throw me in the flames; oksana

[Makai]

TAKE ME UNDERGROUND, TAKE ME ALL THE WAY BRING ME TO THE FIRE, THROW ME IN THE FLAMES The scent of her is not pleasant. No, that word is too little, too feeble, too weak. It hits him like a knife wrenched into his heart and he wonders at how he does not crumple before the force of it. He smells her before he sees her, and the reaction to her is almost involuntary--the way one might gasp at air after having nearly drowned. He can feel his nostrils flare to drink it in, and his powerful chest expands, and yet his skin begins to quiver and bunch until he feels like one giant ripple that is sending shock waves along his nerves to catapult into his heart. What a fool he was to think he would be satisfied with just one glance. She looks toward him and he knows the anger that radiates from her (and how righteous it was) the same way that he can feel the need that echoes the same carnal desire flowing through him. He does not control himself, has never been able to control himself, and he is soon catapulting through the trees--shedding the shadows as if he had never planned to keep them for long. Before he has a second to draw another breath, they are together and his flesh is her flesh and his heart is her heart. His lips travel the journey down her neck and taste home in the salt of her sweat. It is forbidden and wrong and he knows he should say something, but there is an urgency to the way that he holds her. This moment could not last; it was stolen without permission, taken without deserving. There was no love in the world that could shield him from his wrongdoing. Finally, without prompting, he is whispering her name, “Oksana.” Repeating it like a prayer against her as he closes his weary eyes and rests his forehead. “Oksana.” The sound of water hitting parched lips. The sound of a starving man’s sigh after eating his fill. “Oksana.” How could he have ever thought that he would be able to live without her? How could he have ever thought? Shame hits him. Guilt floods him. His instincts scream to pull away and apologize and give her space but instead he clings desperately. His mind tells him to tell her that he is sorry, but the only words his lips can form are this: “I love you.” More than life and death itself. AM I STILL ALIVE OR HAS THE LIGHT GONE BLACK?