It scared me to think that the man I had feelings for could very well be one of the murderers I've heard so much about. I refused to believe it in my head. I knew this man couldn't be crazy. He was too formal. Too elegant. That type of man couldn't be on drugs either. It had to be so because he looked to be in perfect health as well. He had all of his teeth and they were crystal white. There were no signs of decay or staining by cigarettes. They were perfectly straight and made me melt into a grilled cheese every time he flashed them. The only thing odd about them was that the tip of each tooth was slightly jagged, giving the impression that they were sharp.
His skin was brightly colored and healthy, and his face showed no signs of tiredness or stress. I didn't know how that was possible since he lived in a place like this. His jawline was sharp as well as his nose, his cheekbones were high, and his eyes were threatening. His irises appeared black in the dark, but once they caught the light, a crimson shade of brown revealed in them. The brown was so bright they appeared red at some angles. It was crazy how red his eyes could appear during certain times of the day. I just wanted to spend all of my time staring into them. This man steamed with so much masculinity that it made my stomach clench.
He was the tallest man in the building and he carried a set of bulky shoulders that strode with him wherever he walked. No matter what he wore, I could see his strength and rippling body underneath. He had a slender body type, yet he carried so much muscle on him that it was mesmerizing to look at. His hair was as black as a raven's feathers, and it fell to the back of his shoulders in fluffy layers. His wavy hair knew exactly where to fall, and his curtain bangs brought shadows to the skin around his eyes. On either side of the bridge of his nose, a line of metal studs pierced his skin. He had a nose ring, two lip rings that resembled the fangs of a snake, and more studs above his eyebrows.
The entire ring of cartilage of his ears were lined with piercings as well, and he wore other necklaces, bracelets, and rings in the form of black metal. His neck was covered in tattoos and I had come to learn that so was his arms, back, and chest. I didn't know whether his entire body was covered in ink, but I liked to picture that it was. He only ever wore black, and he didn't try to hide the fact that he was goth at all. He had the best fashion sense, using leather and spikes to their hottest capability. Some days he just decided to wear a black dress shirt that was open in the chest with some black jeans and even that killed me.
The way this man controlled my body without even trying frightened me. From just looking at him I was enveloped in heat. He was dangerous. I had no clue who he was or how he spent his time, but I desperately wanted to find out. I thought that maybe I could get to know him as a guy friend, on the off chance that he doesn't see straight through my mask and immediately know I'm a woman. Even if he didn't, I knew I wouldn't be brave enough to speak to him. I had been crushing on him for more than a year and had been too afraid to say anything to him. The fear hadn't gone away in the slightest since I first saw him, and now I had accepted that it never would.
No opportunity was good enough to start a conversation with him. Every time I tried, no words escaped my lips. He never heard me, so he never noticed me. Every anxious thought ran through my mind every time I tried to find the courage to talk to him. I worried that he might have a girlfriend already, or that he was just a man whore who would only want me for his daily sexual escapade. I worried that he might be gay or just a terrible person. Most of all, I worried that he was a great person who was single and straight but would reject me anyway. Part of me wondered whether I just refused to talk to him because I was terrified of men and knew that they were nothing but trouble.
My mother used to feed me stories of her past lovers who did nothing but use her and never cared about her. I had lived through some of her boyfriends living with us and kept my distance from them as much as I could. They abused my mother and as a teenager, I couldn't do anything to stop it. Ever since then, I've been terrified of even getting near a man, let alone speaking to one. The entire reason I dressed as a boy was to avoid men. I've seen how women get treated in these parts of the city, and it made my blood run cold. Even so, I still couldn't stop how I felt.
I wished that I hadn't been born a heterosexual. Maybe then I would have a fighting chance. But I was here, straight, and constantly fighting the urge to jump into that goth god's arms and let him carry me off into the sunset. My affection for him had even started to control my dreams. I would dream that he and I were in a ballroom at a fancy party. My hair was long and I had the sweetest curves that showed through my ballgown. He danced with me all night long and my skin was clear of the scars life had given me. I wasn't pale and I had every feature needed to please him.
I would wake up feeling the nausea in my stomach again and the pain in my heart, knowing that the dream was impossible. In an instant, he disappeared down the stairs to the basement, leaving me alone with my desires that I forced myself to hide. I turned away and went out the front entrance to start the walk to work. I couldn't stop thinking about him the entire day, and I continued to relive the daydream of us dancing together. By the time the last cup of coffee was served, the sounds of the night had returned and the sense of danger pulled me from my dream.
It was the end of my shift and I pulled on the heavy coat again so I could walk home. Before I left, the coworker who had gotten me to eat a plate of fries yesterday came up to me. Her name was Brittany and she was a heftier woman in her forties who always made sure I was sent home without the risk of passing out. She was the only person who showed me kindness and treated me like I existed. "Before you go, I have another plate for you to finish, darlin'." I pulled the coat over my shoulders and felt the acidity in my throat at the very mention of food. I became nauseous at the thought of eating but I knew that she was only trying to help me. "You really don't have to keep sneaking meals from the chef for me. I don't want you to get in trouble."