A LOVE STORY WITH NO NAME.

Chapter 1.

I have a story for you. Do you want to read it? If you do, you are not one who embraces short-lived fantasies between forgettable characters. You are not the kind of reader who settles for jargon, and passionately passionless scenes. You do not enjoy brief flights with the complicated emotion we call lust.

No. You are a reader who is succumbed by the passion of Romeo and Juliet, the reader who is enthralled with the complications between Mr. Rochester and Jayne Eyre. You feed off the rivers of longing, of long passions, and long hopes. You crave a story that will leave you with tingling thoughts and stirrings of directionless desire. For, my dear readers, I have a story that will draw a direction of desire – one between two characters that feel an obsession that you may never feel.

Still interested? Keep reading.

I'll start by telling you about Derrick Blaine – a melancholy man of twenty-nine who enjoys nothing but his stock success during the recent economic swell. His soaring business operations feed him fodder to stay connected to the world, when all threads appeared to be cut. Derrick lived with his parents until his third year of business school, when unpredictable events caused him to move to The City. From there he started his own business as a stock broker, and when success was found, he turned his interests to real-estate. Like skyscrapers.

Now that I have explained our fellow Derrick, it is time to start with his story. I can safely say that his story does not start until he meets her. Because without her, Derrick feels like he is nothing, and nothing is what he is to us if he does not meet her. She is very important. She gives him new life by her mere existence.

Derrick met her behind a strip of department stores in the lower part of The City. Their meeting was as random as a royal flush in trembling fingers. What was it that made them meet there? Was it chance? Was it fate?

He was on his way somewhere. He knew exactly where he was going, he just chose not to acknowledge it. The alley behind the department store was filthy and dark. Black stains on the walls, puddles of soil in the gutters. Derrick was shivering and he drove his hands deeper into his trench coat. Laughing to himself, he wondering why he even bothered to spend so much on a jacket that failed to keep him warm. What the hell is it all for anyways? Damn this city. Damn this coat. Damn this soul who lives within it.

As if someone responded, Derrick heard a muffled soul cry out in pain. Realizing that he was not alone, his heart jumped with fear. He had heard stories on the news about men and woman working together as muggers – attracting brave men with the frantic cries of the woman, only to be mugged by both when the knight approached.

Derrick wasn't looking for a fight anyways. He did not feel a rush of fire simmer into his veins as he approached the moans. He did not plan to intervene, regardless of the scene's legitimacy. He planned on just passing by without a second glance. I just don't… care anymore. I just don't care for this enough.

When you first lay eyes on the one person who is to change your life, how are you supposed to feel? Has anyone felt it? The feeling that you've known this person your whole life, even though your eyes have only met once? Unexplainable recognition of souls?

Derrick felt this, all right. When he looked back on that moment, (in a similar way that you and I are regarding this moment now), he supposed he saw - in her eyes - each and every moment they reunited from that point on. In the alleyway. At the Christmas dinner. At the beach. In secrecy, in passion. And under the covers.

Their unusual love affair had unusual roots, and this is why Derrick was never surprised to meet her in the alleyway that night. And although he felt nothing up to that point, when he met her gaze in that alley, his heart filled a flame that seized his muscles into a throbbing rage. From that point on, Derrick was reborn. And he didn't even know it.

One second passed. Then two. Then there was blood on his hands.

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