She’d been blindfolded when she’d stepped past the threshold, but it was one of those doorways where there’s a difference in air pressure. The building smothered her, an ominous hug that was just a little too clingy. It felt old, a few generations past the obsequious grandmother and into proper ancestor territory. The floor was uneven underneath her heels, warped wood that had decided to get lively once left to its own devices for a few decades.
His hand on her arm was the only thing that gave her any comfort. That, she imagined, was the idea. It wasn’t like it mattered; she still clung to him like he was a buoy in the storm; understanding the process that went through his mind never seemed to diminish the power of it all. He was better than a magician, after all. His tricks stayed powerful, no matter how much you knew about them.
They’d been walking for only a few minutes, but with the way her mind meandered, she felt almost wearing by the time he lead her to a chair, pressing down on her shoulder, silently ordering her to sit. So she did, exposed arse pressed to rough, worn plastic. The air felt cloying, angry that its slumber had been so rudely disturbed. She was quite sure it wasn’t acting the same way to him.
She could hear his breath, getting louder and quieter as he moved closer and farther from her. Proportions were always emphasised and embellished when she was blindfolded, as if her ears needed her eyes to check their figures, otherwise they just wildly guessed. The room felt like a cavern, and he was a giant who’d stolen her away.
And then he spoke.
There was no sound. The barest of rustles against as his tie slid against his shirt each time he took a breath. The stillness unnerved her.
"Take a deep breath, and then shout. As loud as you can." There was a few moment’s pause, that stillness creeping up on her like an assassin. "I’ll know." He added, a whisper of that humour that thrilled her slinking along with the stillness. She felt a smile curl across her lips.
The ‘why’ wasn’t something she was concerned with. The ‘why’ wasn’t something she could know, not until it was through. The ‘why’ was what kept her up at nights, had driven her to insomnia, and put her at his feet. The ‘why’ was why she had him; to know the why, and feed her the bits and pieces she needed to know. He was the why.
And so she took a breath. She felt her chest swell.
She took another, on top of the last, the air layering in her lungs like uncomfortable bedfellows. She waited until it felt like it was going to burst out of her regardless of what she was going to do.
And then she screamed.
It was bigger than her. The kind of sound that makes birds fly. Camera cut to trees, still, scream, a flock in the air. Miles from the source. The kind of sound that wakes the dead, if you’re one for hyperbole. She could feel it bouncing off the walls, she could imagine peeling wallpaper giving up and tumbling to the ground.
And she didn’t stop. The air in her lungs seemed to be rooting for her, letting her go far longer than she’d expect, the sound just yawning out, stretching just as the volume started to decrease. Then she shuddered, the scream falling into a sob, and then a desperate gulp of air sucked in. She visibly deflated, chest hung over the back of the chair, spent.
His hand was in her hair. She hadn’t noticed it get there. The stillness was back, but she could hear his smile. He pressed it to her forehead, before that beautiful mouth moved down to her ear. His whisper was almost offensive in its quietness.
"You, my beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful girl, needed that." She wanted to cry, but she didn’t know why.
"You are always so perfect, the picture of discipline. Mypicture of discipline. That’s how I’ve painted you.” As rare as it was, she adored it when he spoke in these short epithets, leaving just enough gap between each for the words to sink in, to give her a moment to mull.
"But you are not all that you allow out into the world. You’re fire, and brimstone, and lightning, flowing under the surface of the tranquillity that rests on the lake. You are a primal force, beautiful girl, and while I may have tamed you, it’s still there." His mouth got closer, each word kissing the sensitive flesh of her ear.
"You need to let it out, disturb the waters, and throw a fucking tornado into the air. Burn the ground so that new life can sprout forth. Scream away all my fucking metaphors so that you can be who you are, unbridled, if only for a moment.”
She wanted to say it was too much. She wanted to say anything. But all that came out was an exhausted mewl that made him chuckle. Anyone else and she’d have hated them. He gave her comfort. The hand in her hair twisted, a thousand reassurances pulling against her scalp.
"Now." The whisper was gone, and with it, all the anxiety that had just flowed to her surface.
"Let’s do that again."
(Source: amphora37, via pull-my-strings)