A Crown & Bow

Titanium

Chapter 1: Darkness

The very first time I knew something was wrong—really, horribly wrong—was the first time I can remember hard-fast prayer. I mean, get down on your knees, sweating and suffering to such a desperate degree that you wish to the only possible power in the universe for what you most need to happen for your salvation. The problem was I wasn’t praying for any sort of goodness or love, not even for money or power; I was praying for the ruination and destruction of someone who should be considered sacred in a child’s small world.

For two solid weeks, I imagined his sharp, little, red sports car smashed into a myriad of pieces, twisted into a blazing, metal pretzel. So when my father didn’t come home one day after I had long since returned from school, I almost didn’t need to hear his fateful account. I felt like I already knew it all. Hadn’t I created every single one of those terrible details in the darkest reaches of my very own young mind? Hadn’t I seen the turnoff, the blind spot, and the rusting, orange truck barreling toward him?

My only real surprise was that he lived to tell about it—must have been his dark Guardian Angel looming over him that day, not that I believed in any such thing. Up until that day, I hadn’t really believed in anything much at all.

I didn’t stop to consider that he was the only parent I’d ever really had, or that he managed to feed and clothe me. I watched brutally, with cold-hard satisfaction, as every moment of that sinister evening unfolded—it lived in my memory, though I never witnessed it in reality.

Was this what it was like to be evil, to at times will complete horror onto others, even if there seemed to be an excellent, justifiable reason to do so? I was just then beginning to embrace my own darkness, and I began to imagine I had the power to maybe even materialize—conjure up—such powerful and destructive thoughts into action before my very eyes.

It was a horrible, evil wish, but what is it they say about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes? Well, my feet were pretty bloody, and now, at the ripe old age of eighteen, I would have traded mine for almost anybody’s.

My father beat at my fragile bedroom door, snapping me out of my somber brooding. "Ten more minutes, Sloane! Do not make me wait a second longer!" he yelled savagely.

Got it. Ten minutes. I’m all packed—almost ready! I managed to shout out.

Then let’s get this over with. I’ve got better things to do with my time. And with that, he stomped brutishly away.

Sigh.

My father was what you might call vicious, but really he was so much more than that. The term sociopath may have been far more appropriate.

I slowly finished packing up my small stash of clothes. I pretty much only owned some worn jeans, flannels, thermals, nothing too special—mostly just the basics. I didn’t have many treasured possessions, except for a small, round silver pendant I always wore. It bore my first initial, and inscribed on the back was a small cross. I wasn’t religious, but my beloved grandmother had given it to me, and for that reason alone, it had become sacred.

I hadn’t seen my grandparents in years—my father forbade contact with my mother’s parents. In fact, he forbade just about everything. They lived fairly far away, in rural Massachusetts. Maybe I would finally get the chance to see them, now that I would be far away from him.

I sighed heavily again as I stuffed the remaining cardboard boxes back into my tiny closet, and then took a last, cursory glance in the mirror, eyeing my sullen, almond-shaped green eyes fringed with long, dark lashes. Mood eyes, someone had once called them—moody because of the girl or because of the constantly shifting colors, I wasn’t sure. Depending on my emotion at the moment, my eyes could shift wildly from a cheerful, serene blue, to a saddened grass green, to infuriated black holes—they always scared me the most when I caught sight of them in the mirror during a rage.

Oh, Sloane Porter—if you could only use those eyes to see the future instead of simply indicating your transitioning moods?

I pulled my brush through my wild, tangled, strawberry-blonde hair, and admired my reflection detachedly. I could probably be a pretty girl, with my full lips and heart-shaped face, but the truth was I practiced invisibility like it was a religion. I never looked up much, there was never really a need to—people in general had become a painfully sore disappointment in my short life.

My father’s malicious, angry voice slammed me headfirst back into my terrible reality. "Didn’t you just say you were ready? Jesus! Hurry the hell up. And you need to make sure you have everything you need, because I am not making another trip for you or any of your stuff, if that’s what you think. And anything you do leave, I will consider trash. I have an important appointment later this evening, so we need to go. NOW!" my father snapped.

He had the unusual cadence and precision of speech you would expect from a medical research doctor, and by appointment, he really just meant another date with another poor, clueless woman searching desperately for the next answer to her problems. Little did she know that all her real problems were only just beginning when she accepted his seemingly innocent dinner invitation.

He made sure to follow up his nasty diatribe by banging on my door again. There was not enough wood in the world to protect me from him. I grabbed my bags with both hands, heaving maybe the heaviest sounding sigh anyone could possibly exert, and swiftly made my way down the long staircase leading into the family room and kitchen.

I could feel all of the acid rising from the pit of my stomach as I adjusted my narrow shoulders beneath my leather jacket and pushed ahead to face my destiny. I had yearned for this moment four long years, but I dreaded the pathway to my escape—the next several hours might literally kill me.

I wanted to beg for another few minutes to run back into my sanctuary to scan the remainder of my things for lost treasures, never to be seen or heard of again, but that was not to be. I needed to put on my suit of armor and not expose any weakness to him—weakness would be a very dangerous mistake right now.

I clenched my teeth and sucked in all the air I could, my gut pitching dangerously at my next words. I have what I need, and I certainly don’t need a single thing from you, I volleyed back testily as I carefully edged around his dark figure and headed toward the fridge to grab some bottled water for the long trip.

Change the attitude or I’ll change it for you! he shouted back in return.

Then suddenly, as if to say I was literally not out of his grasp yet, he was behind me, grabbing at my left arm viciously and then ramming me into the kitchen doorframe. The breath was knocked so violently out of my windpipe, it took me a moment to recover my senses.

I tried to wrestle my way out of his grip, but my body uselessly thrashed against the wall and anything else that was in close proximity. The water bottles in my hand crashed onto the floor, ricocheting off my legs with a thud, and my bags bounced down the hallway ahead of me as my arms flailed in terrified distress.

He began to shake me like a flimsy rag doll, spitting, snarling, and screaming in my face. I could feel the anxiety building inside, and I very nearly passed out from the sheer fear of looking into his vile eyes. Why did this still scare me so? I should have become used to it by now. At least I knew enough not to say anything—not to cry out, or scream for him to stop, or to leave me alone—it would only increase his agitation and consequently, my injuries.

It was not that he was so much bigger or stronger or faster than me, though I wasn’t very tall, and was somewhat slight in build—he was just so much angrier than me—though that might seem hard to imagine.

The blows began—mostly striking the sharpest points on my face, cheekbones, and nose. The salty taste of my own blood trickled down into my gaping lips.

I didn’t cry—I never really did. I had moved past tears a very long time ago.

I had to get out of here fast. My brain began racing forward as I finally sprang into action. Just as his heartless fingers burrowed into the flesh at my neck, I kicked my right leg up and out, dislodging his feet and toppling his stance. I didn’t wait to assess the damage. I ran blindly back up the stairs, through the dark, picture-less hallway, glancing off open doors and furniture and grabbing my bags as I went. Relief washed over me as I finally reached my bedroom door.

I could hear his closed fist reverberate off the hollow wood. I deftly flicked the series of locks I had installed on the interior, and then braced it with my desk chair for good measure.

Waves of fear flooded my crowded mind as I tried to get one full thought to the surface of my frantic brain.

I started to dig wildly through my messenger bag for my cell phone. Dead. Great! And I had no time to recharge it—had to use the home phone. Not good.

I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed the receiver in my room, and silently dialed.

An eerie stillness echoed from the other side of the door. I was sure I didn’t have much time before he figured me out and picked up another phone in the house to eavesdrop. I knew all his tricks by now. Well, at least he hadn’t disconnected me yet.

Jenny, one of my oldest elementary school playmates, and nearest neighbor, answered the phone brightly, Hello?

Hey, Jenny, it’s Sloane—I need a favor. Can you take me to the Fayetteville Bus Station? I need to catch my connection to GEU and I don’t have a ride! I rushed.

"Sure, no problem, I am so not busy—you don’t even know! When should I come and pick you up?" Jenny enthusiastically chirped.

I’ll come to you. Hey, I owe you, OK? I whispered, trying not to sound too urgent.

It’s cool. I know where I can find you! Jenny obliviously continued.

I quickly shifted gears and began to chat as though this was a normal conversation, as though this was a normal way of life. We carried on for a minute or two discussing a new local band, but the entire time I was preparing my silent escape. As I spoke, chattering on about nothing, I was opening my second-story bedroom window and preparing to jump.

Deep inside the house, the swearing and spitting furiously resumed. The thumping and banging and shouting sent another thrill of terror down my spine. I jacked up the volume on my TV and quietly edged my way out of the open window.

Click.

He may have just cut my line, but I had already gracefully tossed my bags, and then my body, out of the two-story house. I crashed into my spongy luggage, slid on my knees across the slick grass, then easily broke into a seamless sprint from my start position.

I threw the cordless phone into the nearest bush and pounded my way across the backyard, taking cover behind the shadowed pine trees and keeping my distance from the shiny, blackened windows of my dank former house.

I was both a swimmer and runner, so it took me about two miles to really start breathing hard. When I felt I had sufficient distance between us, I collapsed onto a formation of rocks in the vast forest behind my father’s property.

Jenny’s house was close now—just on the outside edge of the woods engulfing the immense, lush acreage behind my own. I just needed to make it there before my dad caught on. If he figured out I was already gone, and then drove to Jenny’s place, it would recreate a scene straight out of my nightmares, straight out of my past, that is.

I was at her house in another few minutes. I threw my bags into the backseat of her habitually unlocked Escort and sank low into the passenger side seat to wait. And then I remembered my face. I ripped my ponytail out, letting my sweaty hair hang raggedly about my battered cheeks. Then I dug around in my bag again and managed to find my trusty old aviator sunglasses—they had protected my privacy and pride more times than I could number, I mused gratefully.

With a little help from the passenger side mirror, I could ascertain that the bruises hadn’t yet set into my pale, freckled skin. I wiped the remaining blood and sweat from my nose and mouth, and then self-consciously pulled at my hair again, adjusting it like a curtain over my exposed face so any bruise at this point would just be a dim, murky shadow.

Jenny threw open the door to her house, bounded down the driveway, flicked her car door ajar, and grinned widely at me. She was a tiny blonde firefly who seemed to move around at the speed of light.

She had no idea (nobody really did) what I suffered through, but I didn’t really sit around chatting about it at sleepovers either. I wasn’t into pity, or any other emotion that I could think of, except for fear, plenty of fear, but nobody would ever know that either.

Going to college today, are we? she bubbled. Her blonde curls bounced and shuddered as she threw her old, trusty Ford Escort into reverse.

Yeah, just thought the bus would be faster, really, and Liz had to go somewhere with her Mom at the last minute, soooo I am relying on your kindness and high-speed driving skills! I managed to muster a halfhearted grin and shrugged. I was a well-practiced liar by now.

Oh, well, her loss is my gain! I can get you to the bus station in about fifteen minutes, does that work? AND, I can catch you up on all my news, especially the male kind!

I couldn’t help myself—my smirk broke out into a full-fledged grin as Jenny raced through town like she was competing in NASCAR. Jenny drove exactly the way she did everything else—very, very fast. The bus station was actually more like thirty minutes away, but I was grateful today for her speed.

Yeah, that works! Thanks again for doing this for me, I stated as I looked at her innocent and oblivious expression.

"No problem! Now on to me—so who do you think called me last night? Three guesses!" Jenny turned slightly in her seat, grinning from ear to ear.

Um, can you watch the road, please? I would like to get to college in one piece, thank you very much! And I already know who called you—a certain Brian Sims? Yes?

"OK, so maybe you didn’t really need three guesses, but he’s asked me out on a second date, and he’s taking me all the way to Atlantic City for the weekend to see those crazy acrobatic people—I can’t remember what they’re called, but they are awesome! And dinner—oooooh, he’s made reservations at my favorite steakhouse on the planet! Uh, I cannot wait!" Jenny’s face was positively beaming, so proud of her achievement.

Wow! That’s some second date—I guess you made quite the impression on the first one! I returned her smile as enthusiastically as possible, and I was truly happy for her—I just couldn’t relate when it felt like the entire world was pressing down around me, drowning me in such an isolated sadness.

Jenny chattered excitedly about her date, and I heard myself replying with almost equal enthusiasm, but my brain was consumed with the events of the day and the possible repercussions. Halfway through her speech regarding the importance of maintaining one’s independence while dating the boy of your dreams, a bumblebee hummed straight through the half-open window and landed on the tip my index finger.

Jenny glanced over, and then quickly turned her attention back to the road. My friends weren’t even fazed by bees anymore—no hysterical girl screams erupted from my little crew when a bee, or wasp, butterfly, or even a horse seemed to gravitate toward me. I gently eased the insect from finger to finger as I examined his vibrant, striped black and yellow belly. What an unusual and utterly useless talent, I thought. Why couldn’t I be a great gymnast or a magnificent composer or something that was interesting, exciting, or useful?

Geez, I can’t believe you can still do that. You’re going to get stung one of these days! Jenny admonished theatrically, waving a petite hand at me.

"Jenny, it’s not like I can help it! They come to me, they stay! I’m not doing anything!"

Jenny smiled slightly and continued, Whatever. Mark my words, Porter—one of these days, you’re gonna get stung by some nasty winged creature, and you’re going to contract like, malaria or something awful…Anyway, did I tell you what Brian said about my dress?

I laughed inwardly—right, like I needed to add malaria to my long list of problems. I think I would settle for just getting the heck out of Syracuse, NY and then take it from there.

Chapter 2: New Dawn

The bus ride was long and melancholy. Dusk approached, lighting the mountains on fire like red-hot, burning volcanoes. You could feel the deeper chill in the air through the half-open windows, even though it was only September. I examined the trees as their varying leaves, in all colors of the rainbow, began to drift silently to the ground and imagined what it would be like to just disappear completely and fade away into the earth with no trace, like a withered leaf in the dead of winter. I imagined the relief that would be associated with such an action, and sighed.

My existence always seemed to be an outlet for someone else’s anger or despair; I felt like a burned-up, old ashtray. Or maybe worse, maybe I was the lighter—the stimulus for pain and anguish.

As my eyes moved rapidly over the darkening landscape, I slowly turned my torturous life over and over, examining it like some shiny foreign object.

I wondered, almost imagined, broodingly about who I could have been, what I might have been like if I had a family like Jenny’s or some of my other friends—no screaming, no deception, no animosity. I almost couldn’t fathom it.

Cuddling against the ice-cold bus window, I tried to find some measure of comfort in my tiny, vinyl seat. My arm was tangled awkwardly behind my head as I watched my dim and fading reflection disappearing, then reappearing, repeating the pattern endlessly. My eyes ached from fatigue as I slowly sank into a gloomy, dreamless sleep.

I awoke to the screeching of bus tires and brakes grinding to a halt at what would be my final destination—Gloucester, MA. Had I really just slept for the past five hours? It seemed incomprehensible I could let my conscious mind go for that length of time—troubled as I was.

I pushed the silky, strawberry-colored waves out of my sore face and contemplated the sad eyes reflecting back at me. Too dark for my aviators now—my sea-green eyes were highlighted by heavy, dark circles, and my cheekbones were blemished with the ugly, bluish-purple stain of a physical altercation. My heart-shaped lips were extra puffy—I could feel where my bottom lip had split slightly, and the swelling caused it to brush against my teeth painfully.

I arranged my hair back into a low, messy bun at the nape of my neck and made my way off the bus just in time to watch the driver callously throwing our bags into heaps so that we had to push and scramble over one another to snatch up our belongings. I didn’t climb or press, I merely waited until everyone else was through. After all the hugging and kissing and I missed you died down, I snatched my bags, threw my earbuds in, and stalked into the dark night, occasionally glancing down at the disheveled map stuffed between my clenched fingers.

Navigating my way easily through the gloom, the dank streets melting into one another like giant shifting shadows, I finally came upon the century-old stone building that contained my studio apartment. I was one of those lucky freshmen whose parents thought the dorms were not suitable or appropriate for a serious student bent on their studies, so here I was, exiled to my isolated, new home.

Without pomp, circumstance, or the sentimentality that always seemed to parade around the idea of new beginnings, I simply turned, pulled open the door, and stepped forward into the black space before me.

No parties, no long-term guests, no renovations, no… the landlady grumbled on. I was pretty sure breathing and eating would be the next things on her list.

I handed her the check, which was not only my first month’s rent, but also my first semester’s rent (my dad was making sure that dropping out or coming home wasn’t an option), and then attempted to dismiss her with a curt good-night. But instead of disappearing, she stared at me, her rotted grin hanging open in shock. She looked a little like a jack-o’-lantern, but I was fairly certain pumpkins had more teeth.

What happened to yer face? Looks like you got into a little trouble! she said in her thick New England accent, leering up at me suddenly—as if noticing me just now for the first time.

I placed a hand reflexively at my throat and attempted a halfhearted smile for my new, nosy neighbor. No, no trouble at all. Just a little clumsy sometimes.

Well, make sure you don’t get clumsy around this place—wouldn’t have you breakin’ things around here. The owner wouldn’t like that very much…

No. You’ll have no trouble from me whatsoever, I reassured her in a desperate effort to free myself from this strange old woman who was so suddenly intent on prying into my business.

Good. That’s the way I like it around here—no troublemakers, or you’re gone. Oh, and one more thing, no pets and no late night visitors! I don’t need trouble!

Yeah, I kind of got that, I thought sarcastically. Instead, I smiled tightly—my very last fake effort of the day, and with that last statement, she abruptly slammed my apartment door in my swollen face.

I leaned my sleepy head against the peephole and heaved a long, tired sigh. Looking down into my hand, I viewed the remaining contents of the envelope. At least my rent had been paid for, now I just needed money for food, books, and anything else that might come up. My father was taking care of the portion of tuition my student loans didn’t cover, so I was set for the semester at least.

To be clear, he wasn’t trying to be generous; he was only doing the socially appropriate thing, and he was also getting rid of his responsibilities in one quick shot. I was on my own for the rest of my expenses, but that was just fine by me. I hated the fact that he was helping me out financially at all. It gave him too much power over me—strings for jerking his puppet offspring around.

I could rely on myself. I had some savings I could depend on, for a little while anyway, but I would definitely have to find some gainful employment soon; a girl still has to eat. I suddenly remembered I had some time before my freshman orientation began, so I would try my luck tomorrow morning. I would be sure to find something then.

I threw my only set of sheets down on the bed in the corner, and then headed into the shower to scrub my body head to toe, trying to erase the day. I winced in pain every time I accidentally washed too hard over a sore spot. Considering the fact they seemed to cover every square inch of my body, I was wincing a great deal. I began muttering a mantra to myself, erase the bruises, erase my cuts, erase the day, erase my life, erase everything…

Tomorrow would be different, I promised myself—a new place to live, a new school, new surroundings, new everything, and maybe even a new me. I settled into my new bed with a warm cup of decaf (hopefully the last tenant hadn’t left it in the freezer for too long), which I acquired from my bleak, little kitchen and surveyed my surroundings. It wasn’t very much to look at. The walls had just been painted yet another bland coat of white, and the furniture, what little there was of it—sofa, kitchen table, bed, nightstand—looked like they had been stolen out of some stuffy, old museum. At least the appliances were fairly new.

I would definitely have to warm this place up a bit, maybe a rug or some candles or something. It could be comfortably cozy, but the best part was it was all mine. I could make this tiny flat into my new sanctuary.

Of course all of this could take place only once I found that job. I would start looking tomorrow before my freshman orientation, I promised myself again. My iPod echoed in my head—it’s a new dawn…

The long, terrible night was finally over, and the morning sun reflected off my closed lids.

In the morning light, the apartment looked a little better, but not much. I refilled my only coffee mug with the stale, leftover coffee from last night, and then I delicately attempted to conceal the trauma of yesterday’s events under a thick layer of foundation. Sufficiently convinced that my makeup disguised my wounds, I threw an old favorite sweater on over my tank top and linen shorts. The morning chill in Gloucester was almost refreshing. That would be my word for my new life—refreshing.

I took a long look outside of my dingy, third-floor window. My building had three floors of flats and then a very large basement apartment, where the landlady lived. Beyond the ancient, black wrought iron fence surrounding my apartment, one could view Gloucester proper.

It was a very old, tiny, coastal town outside of Boston, and from my window, I was able to discern blackened rooftops, spires, and could even catch shimmering glimpses of the Atlantic Ocean breezing into the rocky harbor. Though my building wasn’t extremely tall, it was located at the top of a steep hill, which gave it a decent view of the surrounding area.

Suddenly, my window hazed over from my hot breath hitting the cold pane, obscuring any further observation of my new home. Autumn mornings in New England could be bone chilling, but I knew from briefly staying with my grandparents as a small child that I would need my shorts and tank for later in the day.

I took another long, hard look at the tired walls and old, decrepit furniture—it really wasn’t much to look at, but a lock on the door meant it was mine, and the metal and wood meant protection, solitude, and maybe even some measure of peace.

I remembered back to the days, months, and long years swelling out behind me, when my only instinct was pure survival, no matter the cost to my heart or ravaged spirit. Now I could sense something a little more behind those years of desperate struggle. Now I was at least somewhat free. The feeling was something like exhaustion, but mixed with new, wholly unfamiliar emotions stirring within me. Was it relief or something more? Expectation? I would never go so far as to believe in hope, but something new was brewing inside my soul.

I dashed out to Main Street hoping I could find some sort of gainful employment opportunity before orientation started. In the light of day, I was able to appreciate the sleepy beauty of this quaint New England town.

Many of the streets were made of the original cobblestones, which the ancient Puritans had once installed into the coarse landscape, scarring the hillsides overlooking the vast Atlantic Ocean. They were perfectly lined with statuesque willow trees, and the charming buildings were so old, they looked like they were from some far, distant past filled with horses, carriages, and ladies in billowing petticoats. The ocean ran right along the cliffs bordering the town, winding along almost parallel to the Main Street thoroughfare. The sea winds blended with the emerging sun to create an unseasonably warm feeling in my bones. This place looked and felt so magical, like a page ripped from a fairy tale.

The first shop I went into was a very trendy boutique for women’s clothing—Jessica’s Closet. A mannequin in the window was completely saturated with pale pink sequins. It was wearing a fuchsia party dress and a sign advertising their super-cute selections. I was certainly anything but super-cute. Super-scary, maybe. I glanced down at my favorite, worn sweater and imagined the look of chagrin on the manager’s face once she caught sight of me. I immediately turned on my heel and fled. I spotted a young tween on my way out, who was cradling some sort of tiny, fluffy pooch wearing a hot-pink shirt—definitely not for me.

The next place I tried was an incense/candle/potpourri/jewelry/everything mish-mash store. It looked like I might fit in with the weird, grunge vibe, and I was sure the employee discount would at least help me get started on Operation Fix Up My Dump Apartment.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, wearing the traditional hippie skirt and braids and hanging a large tie-dyed tapestry of a dancing bear.

Welcome! Are you looking for cool items to decorate your dorm or apartment? We have everything! In fact, we just got in a new scent of incense, patch—

Oh, no thanks! I interrupted quickly. I was actually wondering if you—

The store clerk interrupted right back, nodding her head in a knowing way. I know what you’re really here for! I do have quite the reputation around here for it! Everyone wants a reading! I do palmistry, aura readings, and also…

And before I could stop her, she was grabbing my hand, flipping it over, and grinning with child-like anticipation.

I tried to gently pull my hand back, but then momentarily reconsidered. What the hell—if it helped me get the job, then I was all for it.

She held my hand in hers for a moment, her smile curving from an impish grin down to a disturbed frown. Bending over to get a closer look, she began to mutter incoherently, but then threw my hand away in haste, mumbling something about bad energy.

I laughed to myself as the door chimes rang out behind me—guess I wasn’t getting that job.

Hmm, note to self—do not let the next potential/future employer do any palm readings—bad idea. I laughed again at the thought and moved on to the next place. Was that a deli/ice cream parlor?

After a few more dead ends, I started feeling completely discouraged. I had experience at a retail shop in my hometown, and I actually had some decent references too, but it seemed as though the entire freshman population had my very same idea, and not many places were now in need of applicants.

I was just about to give up when I caught sight of a huge, flashy sign from the corner of my eye—Winston’s. I could at least give it a try, why not? I really did need a job.

As I entered the building, I cringed. It looked far too much like a fancy department store on the inside, but this was my last hope of the day.

The store was fairly empty except for a few employees in various areas of the store, ringing up customers, stocking shelves, and setting up displays.

My eyes almost magnetically roved to the right side of the store, toward the first aisle of sporting goods—my entire body stiffened like a rigid, wooden board. And though I never really noticed anyone in particular before, especially if it was a guy, I noticed him immediately.

He was much taller than most men, with a lean, but muscular, frame. His face was angled perfectly, with high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and the most beautiful lips I had ever seen on anyone—male or female. His hair was so dark brown, it was nearly black, shiny, thick, and a little messy from his obviously busy day. He was stunning, almost unearthly, as he majestically completed his mundane task of sorting through boxes down one of the main aisles.

As I stopped to admire him, his body straightened, and he turned smoothly to stare right back at me. Like a cheetah on the prowl for quarry, as though his nose caught the scent of what he was searching for, his head rose higher in the air and tilted with interest in my direction. The look on his exquisite face read something like excitement mixed with recognition or familiarity, of all things, but he didn’t seem surprised to see me. It was almost as though he was expecting me—like he knew me, knew that I was coming—so bizarre.

I hadn’t noticed, but I actually stopped breathing and walking for the moment as my stare focused on his vibrant, blue eyes. They were glowing the most intense shade of blue I had ever seen—the color of the sea as a storm approaches—blue and green, with tinges of violet, and perfectly shaped. I had never seen eyes so bright and beautiful before. They were his true crowning glory. If eyes really were windows to the soul, then his soul must have been pure perfection.

He had literally stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt frozen solid to the spot, but I had to remember why I was here. I needed a job, so I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Of course, in order to get to the back office, I was forced to pass directly in front of him, and as I did so, a beautiful fragrance wafted out at me like a warm summer garden. I could feel his gaze boring into my face, which by this time was turned defiantly away from his probing stare. I had come directly back to my senses, and I wasn’t interested in any kind of attention from anyone except someone who had a little hiring power.

Out of the furthest corner of my eye though, I continued to watch his perfect face. His cheeks colored lightly, and I noticed his pearly