To Feel Nothing, To Love Nothing

Leaving the front door open in case I needed to quickly run back inside, I left the step and entered the darkness.

I could faintly see the outlines of the trees by the struggling light of the moon, but the rest of the forest was shrouded to me. I saw no figure, heard no rustling of leaves, nor could I sense a presence beyond my own.

Had I imagined it? Had I lost my mind? Daydreams turned to nightmares, that’s what this was. Had to be. There was no way anyone could enter the boundary wall.

But a nagging at the back of my mind drove my next few steps out into the night. The figure had seemed so real, and its beckoning wave impossible to ignore.

Somewhere in me, a voice was warning that this was a bad idea. I had read books of kidnapped maidens. Women stolen away by rogues in the night. Although no mother had taught me to be fearful of strangers, I had read enough harrowing tales to learn that lesson.

So why was I stepping into the darkness, disappointed the figure was not there?

After taking a few more steps away from the house, I carefully listened past my thumping heart. Still no sound.

I had never heard the forest so quiet. It was eerie, unnerving. A shiver ran over my arms.

Suddenly there was a heavier darkness before me.

I lurched back, a gasp breaking from my throat.

The figure advanced, quickly clasping onto me. Its cold hands came up to grip my jaw. A firm body pressed against mine.

I screamed, struggling against the figure, but its hands were clasped on tight.

“Shh…” it hushed. A deep voice. “I’ve got you, faerie-child.”

I withheld another scream. No one would hear me anyway.

Breath skimmed over my forehead as I desperately struggled against his grip. The hands on my jaw moved to clench my upper arms—not biting, but strong enough that I could not escape.

Nightmare, nightmare, nightmare…

I was back in that iron cage. I would not let him take me. I would not let him cage me.

I kicked out, meeting a shin with my bare foot. Pain lanced through my toes, and I hissed.

“I think that hurt you more than it hurt me, dearest.”

My head began to pound. “Who are you?” I struggled in vain a few more tries, but his hands did not relent.

“I am no one. But you…” His hands moved from my arms to my lower back, where he pressed me against him.

The warmth of his body was shocking. Every nerve-ending of my own that touched his melted at the contact. His body was firm against my own, but inviting, and the way it moved, as if it were seeking something…

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” His face grew closer, his breath spilling over my lips.

My arms were pinned between us, but as he lowered his head towards mine, I reared back, pushing against his strong chest. A surprised laugh escaped his lips.

I twisted my arms to break his hold, throwing my body backwards. His grip slipped from my arms, and without his hold, my body kept going.

His hand grabbed mine to stop my fall, but he must have been off balance too, because he was soon falling with me.

We crashed to the ground, him landing on top of me, his hand beneath my head to cushion it against the ground. I may have questioned that surprising detail had every alarm in my body not been going off. His body was heavy, and from his advantage, I would not be able to get him off.

Panic set my body into action, and I began frantically pushing at his chest, using my hips as a fulcrum to dislodge him from on top of me.

The man only grunted. My frantic ministrations were doing nothing to gain any space between us. True horror flooded me. Was this how I was to die? Crushed to death by a stranger in my woods?

He rose up onto his elbows, and my lungs were able to take a full breath from the space he created. As he did, a cast of light from the house illuminated his face, and as he stared down at me, I stilled.

He was beautiful.

Every angle of his face spoke of ease and sensual humour, but with an inhuman cunning, like how I imagined a predator to hunt its prey: with a serious glint in its eye, a set jaw, and a hunger only nature could explain.

His forehead was draped in chaotic caramel locks of hair. He had an angular, strong jaw, covered in a dark shadow of hair, a straight nose, and cold-bitten rosy cheeks that flattened over harsh cheekbones.

And his eyes… his eyes were a striking emerald green, flecked with starbursts of gold, and as they roved over my face, I felt likely to sink into them.

“Now, la belle dame, if you had wanted me on top of you, all you had to do was ask.”

My body suddenly became aware of where his met mine. And it was not fear that had me trembling, but a sudden rousing of something unfamiliar. Something... exciting.

His hips were firmly placed on mine. His chest covering my own like a shield. This man was so far removed from any fantasy I had ever held, that I had to shake my head, as if it would wake me from this dream.

His face grew closer, his green eyes sparkling in the flickering candlelight.

I pushed against his chest. “What are you doing? Get off me!”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, closing his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

I slapped my hands over his mouth. His breath was warm against my palm. “No, you’re not. Get off me!”

His eyes wearily drifted open, and I removed my hands from his mouth.

I knew people didn’t greet this way when first meeting. There was nothing proper about the way his body fit against mine.

Or the wicked smile that now parted his lips.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he said, skimming a gentle hand over my jaw and into my hair.

“You’re pinning me down,” I growled, “and suffocating me. This is hardly a proper introduction. Remove yourself at once.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re so… feisty.”

I balked. “Feisty! You haven’t seen feisty yet, sir. Get off!” I pushed up with my hips, bringing my arms to his chest.

He grabbed my arms and pinned them by my head. His face grew closer, his breath once more tickling my lips. “Kiss me, and I will.”

“This conduct may be commonplace where you’re from, but—”

“I assure you,” he interrupted, his voice deepening, “nothing’s commonplace about this.”

Bristling, I pushed up with my hips again, and this time he moved, rolling onto his back, and taking me with him.

Then I was straddling him, his back against the ground, his hands still firmly grasping my wrists. From this vantage point, he appeared almost angelic in the way the soft light from the house caressed his hair.

His eyes danced. “Do you prefer being on top?”

I struggled against him. “Let me go!”

A feral look came into his eyes. “Keep wriggling your hips like that, and I will never let you go.”

I stilled, suddenly aware that my hips were firmly slotted against his.

I was not naïve. I had read books depicting the relations between lovers. They were often vague, leaving much to the imagination, and quite disappointing in how little they taught about the act itself. But I had a general idea.

And that idea was staring up at me, a look of hunger in his eyes.

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About the Author

Olivia Claire Louise Newman has been published by Quill and Crow Publishing House and the online literary magazine Eternal Haunted Summer. She was co-editor of Gothic Keats Press’s poetry collection ‘Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know.’ She lives in Maryland with her dog Arrow. To Feel Nothing, To Love Nothing is her first novel.

Follow her on Instagram @oliviaclnewman
Visit her website at www.oliviaclnewman.com