Quickly we walked through the busy street. Transients stopped their mumbling and searching to see the passing of my queen, looking at her with what seemed like familiarity. I love the attention she brings, it makes me feel, important, necessary. Pressing our way through an ornate doorway, I found us in the company of a hardened contemptuous fellow, on his neck, a bold tattoo advertising his disdain for the law. He was tall, hair black and slick, a malevolent stare carved into his face that spoke things words could never say. I thought of the fight the night before, hoping I could avoid another confrontation. He grabbed her, roughly pressing an envelope into her shaking hand, then a locked backpack. She struggled with the weight initially, but with a pained look she flicked back her long hair to make a spot and threw it over her porcelain shoulder, not a word being exchanged in this well practiced role. We turned and immediately walked back out to the street. Stopping her around the next corner to ask my questions, the crowd murmuring at our midstream rendezvous, she patiently held her hand to my mouth again, no words should be spoken. Her soft fingers touching me gave me a rush, flooding me instantly with memories of passion past. Her eyes let me know, she knew what to do, I was merely a guest on this mysterious ride, my purpose being accomplished by my presence, not my words. Sensing my objection, my queen pulled me into an alley. Pushing me against the wall, her hands caressed me, demanding my full attention, dulling my reason. I sighed, with my body a willing ally for her, I fell quickly to her reasoning. After all, this is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.
Related Posts: The Queen,
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,
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