The thrill… there is no describing it. That feeling that courses through my veins. It fills me with an innate energy; my fingertips, they burn in anticipation. I quiver with yearning, my tongue clicking against the roof of my mouth. Sometimes, it even flicks across my lips, coating the lackluster tiers with saliva.
I inhale the scent of my drug. Sweet, yet bitter. Like the smell of oranges and lemons and even limes. The shake of my hands makes this job so much more difficult. All must be still, if things are to be perfect.
But no, you can’t sit still, can you? You fucking bitch. You know I need this. You know I must do this. I lean near you; again taking in the smell that lingers on your body. That sweetness of your shampoo, and the tart of your perfume. What is it? Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. You’re special. Even as you scream and struggle. So pathetic, darling. You can’t even loosen the arm wrapped across your chest, pinning your own arms to your side.
Beg for your life, bitch. Beg for it as I curl my fingers around your chin, slowly so that I can brush your cheek too. Scream; the vibration of your voice tearing itself from your throat is music.
Come, turn your head this way. Kiss me. I need to taste you. No? Then I’ll make you. I’ll pull your mouth to mine. Like this.
Oops. Was that too fast? Oh my, you’re limp. What a shame.
Copyright © 2012 E. M. Jenkinson, all rights reserved.
This piece actually formed in my head yesterday, but it was Sunday. So here you go, my first piece for this years April AtoZ challenge.