I stepped into the house, and knew she was there. She'd left her black strappy stilettos by the door. One was lying on its side, the other barely balancing up. I found her curled up in my favorite chair in front of the fire. She smirked up at me, a seductive, slow one. I made a point not to meet her eyes. I knew already they were a deep green. She had the Catcher in the Rye open on her lap. It was a worn abused book, and I didn't wonder that she'd read it a hundred thousand times. The air in the room was dead. It was stale and hard to breathe and a slow sweet scent permeated the area. She always smelled of it. The setting winter sun sliding through the windows did nothing to lessen the stifling atmosphere.
I left the room before she had a chance to speak. I made my purposeful way upstairs, packed a few shirts and two pairs of pants quickly. I saw her startled painted mask of sadness watch me from the door standing there in her hose.
----
A twisted sense of calm was allowed in the motel room. It was a tense calm, that was wearing thin the longer I stayed from home. Yet I knew that's where she was and didn't wonder, not for the first time, if perhaps her power didn't stretch further than I knew. I dragged my eyes around the nearly barren room. It was dusky, and damp and had smelled of sweat for days now. The curtains were the lightest shade of blue that still managed to be blue and not white. They hung limp in the sodden air, and almost did a good job of covering the bars on the windows. Sighing, I knew it was time and once again packed the five shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans.
----
She had re-arranged the house in my absence. Chairs where small tables used to be and empty space where none ought to be. The sense of unfamiliarity was not strange, it was her punishment for me when I left the house at her arrival. The twisting in my gut doubled as I walked through a strangers home, knowing that things weren't as they were supposed to be.
With silent footsteps I made my way up stairs. I tiptoed past the bedroom, avoiding the sweet smell and incense, knowing she knew exactly where I was.
I locked myself in the guest room. It was just as impersonal as the Motel 6 room. But her familiar sense of stillness filled the room, making it fractionally more bearable. I flung the window open hoping to dispel it for a more calm, quiet feeling, but the air moved neither in nor out, and her smell surrounded me.
----
Everyday I leave as early as possible and return as late as possible. Although the freshness outside is still stagnant, it is less stifling than the sweetness and stillness inside the house. She has pervaded the entire household. Now reminders of her cling to everything and its nearing impossible to breathe.
Out of doors the sweetness still clings to my clothes and I can feel tendrils of the stillness wrapping around me, the staling freshness invades my senses creating a pleasant cacophony behind my eyes.
I can always catch her watching me from behind the stained lacy curtains as I near the front door. The deep green boring into the base of my skull, and making my stomach churn.
----
As the sweetness and the stillness of the house became suffocating I made my way towards the bedroom. Her incense burned strong and it smelled of sweet basil and orange blossoms. Behind the door she lay posed on the bed; she had one arm stretched and her head tilted back exposing her neck. The way her lingerie folded, where one leg was bent, made a complex pattern of lines. In the half-light they were indistinct and bled into and between each other. Her brassiere pushed and pulled perfectly, in a manner that made her most appealing. The sweetness and the strangulating stillness wrapped comfortingly around me. Dark green eyes trapped mine, and my heart raced madly and my stomach twisted and tied itself in unpleasant knots.
As she stood the fascinating lines disappeared and I found myself staring at smooth skin instead. A carefully manicured fingertip dragged itself across my chest, and sharp fingernails dug into the skin of my cheeks as she turned my face to hers.
Her pretty porcelain veil smiled its painted lips and my heart stopped.
Her name slid slowly from my lips, and I crumpled to the floor.
----
Though she was gone, the stillness slunk through the house. I would find a shirt here, or a pair of panties there. One of her strappy black stilettos remained by the door, toppled over on its side. I couldn't get the smell of the incense out of the air. And whenever I found one of her things, the sweet smell of Anxiety would curl seep out, suffocating and caressing me.
Finis.
This is a quick thing I did back in Sept. '08 and i just remembered about it. so yea. what's everyone think?