The Will to Love

Chapter Four

Eyes Like Yours, a novel by E. Wells. Etched on the front page of the leather-bound book was a poem that read;

a honey sweet lover lingers on my lips

rivulets of his limbs dribble down to my feet

my apologies, for devouring such a mind

for a ravenous hunger such as my own can only be satiated

by such a man

Jaymes' eyes lingered on the poem, her eyes scrolling the short text each time, allowing the words to seep into her mind and infiltrate her thoughts. It infected her thoughts in the form of fantasy. She envisioned her brown skin, dripping with gold honey, past her dark eyes and the creases around her eyelids, down the bridge of her wide, button shaped nose, towards the cupid's bow of her lips, till they cooled on her thighs. She envisioned similar brown skin and dark eyes, with lengthy limbs of corded muscle and a sharp, bright smile. He'd place his teeth against her skin and drain her of her blood but she wouldn't die.

Jaymes opened her eyes and stared back down at the book. For a moment, Meira from the bookshop flashed through her mind and the quick memory of their meeting. Jaymes glanced around the emptying lobby of Ferguson and Wright Architects, with its pale silver walls and brown, marble tiled floors. Nearly two months had passed since their fateful meeting and she searched for red peonies and white owls, every so often. She'd only seen one red peony; the painting at the dance school. Everything else had been red gardenias, yellow peonies, red lilies; always off by a single mark. Jaymes knew deep down she should've been content. She'd seen the sign and now she had the man. She had love, what was next? Stability? Or was it peace she'd asked for? How would those two things manifest in her life? How did Jaymes want them to manifest in her life?

In that moment, her direct supervisor, David Glynne strolled into the main lobby, in deep discussion with another man Jaymes didn't recognize. She turned away from the entryway, tucking her chin into her chest and flipping to the first chapter in her book. She read,

Isobel Arnolds was dead, she'd killed her. The remnants of her thin skin, rotted bones and silken hair lay in a pile of brown ash. She held the ashes carefully in the curves of her broken palms, allowing the grainy sands to salt her bleeding wounds. The wind carried the remaining grains away, into the River Blue. She followed, into the thick, black waters. A sweet sanguine scent arose from the dry, pungent air...

Jaymes read the chapter quietly to herself, each wretched and specific detail of the main character's attempted drowning conjuring up vivid imagery. She was so engrossed in the book; she hadn't noticed the long, spindly fingers that rested on her shoulders until they lightly squeezed The book flew from her hands and landed on the floor with a soft, muffled thud. Holding one hand to her chest, Jaymes glanced up at the face of David Glynne. His 6'4 and skinny frame towered over her. His skin was pale against the dark brown hair and icy green eyes with veins of blue. He never smiled, always keeping his mouth in a straight line but his eyes, every so often, contained a sliver of humour to them. Jaymes and David both reached for the book until she surrendered the job to him. He picked up the book and turned it over. He read the title silently to himself and then turned the book back over to read it the summary. By then, Jaymes had stood and David's colleague had reached them. Aware of his friend's presence, David turned and gestured to the man, a balding, dark, olive toned ringer for Robert DeNiro by the name of Adam Reis. Jaymes shook his hand in a firm handshake and introduced herself. David followed through, explaining to his friend she'd joined the firm nearly three years ago, at the tail end of her architecture program and had been there ever since, and her aspirations to start her own landscape architecture firm someday.