Breaking Away (The Man in the Shadows) (3 page)

He backed away as quickly as one runs from a wave of a tsunami. It happened so fast and was such a jolt that she felt a pang of pain, like ripping off a bandaid. Ethan looked unsettled, his face twisting into confusion and disbelief. He burst out, “NO!” just as the music paused between songs. The entire club, full of trendy, chill, hipster folks, looked at him, and his eyes darkened with embarrassment and anger. Stalking off into the abyss of people, he left Maika there, her lips still hot from the fire they shared, forgotten.

In a stupor, Maika’s arms slowly dropped to her sides, as if made from clay, melting in the blazing sun of midday. The music began again, thankfully, and the hipsters forgot about the dramatic scene as quickly as they had turned their heads to observe it a few moments previously. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. There was no need to cry, she had just made an intoxicated mistake, and Ethan had just slightly overreacted. Well, okay, really overreacted. She willed her feet to move from their spot on the floor, but it felt like her feet were a thousand pounds each.

She ran her hands through her hair in frustration because one rouge tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek, cascading her mascara in a dark smudge over her fair skin. She had a deep urge to run after Ethan, to find him in the crowd, to embrace him and apologize for her stupidity, but there had to have been at least 500 people in the building, so finding him before closing time would be an impossibility. Hopeless, she wiped her eyes briefly, unthinking, smearing her eyeliner even further.

She blinked a couple of times, willing the intruding tears to return home. Finally, with little warning, her feet decided to move, making her stumble forward.
I swear I’m not that drunk,
she thought as she looked around to see if anyone had seen her trip. Of course no one had, they were all too intent on their dancing, books, or make out sessions.

Walking calmly over to the couch where she and Ethan had started their night, she grabbed a beer from the table’s adjacent mini fridge. She glanced to her right, over her shoulder slightly, and saw a man sitting there. As far as she could tell, he was all alone, so she scooted a little closer to him.
What’s the harm in making a friend?
she thought.
I’m single, and I need a distraction.
The man hadn’t noticed her inching closer, so she lightly tapped him on his arm.

He turned to look at her, and his eyes seem to be cast in a haze. Turning his head away quickly, he belched, and turned back to her, smiling. “S, s, sssorry about that,” he slurred. “I’m normally mah, more sssssexy tha, than this.” One eye lid sank lower than the other, his crooked smile persisting.

Maika was drunk, but not pass-out drunk like that guy, and she wanted nothing to do with it. Taken aback, as if she’d seen a ghost, she scooted away quickly, disappointed in herself for even thinking of getting with some random man. Once out of his view, she was forgotten by the sloshed man forthwith. As Maika returned to her place on the couch, she thought,
What luck I have! I scare away the man I love with a kiss, and I attract a belligerently drunk man instead!
She pouted. Sighing heavily, she got up, and walked slowly to the bathroom, her beer in hand.

The swinging door to the ladies room, covered in black paint and hot pink and green graffiti, stood as the guardian to her temporary salvation. Pushing against it, she cleared the threshold, and as soon she was inside the smaller room and the ominous door slammed shut behind her, she noticed a rapid change. The door cut off the loud music almost entirely. Her ears were ringing loudly, but she could hear her own thoughts again, which, she reckoned, was a good thing. She wanted to sort herself out before the end of the night, so she could face Ethan without feeling like a total asshole.

Maika set her beer on the bathroom counter. Each of her hands found a place on this surface, too, acting as a support for her body as she studied her face in the mirror. She let out a breath shortly, powerfully. In her half drunk state, she believed she had never looked better, even with a black streak on her face and her eyeliner smeared. Her cheeks were brazened a deep magenta, her eyes appeared green in the soft fluorescent light that circled around the room, and her hair was a wonderful mess. She had worn it down, straight as a sheet and as black as coal, but it was disheveled from dancing... and Ethan’s hands...

She shook the thought from her head, her hair flowing like sheets on her shoulders.
Don’t think about Ethan right now
, she instructed herself. She forced a smile, and her reflection followed suit. Turning the tap on and off swiftly to wet her hand, she rubbed the black streak on her face until it faded away. Abruptly, as she moved her fingers over her face, she envisioned herself in an ancient empire, as a queen, a dictator’s wife perhaps, with her slave girls rubbing the black soot off of her face. She imagined them running to get her a new white dress and purple cloak with gold trim, and placing a fine, braided gold tiara atop her black locks. Majestic and powerful was she, the queen, ruler of all...

When she snapped out of her daydream, she found herself standing up straight, head up and proud, arms spread out in a welcoming gesture. She hastily realized where she was; in the bathroom of some underground, hipster, mafia bar; and sucked her limbs back in to herself. How silly would she had felt if another girl, or God forbid group of girls, had walked in to find her like that? Lately, she’s had many a daydream about being an all-powerful ruler, but something about this place sucked her into the magic of it in mid thought.

Eyes.
She turned around quickly and fell back against the sink, her hands searching for a steady surface to grasp.
Eyes watching.
As she groped, she knocked over her beer, and it poured down her leg and onto her leather boots. The can fell to the floor with a
clank.

“Shit!” she screamed, but she didn’t look down to view the state of her stockings, or rush to clean up the mess. She felt eyes on her again. Normally, she never felt watched in such a crowded environment, as if crowds drowned out the feeling, or helped scare off that which haunted her. At the library, when she sat in her car at a drive through, in her apartment she felt it, but never at a club or a party. Her heart started to beat against her ribcage in an effort to break through. Someone was definitely in the room with her.

“Hello?” she asked swiftly, almost choking on her words. Tears began to pound at her eyelids again, but this time in fear. That sandpaper feeling came to her again, and she swallowed hard. “Is... someone in here?”

No answer. Yet the feeling of being watched persisted and intensified. Walking forward slightly, each foot fall soundless with care, she peered over to her right and around to the line of bathroom stalls. There was a row of four stalls, and directly above them was a small, smoked glass window. Each stall door was open, so she rushed to the side, hands reaching out, eyes wild, and began to check each of them. Empty, empty, empty, empty.

“Holy shit,” she murmured, as she reached the last one. She faced a black, painted, beaten brick wall, the end of the tiny room. In disbelief, she blankly uttered, “Maybe I really am going crazy...”

“No,” a voice replied, piercing the silence. “You’re not going crazy.”

Fear should have been the emotion she felt at that exact moment. A stranger was in the room with her, had been following her, stalking her! Somehow, in the back of her mind, though, she knew one day there would be a response to her cries, to her pleading. She was more relieved than scared; lifting her hand, she covered her mouth, joy drawn across it, and gradually lifted her eyes straight up to the small window above the stalls. There he was. That one day was now.

Before her, crouched on the ledge above her, was a man dressed in all black. Black slacks, black boots, a black turtle neck sweater, topped with a long, black trench coat. His eyes were his most striking feature, a shade of ice blue, almost grey, sharp as ice picks. The man’s face was exquisitely handsome, Maika was certain she had never laid eyes on a more dashing, impeccable face. Skin as flawless and a creamy tan glowed in the fluorescent lights, the color of sand in a sunset. His hair was of an ashy blonde hue, falling over his forehead like a waterfall. Appearing to be chiseled out of marble, he was straight out of Greek mythology. The expression on his face was calm, though below the surface, a myriad of emotions flowed.

His eyes screamed for her.

“I’m not crazy...” Maika whispered softly in response. A pulse beat in her head, as if she were not in control of her words, yet she felt content with that sensation of losing her grip on control. She tilted her head higher, to take him all in when she asked suddenly, “Who are you?”

His eyes narrowed, contemplating. “At this moment, that is not important.” His voice was confident, in a pleasing low baritone. That voice was profound, even more so than his stunningly good looks, as it was strong and booming. One could tell a great amount of schooling and intelligence lived behind that voice, making it even more enticing. The voice could almost be described as... exciting.

Stunned, she took a few steps back, as if it were only one part in a choreographed dance. The man jumped off the ledge with no effort at all, lightly, instinctively. He landed in front of her with ease, and she gasped. Being in his personal space was like an instant aphrodisiac, as she shivered with longing and desire. She could smell him, such an intoxicating aroma; she could now look directly into his eyes. These sensations were a bit overwhelming, and her eyes darted to the floor within a couple of seconds. His deep voiced boomed through the silence again.

“It’s who you are, that is important.”

Still looking at the ground, she asked, “Why? I’m not important...”

He grabbed her hand then, and she stumbled back a step. It was like he was made out of light, sound, and rapture, and when he touched her, her entire life, everything good and bad, young and old, every action, every word, flashed before her all at the same time. It was like his very skin was electrically charged. It was as if the touch threw a match in a puddle of gasoline, and the entire world went up in flames.

“You are important,” he answered, speaking softly and directly, his eyes intent, serious. “You are the reason I live. Why do you think I finally revealed myself to you?”

Her eyes fluttered upwards and met his again. Such chilling ice in those eyes, yet searing heat coming from his touch. As if in a trance, she asked slowly, “...Finally?”

The question hurt, twisted his heart like wringing out a wet cloth. It was a valid question, he thought, she didn’t know. He looked up at the ceiling, cringing slightly. He didn’t know what to say, and was struggling with his own thoughts. Decided, he directed his gaze at her once more, and simply replied, “There is much you don’t know.”

Those words served as the password to her soul, to that lost and isolated feeling she’s always had, to that perpetual feeling of someone always watching, of something bigger, something bigger than herself... Instantly, she grabbed both of his hands in both of hers. She was entirely unsure of this new person, this strange man, but she felt she wanted to trust him, needed him near. He was a stranger, but he unlocked her. He set her free. He felt familiar, like home, pulling on her like a magnet.

She replied in a soft, breathy moan, “Tell me.”

Uncontrolled, he enveloped her in an embrace, his arms crossing in an ‘X’ over her back, his fingers grasping for her shoulders, his face buried in her hair. Jaggedly he breathed in, the mix of her perfume and her sweat were alluring. After a lifetime of watching her, protecting her, pushing her, and whispering to her, he now had to practice the strictest self control. He had come to love her, but he was assigned to her for a specific job: Protection. The assignment was a great honor, and he loved every minute of it. Yet, he felt too close to her for love. It was some other undefined thing. The line between duty and passion was easy to cross, yet he was strictly forbidden to even think about approaching that line. Now that her touch was real, it was more exhilarating than he had ever dreamed. She was his princess, his very reason for existing. His people had made a harrowing mistake, and he was responsible for making it right. Now that she was almost 25, she was at the doorstep of the one perfect age to pull her back, for her to come home, for all to be right in the world, in his empire.

His sorcery was too strong. His lust for her too strong, as well; he must draw back into the shadows before his power inadvertently took her over, before she became his slave. Having no desire to do evil, to do anything to harm Maika, he began to pull out of the embrace. This was not the time, nor the place, to let her in on her life’s meaning, on the meaning of the eyes on her, or her being watched, of the supernatural quality that she possessed, of the secrets her entire being held in a pandora’s box. His only wish now was to ease her mind, for her to know that the eyes watching her were of an ally.

Pulling away from her, he took one of his hands and placed the palm on her face, fingers stretched in every direction, cheeks, eyebrows, forehead. He could feel her eyelashes against his fingers, her breath against his palm. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes tighter, resigning himself. He could never deny his love for her. Never. He lived for Maika. Without her, he would have no reason to exist. But he had to free her of his magic now, before she thrust herself at him and ruined everything; forever. There was only one chance to make it right, and he had not spent his entire life protecting her to throw it all away now.

He stifled a sigh and sang:

“I listen for the glories of your sweet perfection,

While I bury the effect you have on me.

I’m a stranger and I’ll vanish....

This is not the first time...”

Trailing off, he slowly ran his fingers over the contours of her face.
Beauty, unmatched,
he thought. After a few moments, she slumped slightly against his hand. He caught her with his free arm and held her up.