She Will Be Loved

Sometimes he would just stand there on the street corner, staring up at the ominous castle.  And sometimes he could even see the silhouettes of the occupants dance in front of the windows.  But he always knew when it was her silhouette.

Pendulum Tin would always know Campara von Pyre from any woman, any person.  The way her nose was long and sleek, and the way her eyes would glower at you while she looked past it.  He remembered her loose curls, how uneven the locks had been when the two had parted.  He wondered if she had cut her hair so it would grow back evenly.  He imagined her with the short hair of a pixie.  Very sixties, he mused.  It would suit her.

He had had the privilege to hear her laughter, see her smile, listen to her music.  Yes, somehow, even if he was never with her, Tin knew he would always know her.

She rarely came out of the castle while he was there, and he was there often.  The treks would be long to her castle, but he was determined.  Always with some notion that today would be the day.  He would knock on her door, ask for her, and let her know he was still around.  The nerve was lost before he even approached the door.

So, on the street corner he remained.  Eventually he realized how odd he must look out in the open, so he began taking his car.  An old Mercedes.  

He didn't always just stare at the monstrous building.  His glove compartment was filled with the unsent letters of his affection, too chicken to even place one on her steps.  He looked up at her window high off the ground.

She was brushing her raven curls.  How he longed to touch them as each lock was stroked to perfection.  Not a hair out of place as she adorned her head with a tortoiseshell comb, the teeth pulling back the strands.  

She was primping her face.  A little powder.  A fluff of her eyelashes.  A coat of dark lipstick.  She didn't need blush.  He remember vividly the way the cold made her cheeks violet instead of rosy; a color very similar to that of a sunset.

He could see her eldest brother attempting to tie the strings of her corset.  The yelp that came from her was high, like a bird the moment an arrow goes through its heart.  It was a beautiful noise.  Her black dress would slip over her next, binding tightly at the wrists and neck.  Maybe an elegant hat of dark flowers would sit sideways upon her head.  Then she would take her parasol and maybe, just maybe leave the manor that day.

There was a knock on Tin's window and he jumped quite violently.  He noticed it had begun to rain, it being much too cold for snow to fall.  Campara von Pyre motioned for him to roll down the window.  She was sopping wet with no parasol.  He obliged to open the window.  "So," she began.  "Ya gonna sit there all day or are you going to let me in the car?"

Oh, how long it had been since he had heard her voice!  He opened the door and scooted to the passenger side.  She didn't look at him when she entered, only stared forward towards her home.  

Her hair only hung down in clinging waves.  There was no tortoiseshell comb, no hat.  The dress he had imagined ceased to exist as well.  The smooth white skin of her neck and chest was exposed.  He fought the urge to drag his fingers across it.

Some of her makeup ran from her eyelashes.  She shook ever so slightly from the rain.  Tin quickly took off his cloak and offered it to her.

"You've sat here a long time," she whispered.

He didn't know how to respond.  How does one explain that they are guilty of sitting on a street corner and watching a house for a woman he knew he would not have the courage to go after?  

"What do you want from me?" she asked desperately, finally allowing her golden eyes to meet his silver.  Tin didn't know if he could answer that either.  He sighed, rubbing absently at his neck.

"I think about you every day," he explained.  "Every second.  Every moment.  You madden me, Campara."

The sorceress shook her head.  "Don't say that," she insisted as closed her eyes.  "This has to stop."

"What has to stop?" he asked incredulously.

"This.  You sitting on this curb every day and waiting for me."

He was silent.  "Stop this," she said firmly.  "I can't fucking take it.  Seeing you out here every day just waiting.  You don't move.  You don't eat.  I can't have that kind of responsibility.  Not again."

Secretly it made him bubble up to know that she watched him just as intently as he watched her.  Campara made a frustrated sound and exited the car, being sure to slam the door so hard the entire vehicle shook.  Tin exited behind her.  

As the rain beat down on her, she made her way back to the castle.  "What are you so afraid of?" he yelled after her.  "Why are you trying so hard to forget me?"

She whipped around on her heel.  Her eyes were hurt, but she tried to conceal it.  Campara von Pyre would not show weakness.   "Because I already took over your life once.  I can't do it again, Pendulum."

Didn't she know he forgave her?  He had seen a side to her no one ever had.  A woman with so much weight on her heart that she snapped at anyone who tried to lift it.  Campara persecuting herself would not bring his family back.  He couldn't see her suffer anymore on his account.  She had her punishment and it was to be with him.

"What do you expect?" she asked.  "For us to drive off in your little car and live happily ever after?  Do I look like a little wifey?  What kind of life would that be?  Me waking up to your face and knowing what I've done. . . It isn't a life for us."

Tin walked towards her, each step wringing from the cobble stones and running up his spine and into his ears.  The blood pumped with it.  He took her pale, taloned hand in his, stroking the ligaments with his thumb.  His eyes looked up into hers.  "What are you doing?" she asked, almost disgusted that he would touch her.  He watched droplets run from her hair and from the tip of her nose.  Some of it pooled in the crevices of her chest.

Before he knew it his lips were on hers.  She squealed, the same noise he had imagined earlier. And it was finally for his ears.  Tin held her close at the waist.  Her hands pushed at his biceps, but her lips betrayed her, only giving very minimal resistance to his.  "Don't do this. . ." she whispered even as her hand roamed from his shoulder and into his hair.

"Why not?" He murmured before returning to the kiss.  He often wondered how her lips would feel beneath his.  How soft they would be.  They were icy from the air and rain.  They trembled ever so slightly.  Whether from the frigid air or from pleasure he could not tell.

His lithe fingers stroked her damp cheek, then crept to Campara's soaked hair.  He brushed the locks back from her face.  Her mouth opened a little more invitingly to his as if she wanted to find the warmth she lacked in him.

When she finally pulled away, she looked like scared doe.  Her eyes were wide with what she'd done.  She tried to turn away for a quick escape.  He grabbed her tiny wrist.

"I wasn't waiting for you," Tin conceded.

Campara did not look at him, only allowed the tension between his hand and her body grow while she admired the cobblestone.

"I was waiting for myself."

"Why's that?" she finally asked with the tiniest bit of a sob betraying her.

"So I could do this."  And he jerked her back into his arms.