Trees laid strewn over the forest paths, ripped from their roots by angry, violent winds, and still they drove on holding hands. The windscreen boasted a million diamonds, as raindrops striking the glass obscured their view ahead, but still they drove on holding hands. Her foot pressed down all the way; the engine roared defiant against the storm.

The black sky above shook and fizzled, and the hard rain that fell brought excitement and fear. If he had to describe the taste, it was the acidity of licking a battery top. Her description was beautiful; it tasted of being alive, and in love.

She had told him she would never let go, never again. She was all in. He had told her that she was like the imaginary girl from his teens that he had always wanted to run away with, on a road trip that lasted forever. He was all in.

She bit her lip, and then turned to him. Driving full pelt ahead, they kissed. Her hunger turned to a need that broke all her rules, and she bit his lip until he bled. He gave himself and his pain to her, and felt her desire to consume him in every possible way.

‘Never let go?’ she asked.

‘Never let go.’ he whispered back.

When they reached the driveway leading to the safety of her mother’s house they opened the doors of old faithful and stepped out into the swirling storm. The rain had ceased, but the winds continued to howl; a fierce crowd demanding a fight to the finish.

He turned to lead her inside, but she pulled him back against her, against the side of the fearless car they had been racing through the storm with. Accepting the invitation without hesitation, he pinned her against the wet, cold metal. Her black hair, still drenched, clung to her face, framing her green eyes, hugging her raised cheekbones, dripping over his chest as they kissed.

The rainfall had cooled the oppressive heat, but still their bodies oozed sweat against each others skin. The embrace was hot and heady, and as they kissed she bit his lip and tasted his blood once more.

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From the top of the tallest tree, his words flew out over the world, carried by the eternal wind; ‘I love you’. Yet still, she would not answer.

He dug the deepest hole in the rich earth and threatened to bury himself if she refused him her love, and still her passion remained still and silent.

With his feet bleeding, from a thousand mile walk in search of her heart, he forced his legs forward in the hope that she would be waiting for him at the end. She never showed.

‘Love me,’ he screamed ‘love me!.’

Finally, when his heart gave up on seeing her smile, he returned home to his cabin in the woods and wept.

Years later, the girl with the cold heart and the deaf ears and the smile which never showed knocked on his door. He refused to open, ‘You are too late.’

‘But I was wrong, I know that now.’

He remained silent inside his cabin, behind the wooden door, comforted by the warmth of the fire inside. Outside the wind howled; the same wind which carried his words years before and had now grown bitter and hopeless.

‘I have walked a thousand miles to get here and I will climb any tree or mountain you will me to, if you would only open this door.’ she called through the keyhole.

‘All you had to do was share your smile with me when I begged you to.’ he said.

‘I couldn’t.’ she replied, and offered no more.

She waited for his reply, and then finally it came.

‘And now neither can I’.

He never opened the door for her again, and as she walked the thousand miles back to her own cabin in her own woods, she wondered if she could still hear his words being carried by the wind after all this time; ‘I love you.’

Only his words sounded different now, aged and withered. His weakened voice whistled through the tree tops of the forest she walked through and made the leaves shake with sadness.

Those words, now no more than a whisper, sounded like ‘I loved you.’ instead.

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Yesterday was my birthday, I am now 33. It was the end of my 33rd year and the beginning of my 34th trip around the sun. It is a time for chalking down the previous year to experience and attempting to construct some new rules in order to learn from the mistakes of the recent past. The goal is simple, to keep the influences in my life to positive ones, to weed out the negative ones and to enjoy most of what I do with my precious time. For time is precious, the speed at which the previous year has flown by is testament to that.

The five rules for my next twelve moons are:

1) ‘Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.’ Oscar Wilde

You are special. If someone is unwilling to treat you as special with their actions, then let them go. They will only erode you otherwise.

I want to rise, not sink. I know I am a very giving person, so I expecting others to give me just as much.

2) ‘The key is to keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best.’ Epictetus

Spend your limited time and energy with people who believe in you, who encourage you and who lead by example. These people in your life will influence your outlook and so you must pick wisely.

I want to look around me and see others who I admire and who make me want to strive to earn their admiration too.

3) ‘Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value.’ Albert Einstein

Forget money, forget lavish lifestyles, forget material wealth. Be inspirational instead.

I want to leave a warm legacy when my life is over, even if only a small one. That will only happen if I can plant a cherished memory in every mind I touch and create stories which affect and inspire the readers I am fortunate enough to receive. I will judge my value not by the number of people who know my name, but by the warmth with which people say it to each other.

4) ‘Nothing is impossible, the word itself says ‘I’m possible’!’ Audrey Hepburn

Belief. Belief. Belief. Strive, create opportunities, never give up.

I have been guilty of depriving myself of this belief and of straying from the path I am meant to forever walk. I hope to fear the journey less and enjoy the adventure more.

5) ‘For the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been ‘No’ for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.’ Steve Jobs

This.

.

Who’s with me for these new beginnings? I will find out very soon.

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The night before, as the stars danced like glitter on the moon’s black dress, she had awoken him from his deep sleep in their dark haven.

‘Everything is going to be alright, you know?’

She had tears collecting like pools in her eyes. A few had fallen down her cheeks, dragging her mascara in blotted trails down to the corners of her full, pink lips.

Even when she was crying, he ached to kiss her.

‘Everything is going to be just fine. I promise. Do you believe me?’ she asked.

He nodded. He lied.

She did this every night for exactly a month. Eventually you’ll convince yourself of anything, he thought, she’s trying hard.

In the morning he awoke to see her propped up on one arm, watching him with fresh tears painting her round cheekbones. She licked a tear tickling the corner of her mouth and smiled as best she good. He didn’t smile back, but lifted himself up onto his elbows, his head off the pillow, and kissed her full. Their lips locked, sealed by her salty tears.

Then the delicious sweetness of a pain-tinged kiss was replaced by growing dread as she felt something inside her rise up along her throat. Her stinging eyes snapped open as he drew from her mouth a black mist. She slapped her hands on his chest to push away, but found her lips were glued to his. He continued to suck the black mist from her throat and down into the depths of his lungs, holding her still with his firm hands clamped on her shaking shoulders.

His lungs expanded, loading up with her demons and ghosts, groaning from within. They felt like balloons about to pop, but still they stretched and filled with the black mist until he had drawn it all from her.

Their lips smacked apart and she fell back onto the mattress; breathing hard, panting, wiping the tears and sweat from her face.

He pursed his lips and held her demons locked away inside his lungs, and would do forever. He watched her eyes full of confusion as her lips trembled. Then his vision clouded over and he passed out from a lack of oxygen. He had taken away that which haunted her inside and it was enough for him to leave fulfilled.

The bed sheets were wet beneath him and it felt like sinking into a pool of torment, as the demons inside his lungs ravaged his final moments. But it was worth it to know he had made her safe.

She held her hands to her face. She watched him die for her.

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She squealed and screamed, but could not be moved. He was her prisoner.

The window to her bedroom was lifted open by old hardback books on each side, and the breeze which blew in tickled along her naked back, but it was nothing compared to the giggling panic which ran through her body when his hands went to work.

She fought him, restricting his nimble, devilish fingers access to her sensitive armpits. She wriggled and wiggled on top of him, her toes curling, her breasts pressed down against his chest.

She let out agonizing yelps which broke into howls of laughter, but still she held strong, refusing to release him from the bed her body was trapping him against; the bed in which they had shared last night’s heat and then later a deep sleep wrapped in each others bodies.

The morning stir under a wash of dawn sunlight got to her first. She awoke with the slow purr of a satisfied feline who had gorged on milk before a delicious nap. By the time he began to stir, she was on top of him, her head rested on his chest.

And then he was awake and stroking her hair, as she listened to his comforting heartbeat.

And then he was moving to stand up, as she was moving to hold him down.

And then he was talking about needing a shower and making pancakes for breakfast with blueberry jam and big cups of tea, as she was imagining him running out the door.

And then he was tickling her, as she exploded with manic laughter on the outside. Inside, she felt terrified he would leave and never return.

She felt like this every morning, always waking up before him and desperate to make him stay. Just a little bit longer.

Their morning tickle fights were just another one of her quirky games, he believed; playful fun with the hint of a sexual tease, that’s all.

He never understood.

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There was danger in his eyes, but she would never know for the shades he wore were as black as midnight under a forest canopy. Her eyes sparkled and competed with the gloss on her lips for his attention.

He continued, ‘I’m no hero. I’m no knight in shining armor. I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself.’

‘You have already saved me. By being here.’ she said, her words almost lost in the cool breeze.

The sun shone above their heads as they stood barefoot in the slick sand where the waves ebbed and flowed. The bottom of her jeans were darkened blue with the salt water rising up them, her painted toe nails (the big toes pink, the rest black) were submerged in the foam. He wore jeans too but nothing else, and the sunlight ran through his hairy chest like the fingers of a femme fatale plotting to steal him away from her.

He shook his head, ‘Sticking with me will lead you no where good.’

The sun was bright, but there was an odd darkness in the shadow he cast. A darkness fit for black butterflies.

‘I’m already no where good.’

The waves crashed, the grains of sand beneath their feet crushed, birds flapping their wings above cruised, the breeze cooed. Even the sun licking the water made its own unique sound. Yet all these sounds drowned away as she focused on him and he focused on her and the world became merely a backdrop to their story.

She licked her lips, tasting the sea salt in the air, and asked with sweetness dripping from her tongue, ‘What are you running from?’

He paused and inhaled. The intake of air made his ribs expand and chest heave. He was storing up on all those bravery particles found in oxygen which he was sure scientists had yet to discover. A deep breath always gave him the extra push.

‘I stay up late at night so I don’t have to face those who can smile during the day. I roam this whole world in an endless road trip, even if most of the time the vehicle is my mind and the fuel is my aching need for something more than just this emptiness inside. If you cracked me open you’d find not much, just a heart mashed to strawberry jam and a stomach churning with black butterflies. Maybe if I tell you now that I will eventually break your heart, I can save you some of the disappointment if not the pain. Maybe if I tell myself I will stay forever, I can learn to believe I deserve you for more than just a night between my sheets or a wild drive under moonlight with the top down, so I can see the wind in your hair. But I doubt it. You can run now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did. You should run. I’m demanding, aggressive, dark as the dust from the charred remains of cheap burning lust and…’

‘And you want love.’ she finished for him.

‘I’ve been trying to love. I’ve been trying to…’

She smiled, ‘Shut up.’

He frowned beneath those black shades.

‘Take your sunglasses off.’ she ordered.

He dropped his head and pulled them off his face like a man lifting his shirt reluctant to show a shameful scar.

When he looked back, she saw those scars in his eyes.

The sun burned harsh in the sky above behind his head, but the darkness spread by the black butterflies in his stomach made his hazel eyes look as black as the shades he once wore.

‘I’m going to tell you what I’m running from,’ she started, ‘I’m running from the girl who believes she’s never been good enough to love. I’m running from the part of me that punches a wall to bruise my own hand and I want to run toward the man that will kiss it better. I don’t want to be the girl who is alone anymore. I want to be the woman who dares to smile during the day. Today is the first day of my life, a life where I chase what I want. Now will you be a coward, or will you join me?’

‘I’m no coward.’

‘Then do more than try to love,’ she said, ‘Love me for real and I’ll never run away from you again.’

He stepped forward until their faces were inches apart. Her shining eyes fought with her gloss-slicked lips until he couldn’t decide which to kiss first, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and made the decision for him. She kissed him full on the lips, as their toes danced in the waves and her hair blew in the breeze.

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Love was a snarl, a baring of teeth, a hunger.

And it came dressed in a black vest top, cut-off denim shorts, and a sheet of sweat beads cooling her sun-kissed skin.

‘I’d wrap it in a blanket of warmth, encase it in a protective layer of trust, and look after it forever.’ he replied. Which was a joke of course because his whole life had been one careless throw away. But he meant it. He meant every word.

‘You mean you’d put my snarl in a cage.’

It was he, however, who belonged in a cage. He stood in front of her like a criminal in the dock who had his arms cuffed in front of him, tattoos diverting attention from his eyes which gave every emotion and every reaction away. Being cross-examined never felt so vulnerable. Never felt so good.

‘I want to take care of you. Can I?’ he asked with an attempt at a charming smile, ducking his head as if to look under her shield to catch her drifting gaze.

She looked down shuffling her feet, running her fingers over her own lips, full but sore. ‘I want nothing more.’ she said under her breath.

Then she looked up through the strands of early morning black mess, her wild hair framing her face, and their eyes locked.

‘How will I ever keep up?’

‘Just let yourself be carried along.’ he replied in a heartbeat.

‘Swept away?’ she smirked again, and truthfully it was a snarl once more.

He nodded, ‘Swept away.’

At that moment she suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black book with a pen. She turned her back on him, flipped the cover open, thumbed the leaves of black ink scribbles until a blank page appeared and began writing. It was her ‘thought book’ and writing inside its dust covers was a way of saving these moments for all time.

She kept a box filled with these ‘thought books’ from way back into her early teens. Her plan was to one day read through them all before setting fire to them, to burn the past away when she was ready. But she hadn’t done so yet, and if truth be told didn’t fully believe she ever would. Writing them was a comfort, reading them may not be.

He stood patiently until her notes were done and she had stuffed the book and pen back into the pocket of her favourite cut-off jeans; the denim fraying over the soft skin of her thighs.

He wondered if he was being made immortal in that ‘thought book’ of hers. If he would be in her cage forever. He hoped so.

He had her heart. Now what the hell was he going to with it? Don’t fuck this one up, he told himself, please don’t fuck this one up!

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She watched as he dropped the shirt to his bare feet, where frayed strings of denim from his old jeans danced over his toes.

‘What are you doing?’ she said with a blush, and hidden under that blush a lustful smirk; inflamed with salacious hunger for one so demure.

He stretched out his fingers and widened his hands, before closing them in tight fists and then releasing again. And then he started.

Her mouth fell open as she watched him dig his nails deep into his chest, stabbing through skin and flesh.

‘What are you doing?’ she repeated. This time her words were shaken with immediate horror and growing disgust.

He said nothing, curled his fingertips in and with a grimace that twisted his stubbled jaw, tore his chest apart. He yanked at his breast plate, dislodging it and snapping his rib cage open. A pouring of blood flowed down his stomach and over his worn out jeans. The blood gathered in a puddle around his bare feet with a squelch and the rhythm of red raindrops.

He closed his eyes, feeling woozy, and steadied himself with a crimson hand print against the wall. With his other hand he dug deep into the cavern of his open chest. When he pulled his hand back out his fingers and thumb were held around his still beating heart, pulsating in his palm.

He looked up at her; the lines along his face spoke of a tiredness which had turned him loose, helped him give in and give up.

‘Take it,’ he said. ‘It’s yours. I no longer need it.’

‘I only want it if it’s inside you.’ she said, swallowing back the sickening aversion bubbling at the back of her throat.

‘It hurts too much inside me. Like a cancer, I needed to cut it out.’ he said.

She was lost for words. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.

His heart continued to pulse in his upturned hand, a throbbing offering of deep crimson blood and pain. The plasma dripped through his fingers and trickled down his tattooed forearm; a red wash caressing the black inked skin.

‘I’m a bad man. I can’t help it, there’s something inside my heart that makes me hurt other people so that I’m not alone in my own misery.’ he said, his eyes full of regret. ‘Maybe it will behave for you, if you take good care of it?’

‘Maybe we could care for it together?’

‘Inside me it will eat both of us alive. In your hands it could be softened by your beauty just as I have. Maybe it can change for you. But I’m done with it.’

His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, banging his shoulders and head back against the wall, under his own crimson hand print.

‘I’m done my love. My evil heart won.’

His eyes dropped. His breathing dropped. His hand dropped, but still he held onto his ripped out heart.

She scampered to his side where she shock at him, calling for him to wake up. The hole in his chest held dormant, like the entrance to an unlit cave avoided by all who knew better.

In his open palm, fingers relaxed and flopped open, sat his heart; the pulses were beginning to slow, the anger that sustained it subsiding as the life drained out with the pumping of its own red tears.

Her skin pricked with goosebumps and beads of anguish squeezed out of her temples. With the caution of a child prodding a sleeping monster, she poked at the bloody lump with the pad of her index finger. It was expanding and contracting with the shallowest of beats; the shortening ebb and flow of a life ending. She looked back toward his face, asleep but still with that deep, valley-like frown etched into this brow. She looked back at his heart.

Lifting it in her cupped hands, she whispered ‘Please be good.’

The heart remained slow pulsing; weak and cold; dying.

‘Please, we’ll make you happy, I know we can. Together, all three of us.’

With that, she puckered her soft lips and kissed the fleshy mound of blood and muscle with a gentle promise. Her lips stained like glitter-covered rouge lip gloss.

The heart remained the same, and her own heart sank.

Then a throbbing in her hands began to build, and the redness of the lump turned from a dark, deep set crimson to a luscious scarlet and then a bright, illuminant glow. The heart swelled in size, filling both palms.

She hastened to place his heart back inside his chest, and watched in awe as the pipes and the tissue connected up like an eager pump to clamouring valves and then flushed the body of the bad man she loved so much. His bones crawled into place, rebuilding themselves. The rim of the hole in his chest tightened as flesh flourished upon flesh, until the cave opening had sealed up once more.

His breathing returned, and then his eyes shot open as if an electric bolt had been fizzed into his body. Breathing in deep, gasping, he reached for his healed chest. Was that a nightmare? he questioned himself, has my whole life been one long, ugly nightmare?

If it was, then it felt good to be awake. The heart inside surged within him and the blood, pure and full of love, rushed through every vein in his electric body, giving him a sense of ecstatic adrenaline; a high on the drug of unconditional love; the rush of a roller-coaster diving down the vibrant tracks of happiness.

His evil heart had been transformed by a single kiss from a beautiful girl. That was all it took.

He reached out his hand and hooked her by the neck, and then pulled her tight onto him. They kissed deep; his evil heart thawing, and her blush-tinged lust no longer demure.

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‘And your eyes are stunning,’ he replied from his relaxed seated position against the bare brick wall, watching her pose in front of the photographer’s lens ‘and so our eyes love each other.’

‘Our eyes love each other.’ she repeated, twirling those words around in her mouth and then devouring them whole.

She batted her eyelashes as another one of his lines tickled her cheeks into raising a smile, and then she switched up her pose for the photographer hungrily snapping away. She arched her back and pushed her chest out, held one hand on her hip and twisted at the waist, crinkling her nose up with a tempting grin. She twirled her pink fingernails around her long hair, and felt the material of her white Marilyn Monroe dress grope over her skin.

They were in a studio and she was stood in front of a large wash of luster and luminance from a bank of soft boxes, key lights and bulky cameras on heavy duty tripods. The room tasted of burning air as the heat from the bulbs and tubes sizzled around her. Her skin dazzled and prickled under the shine.

The photographer leered, soaking into his camera all her beauty and snapping away feverishly as she posed and twirled and smiled and pouted and teased and feigned demure and boasted a confidence which she really never had.

Her whole life was spent with an anti-boy force-field around her. This particular boy, sat in the shadows watching and admiring, had found a way in.

He sat watching his girl drive the photographer crazy with a glimmer reflected in her eyes and off her glossy lips and embracing all her feminine curves and wondered how it was that he could be so lucky as to call her his. There was mystery wrapped around the face of a naughty angel and a body made for heavenly sin, but deeper inside was the lost girl who he longed to care for and protect. Or was it he who was most vulnerable now? She’s got me, he thought, she’s enticed me and sucked me up and now I’m locked in and about to throw away the key myself.

Every time he looked to her he would forget to breathe, and every time she would glance at him butterflies would run riot.

And still the photographer snapped his shutter and stole reflections of the girl every man wanted a moment of intimacy with. He was a thief and like a magpie wanting all that glitters in this world for his greedy nest of collected beauty, he wanted her. But she would never be his, she belonged to her assured hero sat in the shadows, encouraging her to own the lights while he simmered in the dark.

Her love’s gaze gave her the impetus to continue her flirting with the camera eyeing her up in it’s lascivious thirst. She never once looked the photographer in the eyes as this performance was just for the boy sat watching with a smiling nod, and not the greedy magpie aching for her. But the knowledge that she could attract attention and then throw it away gave her a sliver of confidence. This confidence would slip away again soon, of course, but right here in this moment, she felt sexy, in control, powerful. And all for him.

She turned to her boy, ‘You make me want you all over me’.

The photographer paused between clicks, jealousy freezing his fingers.

‘Inside and out.’ she continued, speaking only for the boy who had found this lost girl, only having eyes for him. ‘You’re in my veins baby.’

He sat and smiled approvingly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the photographer skulking away behind the bank of lights and retreating in defeat. The smell in the studio was that of a bonfire being snuffed out and she began to strut out of the spotlights and towards him.

He stood up and felt proud, and when she joined him in the shadows they kissed.

His mouth kissed over the words I love you by pressing warm against hers. Her glossy lips whispered take me as she parted his. Their tongues licked each other and their unspoken words were understood in unison, both demanding be mine.

He held her waist tight, never letting go, penetrating her anti-boy force-field in a way no other could do.

The photographer watched from behind his camera. He pressed down on the shutter and stole the reflected light from their moment; it was all anyone could take from them.

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Against a sea of white, she held hers out for him to inspect. The skin on her palms glowed an enticing pink and her finger tips ran smooth with innocence. Her open palms sounded like the comforting drop of a weary head sinking into a plump pillow.

‘Are those real?’ he asked.

‘No.’ she smirked. ‘You are dreaming, but I can still do what you asked for.’

‘But then when I awake, my shoulders will ache once more.’

She smiled and cupped her soft hands around his stubbled cheeks. He smelled her scent; lavender.

‘Then stay with me forever, in this dream. There is no reason to leave.’

‘Will I be able to rest my weary head on you for just a couple of minutes? Close my eyes?’ he asked, not waiting for a reply before he rested his right side on her chest.

He fell asleep, within his dream, and it was the most delicious deep sleep he had ever experienced.

He never did awake. He shoulders no longer ached. She was right, there was no reason to leave.

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