Daggers Drawn

He is filled with fear when he realises your true intentions. His eyes widen comically, his perfect eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his dark curls.

You supress the morbid urge to laugh- it would seem distasteful.

His mouth opens and closes; his full pink lips parting and meeting as though uttering prayers and pleas, yet his voice remains imprisoned within the confines of his larynx.

'Pity,' you think, 'Such a beautiful voice, too…'

His chocolate brown eyes are fixed on you- unblinking, devoid of any emotion. Although, you think you can sense an undercurrent of rage in the dead depths of his eyes.

He has no right to be angry, none at all. He is the sinner. Not you.

You aren't destroying his life, piece by piece with a methodical simplicity that makes one want to sit back and smile at the sheer brilliance and logic of the plan. You aren't the wrong-doer in this situation.

Certainly not.

In fact, you have been wronged- terribly so and now you need your closure. You're here, with him, for a reason. And that reason, that shallow emptiness that he creates in you, is what has fuelled you right up to this second.

But what about him, you wonder.

What had prompted him all those years ago, to seek you out- seduce you with his smooth words, trap you with his deep baritone and then, without a single backward glance walk out of your life? He hadn't merely left you heartbroken.

No, if it were only that you'd have been bitter for a while, of course- but then you would have moved on, waltzed into greener pastures and smiled sadly back at your time with him.

Oh no… Breaking your heart isn't the extent of his crimes.

He had returned, months after the parting- not as someone who had once been your friend, your rock; but as a dark, twisted stranger with a dagger in his hand and his eyes trained on your family.

The man and his dagger slashed through the threadbare tapestry that had once been your existence- and that, people believe is what drove you round the bend.

The man clears his throat- the sound caresses your ears pleasantly, yet jolts you rudely out of your ruminations. You notice a marked difference in his eyes- a certain resignation in them as he blinks at you for the first time.

'Well,' you think, 'At least he knows that he deserves what he's about to get.'

You smile at him once- that dazzling smile that he had once (long ago) claimed to love- and pull out your dagger from its sheath at your hip.

'Goodbye,' you say, your eyes focused on his jugular.

Author's Note: This was the essay I wrote for my English Language mid-term. It's a bit forced, considering it's based on a 'topic', but I'd love feedback anyhow.

Also, could you R&R my pillowbook- Laying Me Bare? It's my first time writing one, and I'd appreciate the help!

I ALWAYS return reviews, as long as your work isn't M Rated!