White Christmas

White Christmas

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)
Copyright © 12/18/2014 All Rights Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Abandoned, she sat at the table. Dressed in finery, a work of God to behold, she drank alone. Long hair, gently curled and waved flowed past her shoulders, a lovely visage in a silken frame. Eyes red, mascara in muddy streaks, she wore her heart upon her face. She finished the drink and rose, stumbling; leaving her clutch purse and coat. Shaking as she walked not from cold but the fear of being alone.

No one said a word, just another drunk in the crowd or so most thought. Someone that never fit in, leaving, as she should have months ago.

Others knew he had watched her these many months. She had never belonged here, only to be cast aside by others. Always trying to play but never enjoying the pain and never allowing the pleasure, a heart as cold as her ice blue eyes.

He followed her out the door to the club, observed her shivering in the night air. The lights from the decorations wrapped her in red, blue and green reflecting off her silver dress. Lost and afraid, she seemed smaller than ever seen before standing near the curb.

She recoiled from his long, heavy coat placed around her in that first embrace of warmth. She struggled. “Let go of me,” she shouted.

He held fast. She became still as tears flowed once more. Turning her in his arms, he stared into those forsaken eyes. For this single night, he was what she wished, desired, and sought. He knew her better than she knew herself, if only having watched her from afar. Her quaking stopped.

She hugged and passionately rested against him. His head rested against her soft mane as her perfumed scent drifted up. He inhaled deeply in a sigh, holding her in his arms for the first time.

His shackles were invisible on her. He tilted her face up, kissing her softly for the first time, with a tender embrace of dominance, protection and love. She was the last item on his list for this lonely Christmas Eve. Love was my gift this night of unkind memories of the past.

Will you come home with me?” he asked. Her silence as she looked up in tears was the only answer he need.

A server came with her coat and clutch. He helped her with it, brushing the white faux mink fur against her face as tears ceased and that smile appeared.

As we walked toward home, the snow began to fall, a white Christmas after all and a beginning for us.