I only slept with you because I thought you were nice, she told me over and over and over again. Nice. Great word. It reminds me so much of porcelain dolls. Nice to look at but break it and its yours. I never wanted to be nice. I wanted to be hot, gorgeous, brilliant--something which inspires and burns villages like wildfire. But that was not how she saw me. She saw me as nice. Ice. Cold. Breakable.
I remember Vanessa pretty well. And it was not just because she called me nice. She had this dark curly hair. Bouncy. Almost as if inviting me to play with her. And I guess being new to the playground, I found her seductive. Alluring. She was all that I remembered of my childhood. She had this perfect angelic face, almost heavenly but not quite. There was an evil so violent I could not begin to fathom it.
She regaled me with stories about kings in far away lands and of knights and valiant lords. She told me how she was hurt by a very bad man and how she found hope again in me. She made me promise to love her no matter what happened. And I did. Hell, I still do.
But she lied to me. She just used me for something else. Something I never quite understood. So I let her go. Just like that.
But she never left me. You see I think she is still bound to me. Like a forgotten promise aching to rekindle old flames, she would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I would walk in Megamall after a job well done, shop after shop and I would see her again. Behind glass windows, her raven curls still beckon. Her dark almost forbidden feature still calls my name.
In the bus. In the cab. In those high arching stairways as I go home at night.
And I can't resist. I still follow her.