Serrated Subtlety

She could hear her own footsteps clicking through the din enveloping her, unknown faces and throbbing music. Or maybe all she could feel was the pressure that was exerted on her heel every time the stilettos were placed firmly on the smooth glassy floor beneath her. The fascination of a cracked glass floor, with the jaggedly patterns emanating from the sharp pointed heels of her stilettos, continued to amuse her.

She did not feel lost anymore. The disco balls with its minuscule pieces of reflecting light dispersed the electric colors of the night in random symmetry. She felt the sound being reflected off the sweaty people on the dance floor, bathed in monochromes of royal blue and blood red. She felt the cheek muscles tauten as a half smile crept her features. The discernable need not to hear or to be heard. The bliss of ignorance settled slowly, but surely over her.

She walked out. She walked out of a life she had known the intricacies of and which she assumed held the comforts of a stale yet definite future. She walked out of the arms of the man she had loved and made love to in the unearthly hours of the still night and the startling hours of the chaotic days. She walked out of the memories that still nestled in the warmth of her heart and whose resonance is unfailingly felt through the cells of her ever changing body. She walked out of the room, with the silence and a glass of whiskey in her hands.

The cold night air stung her face to a pretty shade of pink.

I sat on the edge of the grassy steps that lined the porch on the far west side. The smoke mingled with the cold night air as it travelled through the smooth passage of my nostrils. The sound of her heels, in the quiet solitude of the open porch, broke the stoic silence I was reveling in.

She stood leaning against one of the pillars with the mesmerizing carvings on it, a deception of antiquity. My gaze descended on the tips of her sea green stilettos, and travelled upwards through the long tough muscles of her claves. The snug midnight black dress she wore skimmed up against her thigh as she put her left foot forward, crossing her legs, in an attempt to make herself more comfortable. The electricity of the movement of fabric and her smooth skin was palpable.

And then my eyes found her neck. Her porcelain, creamy, long, swan-like neck. The sharp curve where her chin ended and her neck began to the depths of their closure between her two lovely handful of breasts. The veins that did not rear their heads but merged in the sheath of her skin. The bones that proudly flaunted their existence, in a attempt to claim for the beauty it was encased in. I stared. Stared at the way her neck found her shoulders in a perfect strutting curve. The dress that clung ever so slightly at the ends of her bare shoulders before it plunged to be united again in her now sweaty cleavage.

She turned to look at me.

I smiled the smile that always brought me luck.

She smiled feebly, not her best smile I presumed.

I stood up. Crushed the cigarette butt with the foot of my white peep-toes. Adjusted the hem of my olive green dress. Ran my fingers through my long brown tousled hair. And walked purposefully towards her.

She did not seem to welcome my presence. Nor did she display her displeasure.

I smiled more eagerly than I should have.

She complimented on my dusky legs. I was taken aback. Men liked chocolate skin. Fair women tend to be prejudiced.

I complimented on her beautiful dress. Women begin conversations by erecting frail pedestals.

The conversation soon swayed towards the lives we led, after the niceties were over. The cold purity of the night air in the deserted porch presented an opportunity to let both of us breathe and not just stifle our presence. She talked mostly. All I could do, apart from making it apparent that I listened to her, was to gaze at the features of her neck. From so close quarters.

She continually kept on adjusting her dress at the shoulders. I put a reassuring arm around her to convince her of the futility of the actions. Letting go seemed to be the theme of the night.

I noticed her need for stretching out. And mine too. Five inch heels are not your wonder drug in the midst of a heartbreaking conversation. So we moved to the grass cut steps. The castigating sandals lay in a heap next to us as we stretched our aching calf muscles. As she made round motions with her toes. As her feet lay well rested in the soft dewy grass.

The party was starting to break up. People stumbled out in a state of utter derision. Or in droves of a mockery of their unfulfilled lives.

The look of utter helplessness on her face was luminous even in the dark. The fidgety movement of her feet were a further testament. I casually asked her if she would like to leave.

She said yes. Without even knowing if I had a car or a place to crash in. The desperateness of her acquiescence made things easier.

No music played on the stereo as I drove through the quiet yet haunted streets of a city that pretends to sleep. She looked listlessly out of the window, trying to find a foothold in this maze of electric lights and undeciphered emotions.

The lock clicked and I turned to her. She smiled with renewed energy and walked inside my modest studio.

The kitchen was clean. The bed was made. A few of my books were lying around. The laptop was still hibernating. The only glitch was the cup of half-drunk stale tea from the previous morning.

She walked into the bathroom. I followed.

She stood in front of my huge mirror that reflects back till your waistline. Her hands were resting on the edge of the wash basin stands. For support or not, I’m yet to fathom.

I looked at her. Her face in the pale yellow light that hung above the mirror that reflected her image to me, as I stood leaning against the bathroom door. And how it threw shadows over her immaculate neck.

How a single horizontal slit would make it even more painfully beautiful. The creaminess of her skin that forms a perfect background for thick red blood to slowly drip down.

And I twisted the blade slightly between my fingers.