He hung his head over the balcony, staring at the street in concentration, as if he was picking up every little detail. But the sights were not in control of his thoughts now. It was warm, the sunlight shone on him, but below the street was in the shadow of the next apartment block. The people and the cars looked minuscule from the 80th floor.
He reached for his Winston's on the balcony table, his lighter still behind his ear from the last time just thinking had gotten too much for him. He moved his eyes to the tip of the cigarette, which was turning orange under the flames control. He closed his eyes to savour the first drag. It tasted sick, smoky and smelled like death. He opened his eyes to watch the smoke blow away.
He thought for a second of turning around, but decided not to fearing she could be awake and disturb his selfless thoughts with the guilty expecting eyes that had first poisoned his mind. He did not hear a sound from the room. He wished she would never wake up. The sun bounced a deep red off an opposite window. Blood red.
The cigarette felt heavy now between his fingers, heavy like the weight on his shoulders. He stood in silence until the last delicious drag. That sickly addiction.
He was disturbed by a soft rustling of sheets and the light faded as he listened to her toes tap the wooden floors. His stomach turned. He felt a light gust travel with the balcony door, already half open. She had swung it to its full capacity and was leaning her body against the doorway. He felt her icy blues like a knife before he had even turned around. A clear picture of her soft pale skin haunting his mind.
He turned to her measly smile, she hadn't noticed she was smiling. Her innocence sickened him. He looked at her with emptiness, his thoughts becoming more intense. She tilted her head slightly causing a thick lock of her luscious brown hair to fall over her eye. Her smile was frozen. Her innocence wasn't capable of any more feeling than satisfaction, not even recognising her own confusion. He could still taste his addiction in his mouth, as could she. It wasn't fading, the thought of it only made it stronger.
He was strong, much bigger than her, overpowering. She would have done anything he'd told her to. Because lost behind the simplicity of her satisfaction was a deep and powerful infatuation that would have stood above any reality in her mind. He knew it. It repulsed him. He turned to throw his cigarette over the balcony, this more so an excuse to take one last look at the sun. She stood in admiration, observing, waiting for his next move. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, that was when the short sharp pain went through her skull. She, in an instant, felt horror within every inch of her.
The confusion finally took over her thoughts, but this was a different kind of confusion. She could not justify the feeling of terror inside her, but he read it straight from her eyes. She knew what he was, as much as she forced herself to deny it. This amused him, and increased his sense of power. Yes, she knew what he was. But did she know what she now was? Did she understand the extent of the consequences of her actions? He doubted it, but couldn't help feeling entertained. She would realise. When she had to live like him, she would realise. When she felt her teeth become a weapon, and when red made her thirsty, she would then understand what a mess she had made.