by Elizabeth Belmont
They are out there, you know. The Others? The ones always in the shadows? I can see them. I've always been able to see them. Hell, most times I can smell them. You would think with all the trouble they cause, The Others would smell of something sinister... sulfur, frankincense and all that nonsense. But they don't. No, The Others smell of, for lack of a better description, fresh cookies baking in the rain. Clean. Pure, yet indulgent. A deliciously spicy aroma of something sweet, yet cautiously forbidden.
I hate that smell.
Well, not hate, but I sure don't like it. It's the scent of trouble. Childhood indiscretions that I swear I didn't do. Salt in the sugar bowl? Cayenne pepper in my sister's cool aid? I would never do such things. Never give in to the temptations whispered in my ear in the dead of night, and in the bright of day. I was a good girl back then. Hell, I'm a good girl now!
Damn shadowy Others.
I got the upper hand in high school. Even as good friends fell under the spell of cookies and mischief, I stayed strong. I studied. I rarely left my house. I closed my ears to the sweet whispers, the intoxicating laughter just outside my bedroom window. Light, high pitched invitations to trouble; to bad choices, giggling taunts to shorten my skirts, to lower my neckline and my standards, to chase the boys with the loud cars and easy smiles.
It took time, lots of coffee and late night television, but I finally quieted the whispers. Finally banished the breath of sweets and dangerous freedom from my senses. I was left with silence; an almost brooding emptiness I filled with casual men and serious college studies. For the past thirteen years I've been left alone with my spacious condo, solid law career, and an uncomplicated sex life.
And then the whispers returned.
The whispers are different now. They are louder, more demanding than the light giggles of my childhood, of the slight shadows that used to dance just outside my vision. Now they're almost impatient, these winds of trouble floating around me, kissing my skin, caressing my soul, bouncing off my hardened shell and disappearing into those around me. The promising associate who, usually so professional, drops inappropriate teases to certain clients. The senior partner who blushes in the presence of our UPS guy even after she crumbles entire companies with the swipe of her thousand dollar Rolex pen.
No, these new shadows are harder to ignore. And they've brought company. Now it's a stronger scent that follows me home; a deep musk of the forest after a storm - dark, earthy, a commanding aroma of clove, cedar and ginger. A dark shadow, large and looming, that all but growls its silent demand. I can feel this Other in my bones; for two years my unsettlingly masculine, constant companion, a bringer of sensual caresses stroking my soul, even as my current lover lies next to me in the dark.
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