He heard the sound of rushing water flooding down against the porcelain tub in a back room. The door was closed, yet he could still make out the distinct steps of the drain being plugged, the spinning of a cd player as it warmed up, the gentle whoosh as her clothes hit the floor. Even the delicate ripple as her first toe entered the hot water was noticed by the young man, whose only preoccupation was registering everything regarding the lady.

Slowly, a quiet beat was distinguishable through the noise of the quickly filling tub. The soft music of "oohs" and "aahs" with just a little flute calmed her, and was almost always present when she was in need of a bubble bath for relaxation. A sigh accompanied her as she sank further down, almost completely covered by a layer of foam. He could picture the scene clearly in his mind, not a detail missing from his mental image, long before he opened the door.

Dimly lit by a heat lamp, the room flickered in the golden light of half a dozen candles. The dark haired girl held one, lightly dragging her index finger along the inside of the glad containing the hot wax, seemingly unbothered by the heat of the flame licking sporadically at her skin. She had a strange obsession with it—watching the small bit of fire grow and smolder, causing the wax to melt under its intense head and then cool once more in a painfully gradual, repetitive process.

Every now and again she felt the urge to pour the molten substance over herself and feel the burn as it hardened onto her skin. For the time being, she only had the courage to wipe her finger along it as if licking clean a bowl of uncooked chocolate cake. After a short while, her hands grew cold from their exposure to the air above the bath, and she set it aside, slipping back into the water, letting the scorching liquid close over her hands, her chest, her face. Here she was entirely separate from any worry in the world.

Of course, she could only stay there for so long before her lungs began to ache for a little bothersome necessity known as air, and she burst back through to a relieving chest full of warm, thick humidity. It was hardly refreshing, just the way she preferred it. Content with her current situation, she reached a hand out of the tub, dripping across the floor as she grasped the stem of a wine glass full of golden liquid. She pressed it to cherry red lips, whose color had not faded even slightly when she flooded them over the moment before, and let out a pleased, "Aaah." Just as she liked it: sweet at first, with an abrupt reminder of the bitterness that founded its very being.

She glanced across the room to the make-up table where he had come in and draped her dress over the chair's back. In some mysterious way, she never knew when he entered the bathroom to give her her clothes and left again. Clearly, it had been the exact moment she had disappeared beneath the water's surface, but it happened every time. Somehow he just seemed to know.

Smiling at the thought, she took another sip of the poison she drank and lifted her hand from the water's incubating warmth. Drawing it across the cold tile in dreamy, aloof patterns, she left behind a train of soapy water, detailing the journey her fingers took through the aimless thoughts pondered during a bubble bath for relaxation.

He could almost hear her smile as he lingered just outside the door. Holding a key up before his face, one that he had swiped from the counter as he laid her dress out, he began to doubt, wondering how quickly she might find it missing. There was no time for hesitation now, though. He had the key; he could not return it, and so he had no choice but to rapidly find the lock he sought. Rushing down the hall to the office, he softly shut the door and flipped on a lamp. Time was not in excess.

If he wanted to find what she had taken from him, he would have to hurry. A secret box would no doubt be difficult to find, especially one containing something so important. Desperately, he searched drawers, bookshelves, and file cabinets, then underneath and behind everything, in all the small, dark cracks. Still, he did not find the box.

The sound of water flooding down the drain met the man's ears with an unwelcome suddenness. Already? He would only have another couple moments before she was dressed and out of the bathroom. His time was cut short, and he could not be caught snooping through her things. Its location was not the office anyhow.

Heading out of the office, he went into her bedroom where we was more expected to be found, reading, or something of the sort. But he did not start into any activities right away. There was still the dresser, the closet, and beneath the bed to search. Surely, he would never finish, but he was not about to give up either.

By that time, the girl was out. She had seen the missing key, and—electing to skip dressing—she went after the little thief in just her bra and boy-short underwear, not minding much the state he would see her in. Nothing important was exposed, and she had to get that key back as quickly as possible. As she passed her office, a suspicious feeling told her things had been moved. She stepped in, looking around at where he had been, what he had touched. A frown dug a crease across her face as the desk became a victim of the nearest sharp object: a letter opener that she stabbed into its surface. That boy would have to be taught!

"Give me the key, Darren," she ordered, forceful yet gentle with her words as she entered the room, clearly having replaced her mask of composure.

Shocked by the sound of her voice, the young man whirled around in the middle of the room. A tingle struck his core as his heart sank at the realization that he was caught. Paralyzed, he could hardly stumble out the far too obvious question, "W-what key?"

She chose not to clarify. There was absolutely no need to when he so openly admitted to having it. Taking a single step closer, she calmly licked her lips and repeated the demand. Darren backed away one step, closer to the closet. He was not certain of his ability to resist her pressuring. Not that her complete lack of clothing helped his determination any. Unsettled, he stumbled, fumbling for words, trying to blink his way out of the daze as she drew even closer.

"Look, Dear," she continued, stroking his chin affectionately once he had backed himself against a wall. "I know you have it." As near as they had come to the closet, she found a pair of red cloth heels close by and slipped into them one-by-one while she added, "You know I want it back. And I know you don't want to see me upset about it, do you Darren?"

She had been just the height where, looking up at Darren, her eyes met his nose, but shoed she could look down upon him. Aware that she was more intimidating in her new form, she flaunted her ability to disarm the young man, running a perfectly painted reddish-orange finger down the center of his face, over his nose, slightly grazing his parted lips as she reached down to grab the thin tie at his collar.

Scowl coming over her flawless face, she yanked him closer by the throat and growled, "Give me that key Darren!"

Gasping, he staggered forward with the unexpected force, but was not yet ready to give in. This bullying was usual for her, and with how important it was to him this time, he would not fold so easily. He cast his eyes away from her, a last effort in the strain of resisting. It was seeming impossible.

The letter opener came out again, sliding smoothly along his jaw to his ear as she dragged him a few more inches inferior to herself. "You'll hand it over, won't you?" She cooed, innocent as ever, with the Devil inside always infecting her voice. "There you go Darren," she encouraged as his resolve faltered and his hand inched forward. "Be a good boy and give Mommy her key back." The lady continued to coax him gently, enticing his compliance with a ruse of kind words. A slight movement of the weapon against his face signaled him that the artificial politeness was nearing its end, however.

This was the truth, as she finished drawing out the key with the threat, "Or I'll jab this dull, golden letter opener through your hand!"

He had no doubt about it. Loosening his grip on the symbol of hope, he presented her with what belonged to her. Another day, another time, he would try again. Though, it would certainly never be so easy again.

Returning to her normal, cheerful disposition, she swiped the object from his outstretched hand with a bounce and a giddy grin. "Thanks." She knew she had defeated him, and she took great pleasure in boasting of it. Tucking the source of dispute safely behind the padding of her maroon plaid bra, she released her hold on the boy. He straightened up, but was not free yet. Without hesitation, she went directly from evil to flirtatious, embracing his waist dreamily and swaying her hips side to side. For her, there was no difference between the two moods.

Tugging the front of his shirt free from his slacks, she slid her hands under to stroke the gap between muscle and bone, causing him to tense up. Disinterested glare in his eyes, he knew he would detest her if he were not enchanted by her sickening spell. It was here that remarking on everything in a situation became a problem.

The way she brushed the soaked hair from her face, yet it only clung to the skin at her neck; the slightest variation in the intensity as she grasped his waist; the tiniest bit of pudge that showed itself right at the boundary where silk met leg—all of it drew his attention so, impairing any logical thought. Don't look her in the eye, he reminded himself, hoping vainly to resist. She'll eat you whole.

Knowing him to be holding back, the lady decided a little prompting was in order. Batting her eyes at him with a childish begging, she pressed her body against his, damp skin sticking to his shirt. The scent of vanilla bath oils and smoke from extinguished candles greeted his senses, as she worked her hands up to the back of his neck, no longer concealed beneath the cloth of Darren's top.

"Love me, Darren," she whispered almost inaudibly directly into the man's ear, exhaling a surplus breath of hot air in expectation of what she would get. It left a tingly feeling in his limbs, a side effect of the illness he could not seem to shake off. "Tonight I just want you," she paused, "Lover Boy."

Raising a hand to scratch his cheek, he tried to appease her with a small discontented kiss. Did she really have to do this today? Not that she would understand his hesitation—thoughts that cannot possibly prevail in a man's mind when such an opportunity presented itself. Her right hand came around his neck, grasping his at his cheek, asking for more. He was probably going to regret this.

He kissed her again, a little longer, more expressionate. Then, being directed from the small of her back like his partner in an intricate dance, she was informed she should crawl into bed. As she playfully kicked out of her shoes from sitting on the edge, he leaned in, propping a knee on the bed between her legs and took another taste of the cherry Chap Stick beneath the red coloring. Only one thought dominated his decision making as she once again grabbed the tie beneath his collar and pulled it undone.

Still, the lady could sense a delay, a lack of desire to be in the moment there with her, in the way he neglected to initiate every next move. Thus, she was going to have to make things interesting herself. Conveniently, the solution was within her reach. Wrapping her legs around his hips threw him off just the right way that he landed sprawled out across the bed. She was perched atop his mid-section, with easy access to anything, sticky, damp thighs pulling on the bared skin at his sides.

"When were you going to join me?" She inquired, toying with the bottom button on the front of his shirt. She intended to undo it, then?

"Lenna," he muttered, another inclination to ask her to stop, completely tossed aside as the two sides came apart and she leaned closer against his chest.

A crease formed in her skin as her belly sucked in toward her arched back, held by a breath of anticipation. She pinned down his arms—forcing him to sink into the fluffy bedspread—in hopes of witnessing the strength as he pulled away. Clearly—she could tell by the awe-struck look in his eyes—she would have to provoke that as well.

Flattening her body completely against his, like she was posing on the beach, she folded her legs at the knee, crossing her ankles. She was balanced perfectly atop two thirds of him when he dared to attempt another kiss. She held it, persisting longer than expected, and then pulled away two inches, licking away the deliciousness from her lips.

Her cheek lightly brushed against his as she laid down her face to whisper, "Do you want your key Darren?" The question was vicious, causing Darren to tense instantly.

Half of him broken free from the daze of love, he answered, "You don't know what that means to me," between pecks he could not help but place on her neck.

"No?" She asked just as he exhaled, and then sank closer together, separated one from the other only by the object in question. Would he try for it?

"Avenge me," she suggested, mischievous tinge in her barely audible words, biting roughly on the skin between ear and jaw. "Repay me what I've done."

And he sat. Exactly as she desired, he raised from under her. Muscles pulsed to push both their weights from the bed. As the incline increased, she slipped down into his lap, stroking the strength of the arms which lifted her, following behind his shirt that slowly drifted off them, down to intertwine her fingers with his. He did not look at the position in which she landed. Actually, he did, but not for long as, well…her hazel eyes betrayed the freckles on her face, making them impossible to not notice. Once before he had counted them. How many were there? Thirty-seven, if he remembered correctly.

Finally, the reason for sitting up came back to mind: vengeance. He had to find a way behind the miss's bra without her specifically thinking such was the reason. Then, he would have to head somewhere else first, but she held his hands captive. Was this a challenge in creativity? She was hardly interested by the little details, though; she liked pain.

Pulling his legs from beneath her, he sat to his knees before the lady and embraced her lips once more. It was as good a place as any to start. Migrating away, he got her neck twice, the second time creating a little suction for variety's sake. At that, she flinched in a suppressed giggle with the thought of hiding it the next day. It had tickled a bit. Still moist, her hair clung to his face, a result of having no hands, and he moved down further, out of its way.

Her skin was pure white, no blemishes at all, like a painter's canvas, ready to be soiled by a rascally boy's touch. This was the point where he would generally get carried away. A sudden heaviness in his chest reminded him to breathe between phases. Phases that were steps in reaching a small, inaccessible nook.

Abrupt and unexpected was her reaction, twisting the arms in her control until he winced and backed off. Yes, he remembered now, the key was near there. Too close. He just moved on, lifting her to sit high on her knees, he pressed his face against her thin stomach. How he wished that right then she had her belly ring on, but she did not. He would have to be content with the lines at her hips, arrows pointing to what he did not yet have.

His single wince at the strain she put on his muscles awakened the girl from her current passive state of accepting only. She released his hands and began pulling at long strands of his hair each time he moved closer. Now free, his hands instinctively approached the same forbidden kingdom from below, pinching teasingly at the back of her upper thighs. The muscles tightened in a protective response, yet Darren managed to undermine the guarding wall and slide his hands up to two hills they should not visit.

She did not bother feigning to be upset. She liked it too much, which may not have been clear when the reply was acrylic nails digging through the skin of his shoulders. It was uncertain whether what next trickled down his back were her fingers, or blood. Perhaps both, but it moved him to rise, ascending equally quickly to meet the descending sensation. As he slowly rose on his knees, the hands followed suit, continuing on a progression that led them out, over her hips, up along her sides, tracing her figure until they reached once more the impeding feel of elastic.

His palms rested at the bottom of her ribs, causing a bit too much pressure as he lifted her a tad higher to once more be face to face. Giving up at fumbling with the buckle on his belt, her fingers found themselves drawn to his jaw. She had to hold him, caress his face when the kiss grew more passionate. An urge pushed her to close her teeth around his bottom lip hard enough to pierce the sensitive skin and draw blood, a taste she loved to have on her lips. While Darren liked the subtle cherries and vanillas he could find on her, she had often dubbed the liquid now flowing between their mouths as the 'taste of Darren.'

Accustomed to it by now, it hindered not his goal to eliminate obstacles from her pure skin, and he simply squeezed a bit harder at her ribs while working on the strap that held her bra around the back. The crushing sensation as he grasped her chest caught her by surprise, and a gentle thumb stroking his cheek suddenly dug in, tearing a streak apart that instantly began to bleed. It was entirely unexpected and rather painful to be stabbed by something so dull. He gasped, trying to take in air directly from her mouth.

Apologetic, but totally turned on by the strange ending to the kiss, she turned his head to the side, placing her lips on the accidental scratch. Perhaps it was a true apology; most likely it was an excuse for another taste of Darren. Either way, he had wisely moved on from her sides and found the latch at her back. Undoing one of the two hooks, the loosening of the bra alerted Lenna to impending danger. Fingertips pressed roughly on the nerves behind the ear as a warning, and she shoved him back to the bed.

He did not understand. Long ago he had forgotten the key she assumed he sought. She, on the other hand, was far from letting her guard down in that regard. Grabbing the neck tie that was still within reach, she threaded it behind his head and began to fiddle with it, toying with the idea of tying it. Staked over him on hands and knees, she could only move one side of the tie at a time, and yet it was not at all long before fiddling became choking when the two sides twisted around one another and pulled tightly in opposite directions. She knew it; she held it there, excited look on her face as she thought to lay her weight once more upon the already struggling chest.

"You thought you'd have it so easy," she noted, finding amusement in his punishment for the failure, as she forced a breath of air from his lungs that he would not be able to take back in.

Have what? barely crossed his mind. Eyes widened with the realization that this hurt. As hard as he sucked in, no air could enter. Her chest rose and fell as she blew a mocking breath lightly against his cheek, but his would not. When his bottom jaw began to shake, he managed a strained swallow as if trying to clear some blockage. What good would that do when the source was outside? Having waited, letting her enjoy herself to a reasonable state of excruciating pain and semi-consciousness, he came to the conclusion that she was not letting go. He would have to break himself free.

Bringing his hands to his throat, he tried to pry the cloth away, but Lenna just pulled tighter, pinching his skin in the twisted knot as a blurred smirk spread gleefully across her face. That desperate struggling was so appealing on him. She got drunk on it, mesmerized by the look of fear that it may not end, and completely forgot that she would eventually want to let up, allow him to breathe a little. She wanted for it to last forever.

Beginning to grow frantic, the young man swatted at her arms, pulled on the tie in any direction, trying everything to break the restraint. An elbow just happened to successfully bump her elbow, and she released her grip, if only for a second. Lungs freed, he took a deep breath but found that Lenna had recovered quickly, wrapping her mouth around his. For the second time that night, he had gasped from the lady's mouth and received absolutely nothing. Frustrated, he pounded a fist on the bed as the corners of his vision turned to black. He hated when she did that, especially when he really needed to breathe.

Severely weakened, his arms could barely manage it, but when she reached for the tie again, they had no choice but to muster enough strength to lift her. Palms against her chest, he pulled her from his lips, from his noose, and from harming him. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to deeply appreciate the oxygen returning to his blood stream. When he opened them again, vision finally becoming clear, he instantly noticed that beneath his hands rested her somewhat squished breasts, and right between peeked out just barely the silver head of something he just remembered wanting.

In an instant's time, the key was in his hand without the lady noticing. She was far too pleased with his near death experience to catch the subtle grift. She was not going to simply allow him to hold her away from the action, however, and she brought her knees forward, once again pinning his arms out of the game. When they hit the bed, he quickly hid the key in a fold of the blanket. This was again his only goal and interest.

The lady reached another time for the cloth draped across his neck, clutching it just as he defensively rolled from underneath her weight. On top for only a moment, he hardly had time even to realize he would have to do something there before momentum helped her roll him off again. She had grabbed his wrists to do it, and he had no clue how that was for her until both his hands were tied above him to the headboard with his neck tie. Darren sighed in disappointment. Apparently, this would not be over any time soon.

As they were again both sitting, her on his lap, she decided it was a good chance to get off his pants. Dragging her hands across his chest, she was very obvious as to her intentions, but he could never have stopped it. The ten fingers wandered from side to side as her hands drifted down his pecks, over a six pack, to a belt she had forgotten was already undone. Instead of going straight for the button and zipper, a different idea came to mind.

Whipping the belt from the belt loops, she quickly had possession of a new tool. She cracked it once against his chest, shivering joyfully to watch his muscles twitch with the contact. Darren clenched his hands, unable to do anything else. Ready to go again, Miss Lenna pulled the two sides of the belt taut between her hands, and the young man shifted anxiously beneath her legs. A red welt grew slowly across where she had hit him. The buckle caught her attention now, and she began to fiddle with it, thoughtfully pondering various ways that would make it more interesting.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, a change in the look on her face revealing what she was about to do was punishment rather than pleasure. Had she really noticed the key he took? Instincts told him she had, and he winced when she let some lack in the belt just to snap it tight again.

The young man's luck improved when music entered the room. Miss Lenna glared furiously to her purse in the corner where her phone was blaring the sound of her best friend calling to ask if she was ready to go. Grabbing the key from the blankets, she leaned against Darren's chest to give him a warning.

"Everything you have, and everything you are is mine," she reminded, halfway scowling as she crawled off the bed to her phone.

Darren untied himself, reaching across the bed to put his shirt back on as he watched her talk with her friend. The box was empty anyways.

The song which had been her ringtone played now through the radio in the sloppy room. Coming to finally, he had not realized that, while latching the blonde's necklace at her back, he had stopped abruptly. Somehow the music and the silver chain with a shiny key pendant had sent him back to a past he rarely called to mind. It was long ago that Lenna had left him, bewildered and alone. He seemed better now, so much so that he had never felt pressured to tell the story. Still at times, it did take over his thoughts again.

Sometimes when she looked at him, there was a pity in her eyes, like she could tell a piece of him was missing. She was just waiting for him to take the initiative and tell her in his own time. He smiled reassuringly as she glanced at him now through the mirror with concern at his hesitation. Several moments he had stood there in just a daze.

She held a pair of earrings against her cheeks, and—accepting his smile as good enough—she inquired, "Do you think I should wear these?"

They were far too fancy. Her whole ensemble was too fancy for an evening out as friends. Friends was hard for him, so different from conditions before. Better or not, it was their current status since he knew he was not capable of handling anything more now, even if he wanted. There was nothing wrong with her overindulging a little in what she wore. Still, he could not help but mention, "You sure are getting dressed up. I'm only in jeans."

Turning to face him, she replied, "I know you said this isn't really a date. Still, I feel like I should make it special."

He looked in her eyes, enamored with him. Was he toying with her heart, asking her to pretend she could just be his friend? In getting to know her, he had seen the similarities she shared with Lenna, as well as her strange obsession with knives that concerned him, but she was nothing like that deranged woman. It was not that he feared a new girl, or the idea of another relationship. Only, the piece missing was his ability to love. He would never have that back.

Closing his eyes, he tried to rid himself of thoughts of times passed, which must have come across as a look of sadness because she tossed the earrings back into her jewelry box. Shutting the lid of the small wooden chest on her dresser, she took Darren's hand and led him to the door.

"Come on," she urged, "let's go before we're late."

Maybe, one day, she would teach him to do without it.

Thanks for reading! If you are interested, I have a picture I drew of Darren (may or may not be from this experience since i drew it long before I had an idea to write it), and it is posted on my personal website sapphire-sanguinity(dot)dreamy-stars(dot)com/namine. It may help some of you visualize...or perhaps you prefer to imagine him however you wish. Either way, I'd love to hear from all my readers!

Arait