Damien Exton – Fiction

There it is, again. Just there, in my world, where it has no right to be. And it’s just, dangling so. It’s there, right in front of me, so provocative. Dangling in my face. Taunting me. Daring me. 

How can I not? How can I resist? Why should I resist? She knows the rules. She knows full well what she’s doing. Do I go insinuating myself into her world? No I don’t. Not ever. I know my place and I stay there. I know the boundaries and the rules just as well as she. Her world. My world. It’s clear. We had an understanding, I stay out of her world, she stays out of mine. Harmony. Co-existence. Order. That’s the balance that allows us both to go on. It works. Neither one of us needs to bother the other. We keep to ourselves. Until one of us goes and does that. The big no-no. One of us just lets it dangle in the other’s face, challenging the other to fight the urge and leave it alone. 

But how can one change one’s nature? It’s impossible. How could anybody leave it alone? You don’t tease the wolf by parading your nice plump sheep in its face. Don’t expect the wolf to go easy on the sheep. A wolf does what a wolf does. A wolf has needs. And this is the same thing exactly; just different animals. Different quarry. Different meat. It’s not right to expect me not to when I am the wolf and she is the sheep. I can’t fight my nature anymore than the wolf can. 

But we all have our decisions. She’s made hers. And now I’ve the choice to make. Do I do it? Or do I ignore it and let it go? Do I let it slide? Again? I don’t know that I should this time. Maybe this has happened once too often. Maybe this is the last straw. There’s only so much I can take before I take what’s on offer. And I can just imagine how glorious it would be. I can picture it right now. I can almost taste the anticipation. The victory. The conquest. I can, I can taste it. And maybe I should taste it? Because that’s what this all boils down to, does it not? She is daring me not to taste it. 

But how would she feel then, I ask you? She would regret it, that’s how. She would rue the day she let it just hang there that one last time that was one time too many. But it would be too late for her to take it back at that point. It would be gone by then. I’d have taken the bait and would have relished doing so. And for what? Why did she do it? One can only imagine. The wolf doesn’t know what the sheep thinks as it pounces. 

It wouldn’t be nice to know it was all your own fault though, of that I’m sure. Knowing you asked for it. Because that’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s asking for it. She’s begging me for it. She’s begging me to do it. But is that what she really wants? Or is she just flirting with me? Toying with me? Showing me what I can’t have? But if that’s her game, she’s wrong. She’s lost. Because it’s right there. Just, dangling. I can have it. I have absolute control. 

I need to make a decision. Do I do what I do best and take what’s on offer? Or do I show mercy and let it slide, just one more time? Everything hangs in the balance here. Because I can’t decide. So, what do I do if I can’t decide? I don’t have a coin to toss. I don’t have a magic 8 ball to divine an answer for me. It’s up to me to make the call. And if I think about it, does that make the challenge even more exciting? It does in fact, yes. I love that this is my call. I hold the cards and her future in my hands. That is true power. 

I could just reach out right now and take the low hanging fruit. But would it be what I expect it to be? Would it live up to my expectations? Would it be as satisfying as I’m picturing it? Or would it disappoint? Well, there’s only one way to find out. 

So I guess that’s it then. I’m going to do it. The cards are dealt. It’s really happening this time. I’ve pictured this more often than I can remember. I’ve let her get away with this too many times out of a sense of restraint, or charity, or, something. But that charity ends now. Charity begins at home, they say. And that thing is dangling in my home just where it really should not be. This won’t be pretty. She’ll be sorry. Bringing that thing into my home. That foot of hers. In my home. In my world. Just dangling there, over the edge of the bed. 

It’s un-socked, that foot. Naked. Vulnerable. But even so, if she thinks that a thin veil would  protect it while she sleeps she has another think coming. Because nothing can stop me. Nothing can keep it safe, that pink wholesome flesh. There is no protection. It’s all mine. It is history. Done for.

Enough talking. No more Mr nice guy. This time it’s the real deal. I’m making my move.

And so I crawl and creep toward it, from under the bed, just where she knows I am; here in the dark. But does she know I’m here? Of course she does. She’s always known it. She loves it. But she won’t love it in a moment. Not at all. This will be very ugly. Very brutal. But not for me. For me this will be exquisite. This will be everything I ever dreamed it could be. 

And I’m almost there. About to fulfill my purpose. I can just reach out easily now and – pluck! – it’s gone. It’s that close. That simple. And closer I creep still. I can creep as slowly as I want and with all the patience in the world. Because this is the deal we made, even though she didn’t quite believe it was real. She’d always suspected. Been paranoid it could be so. In the dark recesses of her mind. Ever since she was a child, she inherently feared this. And she’s about to find out she was right to fear it. 

I’m there. I was always there, lying in wait for a moment just like this. And the moment is almost over now. Because, look at it. Just, look at it! That lovely foot. And those lovely fat little toes. I could eat them one by one. Pluck them right off the vine like Mourvèdre grapes, juicy and ripe. Those toes aren’t hers anymore. Not since she dangled them down into my world. Now they’re mine. And there’s only one place they’re going. In just one swift movement. They’ll be inside me. Gobbled up. Bitten clean off by my perfect sharp teeth. My my, what big teeth you have Mr Wolf. Oh yes, you bet I have. Because this is my purpose. To use my teeth on things that dangle. I bite them right off. And I don’t care one iota that she’s asleep. It’s just tough. It’s her fault. Because in I go now. In for the kill. 

I’m there. My mouth is round it. It’s practically already done. It’s in my mouth. I just need to bite down and let it be over. Bite it right off. I could pull away though if I chose. Show mercy. Let it go. And she would never know how close she had come to losing it. That foot and those silly pink toes. 

But I won’t pull away. Not this time. No, I’m going for it. 

But, what? How? I don’t understand. We had a deal. She put it there. She dangled it into my world, did she not? It was there, plainly, dangling over the edge of the bed. How could she do this to me? The bargain had been made. I went in for the kill. I went in to bite as was my right. But she moved it. She took it away just before I could bite it clean off. 

So that’s it then. She’s won. She’s survived. Again. I was too slow. I see that now. But I won’t make that mistake next time. Because there will be a next time. I’ll address my nature. My performance. My failure, for next time. Because she can’t help herself. She wants it. She loves it. This danger. This fight. This game of cat and mouse. Wolf and sheep. 

And I know, she will certainly do it again. It will dangle again in my world. Maybe tomorrow night? Maybe the next? And if it does? I’ll be ready. I’ll be just here, lying in wait. In my world, right here, under the bed. Where everyone knows I am. Just waiting for it to dangle.