Part 2: Consequences

October 27 2008

To Whom It May Concern:

So for those of you who just checked in, my name is Dusha Holmes II, and I am writing what Nick Torres has dubbed a "Notable", or a story made on face book notes. Everything written for this story is done here. This second section of Silhouette is being written to the sounds of John Legend and Maroon 5. More specifically "don't let me be misunderstood", and "secret", those of you who know those songs may enjoy listening to them while you read. Oh, and crush by Dave. Thank you to all the people who responded so speedily and gave me really great feedback. From my would be editors, to my character developers, I'm not just writing for the sake of craft, but also for your entertainment. Right now I've been concerned with character development, as we get to know Delilah and Anderson better I think we'll better understand the nature of their relationship. This story has not been planned out in advance, but it grows as old questions are answered and new questions arise. So keep with the questions:

Now without any further ado I present Silhouette:

Tales in Motion

"You don't strike me as the 'it's better to be feared than loved type'", she tries to keep the slight dissappointment out of her voice. How could a man be so inspirational but yet lack mercy. She tries to see his eyes but he's still involved with the e-world.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm Machiavellian or anything, but -" before Anderson could finish his sentence her words fill the air.

" Oh please. What you just said was completely..." she trails off. Her fingers find her lips and outline her mouth slowly. Her silence is full.

"Completely what?" he inquires.

"Honest." she admits wistfully.

"You understand." he confirms.

"You confuse me."

"Why? Do you always show mercy?" Anderson asks. He hears her move on the couch as her mind and body wrestle with his question.

"In the spirit of your honest, I will have to say: no. I don't always show mercy."

"Of course not. Delilah, you're a beautiful woman."

"What does that mean?"

"The feeling that you inspire in men, you must know it. You must see it on their face when they look at you."

"Lust."

"Lust, and torture. You have to be fierce though right. You torture every man you walk passed and I'm Machiavellian. When do you show mercy?"

"Your argument is flawed, but I you make a compelling case."

She doesn't notice the keyboards new found shyness, nor does she hear the silencing of the mouse. What she does hear though is the footsteps slowly tapping towards her. The sound of leather against hardwood bring alertness to her body. She feels her hair stand on end. The lioness' senses sharpen. Soon there will be nothing in between them in the garden, no couch, no pillows. Each click brings the slowly forming reality of his closeness, soon the lion would be beside her. The thought both excites and scares her. She felt powerless around him, like a phony watched wrist in a Zales.

"Finished," he says gracefully plopping down on the opposite end of the couch. He notices the way she's curled on the couch. Arched and fetal, "little spoon" he thinks, as she clutches the pillow. She doesn't bother to look his way. At the computer he couldn't smell her, but her scent was all over the couch: Chanel no. 19, he's sure. It is a confident smell, he lets it dance on his palate.

"Took you long enough," she coos into the pillow. On the table besides him he notices the smear of lipstick on her glass of wine. It's empty.

"Another?" he asks instinctively.

"Take your shoes off, you're home."

"I'm still moving."

"Yes, another will be fine." He gets up and walks to the wine cabinet. It's made of stained oak with glass doors and a little convenient knob on the front. He reaches in and grabs something red.

"Today was a bit intense, huh?", on top of the music the sound of wine pouring into the cup connects them for a moment. Anderson stares intently into the cup as it fills. He watches the swirl of dark red. His movements are deliberate, and calculated. The silver of his cuff links shine in the moon light.

"A bit, Anderson? I was shot at."

"I know." his words are followed with silent understanding. The music keeps them connected, as he returns to the couch. They look at each other, for the first time they make eye contact, her brown eyes. She bites her lip sheepishly as he hands her a drink. Her arms are wrapped behind the sofa arm behind her, and her legs are crossed. Her fitted suit is sleekly follows her every movement like a shadow. This is a lion's gaze, she thinks as Anderson looks her up and down. She sees something primal in his face that normally he would not let show. But for some reason here, in his den, he could be honest.

"I thought I might, die."

"Don't think those thoughts."

"How can you not when the cup you were just holding explodes."

"Another good point."

"I don't know how do you deal with these things?" she crawls toward him. She's surprised somehow the couch seems so much larger with him on it then when he was at the computer. The length of it makes her feel small again, the sense of power starts to return. She remembers the sound of shattering glass and the screams of women and children in the restaurant. In an instant all around her was chaos. Anderson had reacted so fast. It was as if he was a machine, she didn't know what he did first knock her to the floor or return fire.

She had so many questions to ask him, and she really wanted to thank him,but she promised wouldn't discuss business. The lioness is the hunter, the lion is the protector. I almost died today, she thinks, should I not live like I may die tomorrow?

"You knew the risks," he continues as he watches her crawl towards him. Her hair falls to the sides of her face, and her gaze is constant. He wonders why the world feels like slow motion. She hears his words and wonders if he was reading her mind.

"Here are the consequences," she whispers into existence as that which is irresponsible enters the room with the wind and the moonlight. As her body moves something inside of her begs to roar.