Lavender

The sweet smell of lavender. I’ve smelt it hundreds of times. Jaynie always wears lavender. At first it was overpowering, but over time, it became a comfort. A comfort to know she was close. I was never alone when Jaynie was around. There was something about her intoxicating scent that I couldn’t get enough of. Every night when I smoothed the hairbrush through her dark tresses, that same lavender would burst into the air, filling my every breath. My lungs filled with her aroma, and I can see her watching me intently as I move top to bottom, softly detangling her waves. I count quietly under my breath, my heart beating faster with each increase in brush stroke. I know what’s coming next…

As I reach the required brushings, I gently place my florally decorated tool down in the same spot as every evening. My heart begins to thump louder and louder against my rib cage as Jaynie casts her glistening eyes to me. The beating’s so loud, I’m sure she can hear it as she turns her svelte body towards me.  Her strong gaze penetrates mine and moves slowly down towards my thundering pulse. I know what’s coming next…

I awake in the dead of night, with no Jaynie to be seen, no lavender to be sucked in. Something about the air feels stifling, constricting my already tight throat. I stagger to the window, grasping at the handle, desperate to feel the cool night air in my lungs. Relief washes through me as I hang my pounding head outside into the darkness. The stillness is unsettling. There’s no traffic, no sirens whizzing by to aid some one in need. No sound of people stumbling home from their Friday night fun. Nothing. Nothing except this silence and the throbbing of my head. Where is Jaynie?

The dark crimson bed sheets no more look welcoming. They’re wrinkled, pooled even, in a splattered, distorted way that no longer makes me yearn for their satin finish on my skin. My crumpled pile of clothes no longer an accumulation of our passion now becomes a garbage heap. I feel desolate here. A stark contrast from the room that usually welcomes me with open arms and wraps me up in a bouquet of ardour. The room where I first felt alive.

Each night is the same. I bathe Jaynie in her luxurious porcelain, claw-footed tub, her pearlescent skin glimmering in the candlelight. I use the lightest touch, as though she might break while washing away her day.

I carefully pat her dry, inch by inch. I can feel her eyes on my as I work my way so delicately around her breast. Sometimes I think I hear her breathing quicken as I pass by her nipples and begin to press the towel on her slender shoulders. All I want is to grab her angelic face and kiss her blushing lips. But I know better than that. I have to wait until we’re done. Once dry, Jaynie slips into her favourite cherry red lace robe. I gingerly tie the belt around her, making sure I don’t pull too tight, finishing it off with a loose bow. Only then can I fulfil my fantasy and not a moment before.

After the bathing, the drying, the dressing and the brushing, we fall into a dream of each other’s bodies. The ecstasy of euphoric release finishes our late-night show, and we enter our deep slumber. But this night is different, something is wrong. Jaynie is gone and I can’t stop my head from spinning through thoughts of confusion. I can’t smell her anymore, so I know she’s not here, but she’s always here until daybreak. Always.

I gather myself and pull in from the outside, as the moonlight casts devilish shadows across the room. I need to think and ignore the pain that’s swirling inside of me. Running my hands through my tangled bed hair, I slowly reach for the source of the pain. I can’t feel any bumps or sticky blood on my head, but there has to be something. This is nothing like any migraine I’ve had before. Feeling my way down to my neck, I feel the beads of sweat trickling down my nape. I move left to the side of my neck and wince as I find the nexus of my pain. Two swollen gashes, congealed with blood. My pain turns to desperation as I scramble towards the dresser. I need to see.

Dizziness almost takes me off my feet, but I grab the edge of the dresser and hold steady. My breathing steadies and my eyes catch sight of the once glistening hairbrush. A brush so beautiful with its ornate silver flowers, is now dull and lifeless, with a maze of cobwebs covering the bristles. I cast my eyes up towards the mirror. Horror grasps at my throat as I realise my face is distorted in its fractures. I stare, burrowing my gaze, trying to focus on my surroundings in this broken mirror. Where am I?

Suddenly I’m aware of the heavy door creaking open, casting a small slither of candlelight into the moonlit room. A putrid smell of death envelops every inch of my surroundings. My nostrils burn and I can taste the rotten stench at the back of my throat. Footsteps tread carefully but with purpose straight towards me. Before I can let out the breath I’m holding, a piercing cold hand coils around my neck. Whispers fill the room, echoing all around me and I realise the icy palm belongs to Jaynie. I turn to face my lover, who’s warped face is not that of the gentle being I knew. Her waves are now murky like a riverbed. Her reeds spiralling uncontrollably as gusts of wind rush in from the open window. Those warm eyes I gazed upon are changed, heartless, merciless. Jaynie throws her head back as her piercing fangs manifest from her blood-stained mouth. I know what’s coming next…