The cargo plane’s propellers whirl: filling the hot air with a rhythmic throbbing and sending her hair streaming over her shoulder.
They stand before the aircraft’s open door: its shadowed interior a welcoming invitation to escape. But she has to resist. She cannot run from this. Cannot run from him.
He stands so close. Too close. The bulk of him is overwhelming.
His breath on her face discomforts her, makes her question why she’s putting herself through this. But she’s got to make him believe her actions; has to feign an attraction she neither feels nor wants.
‘Will you come back?’
His reply, muttered in a deep, barely-discernible drawl, sends shivers down her spine.
‘I promise I’ll always be around.’
Her lips draw away from her teeth in a cringe she just manages to cover.
She can’t let his nearness immobilise her. Has to stay focused, let this play out. Otherwise this will never be over; and the thought of repeating this moment is almost more than she can bear.
She forces herself to maintain eye contact: tries not to see the high shine of the tightly pulled skin that smears his features untidily across his face; the incessantly arched brows, reminiscent of clown paint.
He takes her hands, pulls her into a hug and presses his face into her hair.
She is unable to restrain the shudder that runs through her at the increased contact. But emotion of any sort is better than being frozen; and he miss-reads the reaction and holds her tighter still.
She’s grateful that the embrace hides her face from any others that may be watching this hideous excuse of purported intimacy.
‘You take care, Sandra. You take care.’
He sets her away from him and gratitude at being released causes her to sigh and smile shyly up at him.
Then slowly and inexorably, his head bows towards hers.
It takes her a moment to comprehend the intent of the movement.
Oh God, he’s going to try and kiss her.
She stands hypnotised; dismay and revulsion blossoming within her.
She’s practiced this moment repeatedly, yet still she is wholly unprepared for the reality.
His face fills her vision; magnifying the flaccid eyelids tipped with thick, black lashes whose delicacy mocks the distended, sloping curve of worm-like lips.
And her mind screams: No! No. Please God, no!
To be continued…
This piece was written and submitted as part of WordPress.com’s Weekly Writing Challenge. The writing challenges are designed to “help you to push your writing boundaries, show off your blogging chops, and, hopefully, spark more post ideas”. The posts should be specifically written in response to the challenge set.
This week’s challenge was to “write a post that will leave readers waiting for more”. The conclusion of the story will be published tomorrow.
You can see how other bloggers responded to the challenge, on Cliffhanger!.
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AUTHOR: I am might war. I have a love of music, the written word, travel, Anime, polar bears, people and “sticking and colouring”.