it's ok, I want to do it, I offered remember?" I sighed, feeling helpless, and sat back down. I had mixed feelings now, she had been acting weird now that we were in the kitchen, did she have second thoughts about me? Had I been rambling on that obnoxiously in the living room?

"I'm not the best cook in the world Jayce." she said, "So pretend it's delicious for me." She smiled as she spoke, bringing over two plates, setting one in front of and across from me. I looked down at my plate, realizing I was terribly hungry.

Seasoned rice was cozy against a small portion of peas, but overshadowed by a large steak, thoroughly drenched in a red sauce. "Looks great" I said, "What kind of steak is this?" She paused, as if the question was a problem.

"Oh, it's veal, not sure what kind of cut it is, who pays attention to that stuff?"
I too, had often neglected looking at the type cut a steak was when I chose them at the supermarket.

After she poured us each a glass of chardonnay, she finally sat down. "Bon apatite" she said, and we began to eat, my comfort returning as we began conversation again.

I haven't had a whole lot of veal before, but from what I remember, this was different. It was tender, but somehow still somewhat tough to chew, a rubbery feel. It was also a little stringy, but decent tasting, not great, but not bad, much like veal, so I decided that it was indeed veal. It was boneless, and the sauce was very sweet, all in all, leaving my plate empty.

"See, I told you it wasn't gonna be that bad Jayce." She smiled mechanically, looking up from my plate at me. I nodded, I was surprisingly full, suppressing a belch with a clenched fist.
"So how about that drink?" she said this as she stood up, "This chardonnay was just some cheap stuff I picked up to go with dinner." I pushed out my lip, agreeing with her, noting I was more of a merlot person anyway.

****

After following her back into the living room, she told me to get comfortable and that'd she'd be back in a minute with the wine, disappearing behind a door slightly back down the hall. The room was scarcely furnished, but tidy.
It was understandable why I had failed to take notice of such a placidly decorated room the first time around.

The carpeting was a deep black color, blacker than black, but the walls were a clean white, the far wall bare except for the French doors in the center. On the right wall, the black leather sofa we had sat on just an hour before, was accompanied by a steel framed glass coffee table almost the length of the sofa itself. On the wall opposite the sofa, on the dark carpeting, was a set of knee high speakers, the actual stereo separating them.

Upon noticing her wall mounted plasma television, above the stereo system, I scanned the room for the TV remote and found it, neatly lined up with two other remotes on the corner of the coffee table. This surprised me a bit, I was used to scouring the floor of my own living room before anything else for the remote, and had done the same here.

Feeling a sudden wave of fatigue, from the meal I assumed, I plopped down onto the couch, and pressed the POWER button on the remote. I was almost startled by the immediate appearance of a much younger Sean Connery, a smug grin on his face that could only translate into one word: Bond.

My TV is clearly outdated, I thought, I was still used to the couple moments of blank, black screen while the audio came on, voicing the faceless box.

I watched intently for a moment while the younger, though still gray behind the ears Connery/Bond wrestled two bikini clad women who's attack style was some sort of acrobatic wushu. Upon a flying drop kick from a chandelier that sent Connery flying, I turned to ESPN, which was showing a solemn faced man with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
The World Series of Poker wasn't much more stimulating, but I settled for it until Desire re-emerged from the door.

In one hand she held a dusty wine bottle, in the other she held two shallowly filled wine glasses, the necks between her fingers.
"Sorry it took a little while, had to find the good one." As she said this, she looked like a child having just returned from mischievous activity.

"The good one?" I asked. "Yeah, 1987". I was thoroughly impressed, I imagined a wine of that age would have cost her a couple thousand dollars, and I expressed this sentiment.
"Yeah, I looked it up." she said, "Twenty seven hundred." Reading the confusion on my face, she explained, "Wedding gift."
"Oh?"
"Yea, my father re-married a couple years ago, but doesn't drink anymore, so I figured I'd put it to good use."

She came over to the couch, handing me the dusty bottle, and sat down.

Through the gray film of dust, I could see a woman donning a white gown, with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair, her head tilted to the side.

Wiping the dust away cleanly with my index finger, I saw that the woman was Marilyn Monroe. In bold white letters across her chest, it read: Marilyn Merlot, the moniker repeated below in red cursive form. Even further under that, it indeed read, 1987 Merlot. I thought it was some kind of joke at first, but then saw the diamond shaped Napa Wine Co. logo above the seductive portrait of Monroe.

"Cool right?" I looked up from the bottle, offering a half smile. "Yeah, that's crazy." I said, "never had thousand dollar wine." I grabbed the wine glass she held toward me. We toasted, each taking a civilized sip. I paused a moment after my sip, keeping the glass at my lips, and sipped again.

The wine was dry, with minimal after taste. "Not bad." I said. "Of course Jayce."
She set her glass down on the coffee table and gave me an expectant look, then suddenly swung a leg over my lap, saddling me.
I was surprised, but somehow my hand still found it's way to her hip almost immediately, and my other hand followed suit after she took my glass, setting it beside hers.

Her face just inches, no, centimeters from mine now, I could pick up the sweetish smell of her skin. I looked into her eyes fiercely, tensing for a kiss. She leaned forward, and as we kissed, I could feel it in my stomach, slowly rising up my body to my mouth and lips.

She pulled back a moment, staring at me with another expecting glance. Was it that bad? Just as I asked myself the question, I noticed the tips of my fingers began to tingle, and my stomach and mouth had a slight burning feeling. I lashed my tongue out for a second, as if to let the burning sensation out. Noticing my distress immediately, Desire innocently asked "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, half denying, half shaking off a heavy grogginess that suddenly struck me. My arms now burned as well, and I could feel my legs starting to tingle. "I don fee...too guh" This was my attempted admission that I didn't feel right.

My mouth was starting to feel numb and I could barely articulate my words. Without thinking, I pushed Desire aside, off my lap, as I tried to stand up.

Trying my best to stand now, the room around me seemed to lose focus, like I was seeing out of the wrong pair of bifocals. I turned, stumbling backward, and even through my foreign bifocals, I could make out a devilish grin on Desire's face as she sat on the sofa.

Now leaning against the wall opposite the couch, the dull commentary of the Texas Hold Em' round seemed to be in my head. I must only be a foot or two away from the television, I vaguely thought. It reminded me of a world far off now, as I was losing feeling in my arms and my legs began to burn. The tone of the commentators began to narrow, like I was hearing the action from down a tunnel.

Still, Desire sat on the couch, unmoving, her legs now crossed, waiting. Waiting for what? Why aren't you getting help? Was she in shock? It then dawned on me that she had done this to me, she had poisoned me with her kiss. I began to think about a nemesis of Batman's, Poison Ivy. She was Poison Ivy! She had to be.

I fell over the stereo system, landing hard(I'm assuming) on my side, but I barely felt it. I rolled onto my back, "Poisa...veee" I could barely work my mouth now.

"What's that doll face?", it was Desire's voice from far off. I attempted to turn and look toward her, but I couldn't. I tried again, to no avail, my body wasn't responding anymore.

From deep down the tunnel: "Oh Jayce, you're not making sense..." I could still recognize the amusement in her voice. "...this stuff tends to make you a little silly." What in the world is she talking about? She still talking about wine? I surrendered to what was apparently paralysis, only able to roll my eyes and look, with my bleary vision, in different directions, but it wasn't much without the use of my neck.
Not quite down the tunnel, but still seeming a little distance away, I could now hear a rapid, low rasp. It took me a moment to realize that it was the sound of my breathing; swift, shallow breaths. That damned Poison Ivy! She can't beat me...not Batman. "Duhhd duuhdda duuhda.."

Apparently I still had enough control over my functions to make the noise, from deep in my throat, and could move the tip of my tongue just enough to make the "D" sound. In all my delirium, a delirium where all I could think to do with the last remaining sounds in my vocal chords was mock the Batman theme, I still realized something, my eventual fate.

Although I'm no doctor, I still had a mild medical education in college, landing me a job at the Health Sciences Corporation. I knew what was coming.

Whatever Poison Ivy over there had in her lips, it was paralyzing me. My extremities. My toes. My fingers. Even my eyes began to itch and burn, as I lost my ability to even blink. I knew that any poison causing this level of paralysis was going to eventually infect the muscles in my stomach and chest, they would become just as defiant to respond as the rest of my body, causing my respiratory system to fail miserably.

Suddenly, Desire's shape appeared above me, standing, shaking her head. I could see something gleaming in her hand, it looked like something metallic. I soon found out, as she kneeled over me and cut away something with the shiny object. "-is ight urt." Her voice was wavering, I couldn't make out what she was saying. Although my body was somewhat numb, a sudden searing pain ripped through my body. It seemed to be coming from my upper torso, yes, it had to be, as Desire was kneeling over me, more specifically, my chest.

Unable to move, I endured the worst pain of my life, trying to scream, but couldn't, only producing an inaudible "nnnnnn" sound from my nasal passage.

After what was an eternity, the excruciating pain dropped a level, to intense pain, as she held up something from my chest. My first guess was my heart, as I saw blood slipping between her fingers and splash down onto me.

But the pain cleared my brain enough for me to realize that it wasn't my heart, too big, and it looked flat.

My hearing still wavering, she soon answered the question for me. "I've alwa iked or ects ayce." But I knew what she said this time:"I've always liked your pects Jayce." I had always been somewhat muscular.

She was holding a large cutlet of my pectoral muscle, which one, I couldn't tell, the pain and poison made it hard to differentiate which side she had removed the muscle from.

My med school dropout's brain instinctively began to think of what she had used to cut so quickly and cleanly, but only one thing made it possible, a scalpel. It was the shiny object I had seen in her hand.

Slowly, Desire stood again, saying something I couldn't understand, then walked away with my pectoral. I moaned from deep within my throat the same "nnnnnn" sound, my chest still screaming with pain. My vision began to blur further, and moments later, I watched as total blackness closed in on me, this was it, the last hurrah.

****

Awakening, my eyes burned dryly, and my chest throbbed with pain. Surprisingly, I knew where I was before too much panic could set in. Still, I tried desperately to shut my eyes against the cool, but painful dryness of the air conditioned room.
I had passed out, while my eyes remained wide open, for god knows how long.

Nothing. My eyelids still didn't show a remote sign of responding, same with the rest of my body. I lay there, in incredible pain, giving orders to my mutinous muscles. I had a short lived moment of triumph, as I realized I must at least be breathing still. I hoped maybe that meant the drug would soon wear off, but my body was as unresponsive as it had been earlier, although, the delirium was gone.

I knew now that the drug had certainly been in the wine, not her lips. That she wasn't Poison Ivy, nor I Batman. I noticed now my eye sight was back into focus as well, another insignificant victory, I was still losing the war.

I silently begged my body to respond, even just a single blink to re-coat my bone dry eyes. I stopped a moment to listen to the silence of the living room. The pain in my chest and eyes made it almost impossible to concentrate on anything, but still, I listened, for the faintest hint that Desire was nearby. There was no sense trying, giving away my recovering state if she was a few feet away on the couch, watching me.

Finally, after a long, painful silence, I decided I was alone in the room, and proceeded in my attempt to awaken my body from it's slumber. With only will power, I tried shutting my eyelids, now burning numb.

A thought flashed into my mind: What if this paralysis was permanent? I thought sporadically, still trying to shut my eyes, and was encouraged in the fact that there were no poisons that I knew which induced permanent paralysis, only killed you by asphyxiation, subject to paralysis. It seemed I had avoided that fate somehow. Maybe that thought was what I needed, because at that moment I felt my eyelid quiver. I wasn't sure at first, but tried again, and felt, no, saw the slight quiver again. It was my left eye, and I gave up on my right, contributing all my energy in closing my left eyelid. Quivering more and more, my eyes seemed to awaken from their numbness, and began to burn intensely again, but I didn't care. I was getting closer, closer. I squeezed, and just as I thought I wouldn't get past the quivering stage, my left eyelid closed abruptly.

It felt as if my eyelid had re-coated my eye with acid, a tear welling up. Eventually, I felt the tear warmly flowing down the left side of my face.

Overcome with joy that was completely concealed by my expressionless, though winking stare, I tried re-opening the lid. It stuck together for a couple quivering seconds, then opened as abruptly as it closed. I closed and opened the eye repeatedly, until it responded smoothly. Just as I suspected, closing the right eye was generally easy after breaking the left one free.

Two or three minutes after closing my left eye, I had two fully functional eyelids. Shortly, my eye balls could roll around my skull, and I could see I was alone. I cursed myself when I thought about the pain in my chest that I had pushed to the back of my mind, it was now back in the front of my thoughts, throbbing away.

I lay there in pain that was in itself, paralyzing, unable to focus on anything else. I tried to aim my focus elsewhere, and found it rather easy.

That bitch had left me here deformed, I was seething. I began thinking what I would do and say to her once I broke free from this narcotic grasp. I didn't exactly know what I would do to Desire, after all, she was a lady, but hell with it, she has it coming.

Fueled by my anger, I gradually regained control of my limbs. I started off small, attempting to wiggle my fingers first, then hands, then the whole arm. I followed the same procedure with my legs. Toes, feet, then legs. I opened and closed my fists and all my hinged joints, rolled my ankles and wrists. The feeling was much like when your limbs fall asleep, but universal. My neck was still quite stiff though, and I couldn't tilt it very far, but could look side to side.

I was sitting up now, still seething, the pain in my chest faint. Looking around the room for a weapon, I saw nothing. Even the bottle of Marilyn Merlot was now gone. I decided my attempt at revenge wasn't going to work out, with no weapon, and a serious wound, I just had to get the hell out of here.

The house was a simple design, navigated easily by the hallway that began at the front door, opening up and emptying one into the delta that was the living room. Including the door Desire had dissappeared behind for the wine, there were a couple doors on each side of the hallway; bathrooms, closets, and other rooms I assumed. I was only a few feet way from the hall, which was a strait shot to the front door, but the kitchen was about halfway down the hallway, a large archway exposing anyone who went past. I recalled the clacking of the dead bolts, and realized if I had somehow slipped by the kitchen, she would be alerted soon with the sound of the heavy metal locks. My only hope to get out of here alive was that she was in another part of the house.

Silently making my way down the hall, I winced at the bright yellow-orange light from the kitchen spilling out of the archway and bathing the hall. It was dark in the hallway, before the kitchen archway of course, which was my only advantage if there was one.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a wall mirror across from me. It hadn't even occurred to me that I was shirtless, her having cut it away when she decided to play a game of operation. Dried and cracking blood appeared in streaks around my wound, but stopping to get a better look, I saw that the wound was healed, or looked cauterized. Certainly not healed that quickly, I thought. She must have cauterized it while I was out, I must have been out cold.

Why did she care? She could have left me there, and I'd be in much worse pain, as the wound was only a faint pain, although it prevented the inward motion of my right arm. I could have even bled to death, but saw that it was unlikely, she had left more of my pect than I first thought, even left the nipple. Still, I knew she left me deformed and began seething once again.

I proceeded back down the hallway, unsure of what I would do if she was in the kitchen, which I was sure she was. Coming within a few steps of the light stained portion of the hallway, I slowed, as I began to pickup a low moaning sound from the kitchen. I took a deep breath and held it, putting my back to the wall.

I stood there, listening to the low moaning. What is that? Trying to decide what the sound was served more as a distraction from my dire situation, rather than a matter of satisfaction. For this reason, I reached desperately for explanations that had no more foundation than a hobo's mansion. I thought it may be Brock, making love to who was my lady, right there in the kitchen, just to mock me. Or, I thought, it could have been another female making love to Desire, she was supposed to be a rug muncher anyway, right?

I finally pushed aside my erratic thoughts which had sidetracked my escape from the worst date of my life, which was saying a lot. I decided I was going to run for the door, it was no more than twelve to fifteen feet from where I stood now, but it looked twice as far.

Taking a deep breath, and clenching my fists as if to grasp an invisible staff of will, I took one more silent step to the edge of the dark territory of the hallway.

I thought for a moment what I was so afraid of, attempting to ward off my fear. There was no attack, she had merely poisoned me. But I remembered the cool and collective air about her as I stumbled around her living room, my body freezing up. Anyone with that composure in such a situation wasn't new to it, she had at least done this before, and anyone who had a grown man on their living room floor unconscious would certainly be prepared. Still, there was the undeniable feeling that something much worse was in store for me if I stayed, or worse, if I was caught in an attempt to escape.

I hadn't helped myself trying to forget the fear, only pushed it back for a moment, just for it to return twice as strong shortly after, like the battle for territory against a Napoleonic army.
The moaning sound from the kitchen was louder, an animal snarling was now audible from within the moan.

Time to go, I was starting to stall again. Ready...1...2.. Possibly making the last decision of my life, I ran for the door, the orange-yellow light washing over me. For a moment I was in what felt like a spotlight, then back in the darkness, not daring to look into the kitchen. As I came to the door, I more or less ran into it, and began working on the dead bolt locks. I knew now why she had three different dead bolts on top of the standard knob lock.
The clack of the top dead bolt was a refreshing sound, a sound that meant freedom, but was followed immediately by the scraping whine of a metal dining chair on a linoleum kitchen floor.
She was coming. There was probably initial shock to see me dart by, a shirtless, one and a half pected man, but the sound of her dead bolts snapping open had freed her from her momentary trance.

I flipped the second lock open, and got as far as the third tiny knob between my thumb and the side of my index finger, when I was slammed against the front door.

She was surprisingly strong, holding me with my face against the door, her forearm lodged into the nape of my neck crossways, and a cold prick in my back. I knew the cold pricking feeling was a knife, and by the feel, a large hunting or butcher knife.

"Move and I'll sever you're spine, lover boy."
I didn't move a muscle, only breathed in long, labored breaths.

I could feel the tip digging into my back as far as it could go without breaking skin, then she did break the skin. I barked in surprise and pain.

"Wow Jayce, valiant attempt."
I couldn't tell if she was mocking me or if she was genuinely impressed from my resurrection from probable death.

My body loosened, it was extremely taut against the door, but the exhaustion from the abuse my body had endured the past couple hours had caught up with me.

Desire must have taken the lost tension as a white flag, letting up on her death hold on me. I began to crumple to the floor, my energy seeming to have seeped out of me through the small puncture in my back. Desire let me collapse to the floor, and backed up almost to the yellow orangey light portion of the hall.

I lay in a fetal position on the floor, on the verge of tears, not wanting to bear the embarrassment of weeping in front of a female, even before my likely brutal death.

Turning my head to look more precisely at Desire, she was now bathed in the kitchen light, gripping the largest butcher knife I had ever seen, as I realized what the moaning had been.

She had been repulsively eating something, the region around her mouth sloppily smeared with red.

Like her seductive greeting when I had first arrived at her townhouse, this was a side of her I had never imagined, or even guessed she had the capability of, but at the looks of things, there were a lot of things I didn't know about Desire.
This was the least terrified I had been of her since I had awaken. Besides the overly large butcher knife, she looked like a child having just ravaged a jar of strawberry jam, it smeared down to almost her chin.

My helplessness must have been extremely obvious, as she reached in the back pocket of her jeans, which I now noticed she had changed into, and brought out a pack of Kool cigarettes, holding them toward me.

"Looks like you need one."
I shook my head weakly, then it hit me. I touched at the edges of my chest wound and realized what she had been eating so hungrily. She no longer looked so childish. That beautiful woman I had been quietly obsessing over the past couple years was simply a prosthetic for the vile, vicious, and most importantly, bloodthirsty beast that lay within.

"You...your eating me." I had to force
the words out as if the heinous statement would simply dissolve in the atmosphere of such an etiquette conscious, sanity praising, and orderly world.

She laughed dryly, more like a cackling sound.
"Oh, Jayce, don't flatter yourself."
She removed a cigarette from the pack for herself, and with the large knife in hand, tilted her head as she lit it.

"C'mon'," she said, "drag your ass into the kitchen, and don't try anything." She vaguely pointed at me with the knife, a sort of wave-wiggle in my direction with a slack wrist, which faced outward toward me.

I decided there was no reason to defy her at this point. She stood in the light of the hallway, wrists now notched into her sides, resembling a mother waiting impatiently on her uncooperative child.

I tried picking myself up, causing Desire to take a few steps forward when I grabbed the front door knob for support. I let go to relieve her suspicion, and began the struggle of trying to stand.
"No." She said.
"What?"
"Crawl."
"What?"
"You heard me Jayce," she said, "crawl."
I let my body go limp again, collapsing back onto the hardwood floors. This was a relief, as my energy and will were dwindling, but my real area of concern at this point, was that she was now humiliating me. Making me a part of her sick and twisted game of erotica.

This was some kind of turn on for her, watching me struggle, powerless against her unrelenting grip on my free will. I vaguely recalled hearing that ninety percent of non-ritual cannibalism was sexual.

In the dark and eerie corner of my mind that harbored the sick humor that emerged in times of extreme panic, fear, sadness, and anger, my own thoughts mocked me.

Everyone has that part of the brain that always laughed ruthlessly at them as they struggled with a personal crisis, seemingly related to the little devil that levitated above your head, opposite an angel, whispering secret evils into your ear, known as your conscience. The part of the brain that said, at least the hag left you some inheritance, as you stood over your estranged relative's doctored corpse, laying stiff and sincere in a coffin. The part of the brain that reminded you: Remember that night at the bar, loaded with Seagram's? You met miss right for the night. You tell yourself you don't remember leaving the bar, but you do. It may be a random assortment of thighs, breasts and smooth, sensual skin, but that was plenty. A sufficient counter offensive, even if it was only once. This, while you learned of a lover's unfaithful activity. Currently, that deep, dark, and cruel division of my brain mocked: According to your vague recollection about the brain patterns of cannibals, she actually does like you, she just expresses it by slicing off chunks of you and wolfing you down like a block of cheese. Maybe you're not a loser, imagine that!
"That's it Jayce."
I had to admit, crawling was probably a lot easier than standing up and walking would have been.

"Come on, almost there."
She had a touch of impatience in her voice.
In the back of my mind, I cursed myself for agreeing to play her little game of submission. The thought that I had no choice wasn't viable, if I wasn't going come out of this house alive either way, I might as well have gone out fighting, rather than serving myself on a platter, maybe literally.

Finally, I sat on the kitchen floor, leaning against the floor cabinet below the sink. Satisfied with my position, Desire herself finally came into the kitchen, the cigarette at the tip of her smeared red lips, knife in hand.
She sat at the table in the kitchen, in the groove of the bay windows, where we had dined hours earlier. I looked around the kitchen for a clock to see how long it had been exactly. My eyes slid upon the digital readout of the microwave: 1:27. I assumed A.M., the night still visible behind the closed shades of the bay window.
"That clock right?"
I nodded in the direction of the microwave.
As she saw it, and admittedly as I saw it as well, it didn't matter if I knew the time, just one of the last requests of a dying man. She had offered me a cigarette, I assumed she was giving me the dignity of simple requests.
"Yes...why, you got a date?"

She burst out in her cackle laugh that I had never endured until tonight. Coming from a source that symbolized beauty, it was much more hideous than it would have been coming from say, Lucifer himself.

After her laughter subsided, she dabbed at the blood--my blood--which stained her lips, and the surrounding area. It didn't help much, blood had that uncanny ability to dry rather quickly. She didn't seem to care, as if the gesture of civility was enough. She left a sort of blood moustache, the region around her mouth still a faint red color as well.

I saw a ceramic plate on the table, but from my plane of view, couldn't see what was on it. I didn't want to either, I imagined a ravaged and mottled pectoral muscle. I didn't know whether it was or not, but what I imagined was raw, just because your mind had that way of imagining the most gruesome image available.

I turned away from the table to sterilize the image from my thoughts.

Only the sound of Desire sucking in and exhaling her cigarette was in the air. When she breathed in, it sounded of the crackling of a small fire that was the cigarette. Her exhalation seemed to be inaudible, only given away by the sound of smoke being forced between her lips.
The acrid smoke hung in the air, silently whirling and collapsing into itself. It seemed to be in league with silence, like a fog creeping through the night.

I located a wine glass on the counter to my left, a few maroon gulps of wine left, which was identical to those we had sipped from earlier. The glass that had me collapse in the living room.
Desire must have caught my gaze, as she interrupted my thoughts.

"What, you want more wine?"
She spared me her awful cackle this time, only allowing a modified version as a chuckle.

She brought a wine glass into view off of the table, it had been blocked from my line of sight on the floor. The glass was an identical glass to the one on the counter, completing the missing pair. She sipped from hers, an action that was equivalent to her laughing in my face. She clearly set aside my tainted glass on the counter. She was simply showing me that I wasn't lucky enough for her to mix the two glasses up.
Suddenly, I wanted a cigarette, or at least as far as Desire would know. An outrageous plan had occurred to me. The percentages were slim, I didn't need a Pentium to tell me that much, but the guilt in giving myself up was eating at me even more ravenously than Desire was.
"You might want to try that wine again, it may be a little painful if you don't."
She was blowing at the end of her cigarette, not looking at me as she spoke.

"Well," I said. "I'll think about it, think I can get that cigarette now?"
"Sure."
She grinned as if this was part of her plan, little did she know, it was part of mine.
"Didn't think I'd get a good boy like you to smoke."
"Well it doesn't matter now, does it."
The plan would take a considerable amount of strength, something I didn't have a whole lot of, if any. My muscles had been drained, and I had even lost most of one, and as I subtly re-positioned myself on the floor to gain leverage, my body began to ache.

She stood and walked over to me, grabbing at her back pocket once she stood over me. She pulled out the pack of smokes, pulling one slightly out for me to finish the job, but I didn't intend to.
I reached for the pack of cigarettes, deliberately being methodical. I reached, reached. Then I reached past the green pack of Kools, and grasped her wrist as tight as I could.
I felt my fingers meet at the other side of her wrist, as she dropped the pack in surprise. I leaned to my right for leverage, and flung her across the kitchen floor. She had been deceptively strong, but still embodied a small, feminine frame, allowing me to send her a considerable distance away. It would be a close call to tell whether it was far enough.

My body ached from the sudden movement and exertion, and I still had a lot to do. It helped that she slid some on the linoleum, her arms clawing wildly at anything that could stop her.
I pulled myself up by the lip of the sink, my chest wound coming alive with pain once again. I could feel the cool heat of adrenaline pumping through my body, more importantly, through my legs. I wouldn't have time to run by her and unlock the front door, although it occurred to me she hadn't re-locked the door. Still, that left one more dead bolt lock and the knob lock, not nearly enough time.

I was up and running in Desire's direction. All this had happened in a matter of seconds, and she was already about to push herself up. She didn't have time to do so though, and as I came within her reach, grabbed at my legs, causing me to stumble as I turned past her down the hallway, deeper into the house.

My running legs may have kicked her in the chest or somewhere effective as I ran by, she let out an emphatic "Ooomph" sound.

Heading back into the depths of hell, I came to her lit living room, flicking off the light. My plan was mostly add lib at this point.
I slid to the side of the entrance of the living room, but in the room.

A moment later when I heard the approaching thump of her footsteps, I stuck my foot out in the entrance way. It was juvenile, but concealed in the darkness, it was the most effective plan one could come up with in less than a second.

As soon as her darkened shape appeared in the entrance way, she yelped in surprise, tripping violently into the living room.

She had come rushing in so hard, it was painful when her feet tangled over mine.

I heard a hard thud, and a clang that I assumed was her colliding with the glass and steel coffee table in front of the sofa.

I ran back to the front of the house, turning back into the kitchen. As I grabbed her wine glass off the dining table, I felt foolish.

I had been so intent on executing my plan, it didn't occur to me that this time, I had bought enough time to unlock the remaining locks of the front door.

It was too late, I placed her new glass on the table. I was done. The plan had been done with time to spare, she hadn't arrived back in the kitchen.

I figured there wasn't enough time, but ran for the front door anyway--and was met in the archway of the kitchen by a screeching mass of animal hunger and rage. She smashed into me whil she was in mid air, from the side. Wrapping her legs around my waist, she bit into my shoulder before I had even landed on the kitchen floor.

When I hit the linoleum harshly, she was still latched onto me tightly, as well as her bite. She bit deeper and harder, causing me to scream so loud, I was almost sure the neighbors would hear through the walls. I still knew it was unlikely though, townhouses, especially those as new as this one, were often built with almost sound proof materials in the walls. It was to help people cope when they spent their life's earnings on an attached home.

I screamed so shrilly my throat hurt, only causing her to pull at the chunk of my shoulder that she held tightly between her teeth. She was trying to tear away the piece of my shoulder like an attack dog would an intruder.

When I was almost sure she was going to pull off a substantial portion of my shoulder, she stopped. She stood as I writhed and moaned loudly on the floor, and savagely kicked me in the ribs, possibly fracturing one.

My shoulder was bleeding freely, flowing warm over my arm onto the floor.
She walked across the kitchen in long swift steps.
"Oh Jaysen, you were being so good."
Clutching my right arm, I tried to will the pain away, with long, exaggerated blinks of my eyes.
She opened a drawer, reached in, and pulled out a large silver hand gun. I recognized it immediately, a .357 magnum, the hand cannon.
"I tried being civil Jaysen, I really did, but you clearly, can't be trusted."
Her mouth and chin were freshly soaked in blood, dripping from her chin onto her shirt and the floor.

"I liked you a lot Jaysen, so I'm going to finish my wine, then re-paint these walls with your brains."
She seemed truly exasperated by my sudden rebellion, and I relaxed some, as everything was going as planned, I was beginning to have doubts for a moment there.

She opened the cylinder, then snapped it shut when she confirmed the bullets. She brought up the gun with both hands, in a shooter's stance.
She certainly was ready to use the firearm, it was one that definitely required the harness of a shooters stance. She kept the barrel aimed toward me, and side stepped her way to dining table.
I would have normally been terrified with a gun aimed directly at me, and from such close range, but I was intently focused on her movements toward the table.

She didn't sit, but instead took the wine glass, and drained it with one quick gulp.
I could see blood stains on the glass where she had drank.

I could no longer feel the pain in my shoulder or ribs, the excitement that the nightmare might end was overwhelming.

"Now," she said. "Any last words?"
Her evil cackle returned, and I realized my plan still had a problem.

She could shoot me now, before my plan could go into effect. I had to hope she would stall.
"Yes, wait, before you shoot."

My words came out unexpectedly, like I hadn't been the one controlling my lips when they came pleading out.

"Oh?" She probed. "I've got to hear this."
"Please, don't kill me, I'm sorry, please."
That, I did conduct as it left my lips. She smiled wildly. It was what she wanted to hear, so I continued, buying myself precious seconds.
"Please," I pleaded. "Don't."
My words were exhausted and forced, but they were convincing enough.
"Aw Jaysen, are you scared?"
I nodded, I was being sincere this time. More time.

She made an expression on her face to mock a pout excessively, pressing out her bloody bottom lip.
"Ah, well, I'm sorry, but I think those are enough last words."

Time was up.

She cocked the revolver, when suddenly, she staggered backward, only the counter behind her preventing her from completely falling over.
After regaining her balance, she tried to re-align herself and aim, and as she did so, her neck suddenly went limp.

It looked as if her neck had been replaced with a rag doll's, her head falling sideways onto her shoulder, her mouth hanging ajar.

She fell forward, but let off a shot that sounded like cannon fire in the confined space. I felt the slug scream by my skull, missing by inches and tearing a hole in the wall behind me large enough for me to fit my fist.

The left side of her body clipped the end of the table as she crashed down, causing her to turn as she fell and land on her side. The gun came clattering to the floor belatedly, having been delayed by landing on the chair first.

I kept my distance from the body, not taking any chances, but brought myself to sit up against the wall as the drugs in her glass of wine, formerly mine, took effect.

Her legs began to spasm and she gazed blankly under the table, it looked as if she wouldn't be as lucky as I was.

I stared at her until she stopped twitching, when I was sure she was harmless and I struggled to stand. My ribs and shoulder ached unmercifully, and my chest wound had began an itching burn.

"I think I will take that smoke," I said aloud, to no one in particular.
I walked over to the spilled pack of cigarettes, bent painfully to pick one up and slipped it in my mouth, unlit.

A beer would be good too.

I trudged over to the refrigerator, surely a woman that ate her dates alive, enjoyed a nice cold brew now and then.

I got to the fridge and pulled it open, with surprising difficulty, and quickly regretted it.
Lining the shelves of the refrigerator were many assorted human body parts, clearly male.

There was a shelf with all legs, cut from the knee on down, the bloody stumps cauterized, much like my chest wound. There were both hairy legs, and hairless. Black legs, white legs, and brown legs.

The shelf above was similar, only arms cut from the elbow, the same variety of styles. Some may have matched the legs.

Even higher above that was a clear plastic bowl piled with bloody clumps, some the grooved texture of muscle, others the smooth texture of organs.

I turned away and vomited on the kitchen floor. When I finished, I wiped my mouth with the top of my wrist, but tasted bile in the back of my throat again as I realized I had probably dined on another man's pect or something equally as sick, just hours before.

I held from vomiting a second time, but still battled the thought of eating the flank steak of John Doe.

I had dropped the cigarette before I vomited, and picked it up off the floor. I went to the stove and lit it, and returned to the fridge, which I had left open. I looked inside the door, ignoring the contents in the main body of the fridge.

The shelves inside the refrigerator door were stocked with bottles of Corona, which I had spotted in the corner of my eye as I gaped in horror at the contents in the main body.

I grabbed three bottles at the necks with one fist, and eagerly opened the first of them, washing down the vomit taste in my mouth.

I emptied the first in under a minute, and began on the second, taking a long drag from the cigarette that sparked a coughing fit.

This, I thought, was going to be a hell of a story to tell to Brock, and the cops for that matter.

I sat in the kitchen, finishing the next two beers almost as quickly as the first, growing unaware of the motionless figure at my feet.