Because Facades Work Against You. Sometimes.
A hard gaze scraped against my flesh like an awl lacerating a chalkboard. I knew who it was. It was always him. Crouching in the dark, eyes unblinking, fingers curled around his knees. The shadows welcomed him and wavered in his presence. I didn't have to look to know this. I could feel it. It was the same feeling one might get if asked to close their eyes and imagine thousands of tiny spiders creeping through their hair.
Slouching my shoulders and gently pressing my forehead to the wall, I planted my hands on the cold, tile floor and pushed myself up. I had been crouching in the corner of a public restroom, not worried about anyone interrupting my nightmarish rendezvous as it was well after 2am. The corner was dim and caked with mildew. Greyed, ceramic tile cracked and gave in to time and abuse. At one point this room was white, gleaming with sterilization and carrying the faint scent of cheap lemon soap. But that was a long time ago.
Things have changed.
I have changed... and he knew it.
With that thought, time itself shivered and the gaze intensified. He moved closer. Gliding across the shadows like an oily, black serpent. I could not lift my hands to rub away the goosebumps that had formed on my bare arms. Instead I stood helpless, letting the ongrowing chill envelop me. Behind me, so close... light breathing. It caressed the back of my right ear, lose strands of hair swayed nervously around the sides of my face. I tried to swallow but my parched throat refused to yield, it heaved and creaked like old age. Cold fingers touched my skin, tilting my chin towards the ceiling. Dust danced in the paths of flickering halogen lights. With a snap, I was whipped around to face him. My neck craned and suddenly his lips were on mine. The dust in the air hung still, like an audience with knuckles gripped white in anticipation. My eyelids fluttered and my fingers uncurled from cleanched fists. I was breathless - and fading.