T. A. Chase

The Ball- Part One

Here is the first part of a story I started writing.

The Ball (c) 2006 T.A. Chase

Part One:

I stand in the shadows of the ballroom. Beautiful men and women whirl by me but I only see them as flashes of color on the edge of my vision. Like a moth drawn to a flame, my eyes focus on him. My cheeks flush and I feel myself stiffen. I step farther back into the dark, hiding from the society I was born a part of.

Flashing a smile, he brushes a kiss over the knuckles of a simpering lady. His golden hair glistens under the candlelight and my fingers itch to run through his curls. Shame burns through me. I understand that my longings aren’t normal. If anyone knew about them, I’d be scorned.

No one understands how my soul cries out for hard lips kissing me and strong arms holding me tight. Women leave me cold. I appreciate their beauty, but have no urge to lie with them. They are too soft. I fear hurting them in my passion.

He turns and for a moment our eyes meet. I know he can’t really see me because of the shadows I hide in, but all the same it feels like his brilliant blue gaze burns deep into my soul and uncovers all my secret longings.

Embarrassment and pain tear through me. The room closes in around me and I can’t breath. I need to get away. I need to run. Leaving my shelter, I stumble towards the doors leading to the garden. Maybe I could lose myself amongst the night, forget the way my body burns for him. Forget for a second what kind of freak I am.

Tears fill my eyes and blind me to the obstacles in my way. I bump into couples strolling along the edge of the dance floor. In an awkward stammer, I beg their pardon, reaching the doors at last. Sliding out into the darkness, I rush to the gazebo at the far end of the garden. It is falling apart, crumbling from neglect and indifference. It suits my mood.

I know what the people in the house are whispering about me. “Face of an angel and the brains of a goose.” “Poor Lord Williamson. His heir is worthless.” There’ll be the ones who’ll try to be gracious. “He’s just shy. Give him a little more time. He’s only been up from the country for a month or so.”

I groan. I am worthless. People scare me and I don’t want to infect them with the disease I deal with every second of my life. Burying my face in my hands, I flinch. The scars on my back cause me pain even though they aren’t fresh. I still remember the feel of the whip across my shoulders as my father screamed at me about my perversion.

Warm skin envelopes my hands and gently tugs them away from my face. I glance up. Before I can protest or say anything, his lips meet mine and I fall.

Tuesday, April 25th, 2006, by and is filed under "Uncategorized ". You can leave a response here, or send a Trackback from your own site.