Untouched ✔

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Untouchable

All Rights Reserved

© 2014 Luna Black

~*~

The young girl shuddered as the cold leathered gloves slid in her fingers. She clenched and unclenched her fists, staring down at her small hands, enclosed in her only protection from the world.

A single tear slid down her freckled cheekbone and she wiped it away with shaking fingers. Her bright green eyes stared back at her reflection as she softly applied thick red lipstick to her plump lips. Her long black hair fell to her waist completely straight, adorning her soft-like features and made her seem almost surreal.

She was one of the most beautiful women in New York, but she was also the deadliest. It wasn’t by choice; neither were her choice.

Ariel set her lipstick on the bathroom sink, taking a deep breath as she stepped back to admire her features. Over the past three years she had matured enormously. Not only physically but mentally as well.

She had forced herself to disappear from her mother’s life and made a new one for herself. She was now the lady with the black gloves, as so many people had called her. They all believed she was afraid of people touching her. “Maybe it’s a phobia, son,” parents said to their kids many times.

It wasn’t a phobia; no it was worse than that. It was reality. The power that emanated from just the touch of her fingertips was horrendous; her touch literally left people breathless and not the good kind.

After what occurred with her ex-boyfriend, Ariel swore not to touch anyone ever again and so far she had kept to her promise. For the first year, she had continuous nightmares of Derick’s dull eyes haunting her as she sobbed over his dead body.

Derick didn’t have any family, that she knew of, except herself, so it made her running away the much easier. No one could pin his death on her, no one found a body. Ariel didn’t hide it, she panicked.

She was only seventeen years old at the time, her mind wasn’t exactly pure, but it wasn’t that of a murderer. She fled the crime scene and booked the earliest train ticket to New York, where she claimed her grandmother’s inheritance and resided in a gorgeous one-room flat.

Now at twenty, Ariel acted older than what she really was and her only companion was the music player on her windowsill. She spoke with people, but they were curt short sentences, in which she was only being polite.

She dared not get close to anyone; she couldn’t endure the excruciating pain of losing someone again. She wouldn’t let herself live if she killed another innocent life.

“Oh, I’m sorry for blaming you, for everything I just couldn’t do and I’ve hurt myself by hurting you,” Christina Aguilera’s voice sang softly in the background, opening wounds that Ariel gladly tore open.

She was a masochist when it came to pain; she believed that for all the pain she must’ve caused Derrick that horrendous night, she had to feel it a thousand times stronger. She had contemplated a gory suicide, but she wasn’t strong enough to take away her life.

The worse pain she could bring herself was to live with the guilt. She owed Derrick that; she owed him her life for taking his. One life for another.

Another tear slid down her chin and her leathered-covered fingers wiped it away gently. She knew she was beautiful, she didn’t need to be told twice, but she was also deadly; a rose with more thorns than petals.

Ariel took a deep breath, turning away from her pained reflection and walked out of the bathroom and into her room. Most of the time she spent watching TV; that was the only normal thing left in her life, music and TV.