Clear and Bright: Chapter Two: First Spoken Words

He unfurled his arms from around me, and took the smallest step back. NO!, I screamed inside my head. The ache I felt from the loss of his touch was immediate, irrational, a burning fire put out. I didn’t want it put out. I needed it. I needed him.

I didn’t have to suffer long. He took mercy on me, as if he had heard my silent scream. He looked into my eyes with his, those eyes, and held out his hand.  “Come” was all he said.

This was his first spoken word to me, the first time I heard his beautiful voice. It was a single word, yet I felt as if I’d just heard the most beautiful song my ears could fathom. I gasped at the broken silence. He smiled at me, a knowing smile. He knew the effect he was having on me.


“Come,” he said again. It wasn’t a request. He spoke softly, but his soft command was not to be refused, not by me.


I placed my shaking hand in his, electricity shooting through me as we reconnected. Was there no sense that this stranger didn’t control in me? I feel a moment of alarm for the first time. Stranger… but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Beautiful stranger, I tried to rationalize, as if this would make him known to me. It didn’t, of course it didn’t. I knew this, knew it in my muddled head. I knew I should not go with this man, this man with his eyes and his voice and his fiery touch that had taken control of me. I knew. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. I couldn’t.


I let him lead me, my meeting forgotten. She would understand. It was business, but she was my friend, and she was a hopeless romantic. I was the sensible one. I was, until today. Was I still? My whole life has been careful, sensible, controlled by ME. Certainly this man could not have changed all of that in an instant?


The only thing I did in my life that was irrational was my paintings. They weren’t always, but sometimes images were born from my brush that couldn’t be explained. I get lost in my painting. I don’t think. Time disappears. The world disappears. The canvas speaks to me, calls to me, answered by my brush. I let it guide me. Now I was letting him. Was it the same? No, how could it be? My painting was safe, even if the images sometimes startled me, they came from somewhere inside of me.


Was this man safe? How could I know? I should pull away. I shouldn’t go with him. He has spoken a mere two words to me, the same words, words of command… but I can’t pull away. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be rational. I don’t want to be sensible. I don’t want to be in control.


I leave my hand in his, trusting this beautiful stranger, because I have no will to do otherwise. He seems to know this quite absolutely. He walks slowly, with me silently by his side. He glances at me often, with those eyes that brought us here, as we walk along. His eyes do not frighten me, despite all of their power over me. I tell myself that if there were danger, I would see it there. I would sense it, wouldn’t I?


He glances at me again, and I hold his gaze. He stops walking, staring into my searching eyes. Does he know what I’m searching for? He doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t look away. His eyes are endless depths of deep brown, almost black. They’re stunning, those eyes, my captors. I search and search, but find nothing to change my current course.


He senses this, and smiles a reassuring smile at me that makes me instantly forget what I was searching for. Yet again, he utters a single word, “Come,” and resumes our walk. I oblige, of course I do.


I want to talk to him. I want him to talk to me. I want to hear the sound of him, his song of a voice. I want to ask him where he is taking me. I want to ask him his name. I want to ask him if he’s planning to cut me into pieces and strew my parts in a field in the middle of nowhere. What? Where the hell did that come from? Maybe I am afraid. Maybe he hasn’t completely taken over my senses. A shiver runs through me, and he stops again.


He looks at me cautiously, concern suddenly erupting in his eyes. He turns slightly, so that we are facing each other. He takes one small step closer to me, just short of contact, and whispers “Don’t be afraid.”


Three words. Three more words from him, my beautiful stranger, and my sudden moment of anxiety falls away.

I am his to lead.