Just Michelle

The past stretched out between us like a delicate thread, loaded with the weight of memories. Michelle was the first to weave her way into my life after I relocated to Luminescia. Her charm was infectious, her beauty captivating. It was only natural that when she asked me out on a date, my response was an ecstatic yes. Our day was filled with laughter and shared moments; a movie, an afternoon spent at a park, hours lost in a gaming center, culminating in a dinner at a grand hotel. Her phone buzzed incessantly, but it was the message that prompted her to excuse herself, claiming a need for the restroom, that changed everything.

An insistent tug from nature's call pulled me after her, each footfall echoing with an uncertainty I hadn't expected. On the cusp of calling her name, my breath hitched as I saw her disappear into a lush, red-carpeted corridor, her countenance twisting into a mask I could hardly recognize. Stationed at the end of this grand hall, two guards awaited, their greetings falling from their lips in familiar tones.

But then, the unthinkable unfolded.

With the speed and grace of a viper striking its prey, Michelle unveiled a silenced weapon, her actions doused in a shocking, icy precision. One by one, the guards crumbled, their bodies lifeless, blood slowly pooling around their heads in grim halos.

My heart thundered in my ribcage, the rhythm a harrowing soundtrack to the gruesome scene I had witnessed. But Michelle's dance with death was not over. She pressed on into a secluded dining room, where an elderly man, his face etched with lines of countless stories, warmly greeted her, blissfully ignorant of the grim fate dancing on his doorstep.

The silencer did its job again, a quiet crack echoing ominously through the hallway. The man's body crumbled, his life extinguished as abruptly as a puppet severed from its strings.

A gnawing chill of dread seized me, gripping my heart with an icy hold that seeped into my bones. Whirling around, I retraced my steps with desperate haste, my mind abuzz with the surreal horror of what had just transpired. The world around me blurred, a smudged painting of reality, the events too horrifying, too alien to process.

When Michelle returned to our table, her smile bore no trace of the gruesome act she had just executed. This woman - this deadly phantom who had stolen the lives of three men with chilling nonchalance - now sat opposite me, filling the air with trivial chatter as if the very fabric of our reality hadn't been violently torn asunder.

A wave of raw, unfiltered fear washed over me, stripping away any pretense of normality. My skin prickled as if invisible needles were dancing across it, my palms grew clammy with cold perspiration, and my stomach contorted into a maze of knotted apprehension. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to run, to create distance between myself and this lethal enigma.

On her otherwise immaculate attire, a small, almost imperceptible splatter of blood mocked my terror. Its crimson hue, a stark reminder of the monstrous act I had just witnessed.

My tongue felt heavy and clumsy as I forged a hastily constructed excuse. I barely remembered the taste of the lie that spilled from my lips as I took my leave, almost stumbling in my urgency to escape. The outside air hit me like a rush of icy water, my sanctuary – my home, felt miles away and the city of Luminescia, once alluring in its grandeur, now cast long, haunting shadows. Its dark underbelly had been revealed, and its echoes reverberated too closely to my reality, sending shivers of dread along my spine.

The news the next day broadcasted the grim discovery of the three bodies. A notorious drug lord from Melodistria and his two bodyguards found dead in a hotel restaurant. A heartbroken daughter, who was supposed to celebrate her birthday with her father, appeared on the screen. The girl was the spitting image of the face Michelle had worn the previous night. A chill ran down my spine as the pieces fell into place.

BtP had orchestrated this, and Michelle was the puppet dancing to their tune. From that moment, I never truly knew Michelle. I was torn between the image of the vulnerable girl and the cold-blooded killer. I lived in constant fear, always keeping her at arm's length. As a man, I was no stranger to violence. But murder...it was a chilling thought.

Yet, as the passing of days softened the edges of that dreadful memory, I found myself drawn back to Michelle. It was an inexplicable pull, a magnetic force that transcended fear and comprehension. Beneath the cloak of darkness she wore, there was a woman. A woman who laughed at my poor attempts at humor, who listened with genuine interest to my dreams, and who stood by my side when life's storms raged.

Even as my mind wrestled with the duality of her existence, my heart had made its decision. It chose acceptance over rejection, understanding over fear. The initial shock that had once frozen my veins gradually thawed, giving way to an unorthodox warmth. Her transgressions were a part of her, as integral to her being as the smile that danced on her lips and the spark that lit her eyes. They shaped her, but they didn't define her.

It wasn't easy. There were nights when I would lay awake, haunted by the memory of her violent past. But with each sunrise, I was reminded of the woman who, despite her terrifying capabilities, was just as human as anyone else. It was a strange solace, yet it was enough to dull the sting of fear. Time had a strange way of healing, of making the abnormal feel ordinary, and it was in the ordinary that I found my acceptance of Michelle.

***

"Stop crying, Michelle," I pleaded, desperate to steer our conversation away from the dangerous path it was treading.

Her voice broke, punctuating the silence that had befallen the café. "Do you have any idea, Jaime?" She questioned, a bitter laugh tearing through her words, her melodious voice choked with emotion, "Do you have any idea of the lengths I've gone to just to get close to you? I even manipulated the Master to burden you with my so-called 'stupid jobs'. All those moments, all those chances... They were all designed just for you, just so I could be near you."

The room around us seemed to contract, the murmur of hushed conversations and clinking dishes fading into an indistinct hum. I felt the weight of countless eyes, drawn to the spectacle we had inadvertently created. The stage was set, the audience enraptured, their breaths held in anticipation of what was to unfold.

Michelle's eyes glistened, her tears shimmering like molten silver under the café lights, a raw and poignant reflection of her heartache. She looked at me, her gaze piercing through my facade, the force of her revelation shaking the walls I had built around myself.

"And for what?" She continued, her voice barely a whisper now, yet echoing like a tempest in the silence of the room. "For you to ignore me? For you to look through me like I'm some ghost? Is that who you want me to be, Jaime? Is that what it takes for you to see me?"

The silence in the room was deafening as I looked into her eyes, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of my answer hanging heavily in the air between us. The audience waited, the world held its breath, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still. It was as though the universe itself waited on my response.

I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Stop crying, everyone is watching." My gaze flicked around the room.

"I don't care, Jaime," Michelle retorted, her voice echoing throughout the café, commanding the attention of everyone present. The spotlight was now on us, all eyes focused, waiting for the drama to unfold.

The ugly, poorly-dressed misfit making an incredibly beautiful, well-dressed girl cry, and her being a member of the elite BtP no less. It's a well-known catch to marry a wealthy and famous BtP member.

Flushed, I signaled for the bill; I needed to escape.

"I'm carrying your child, Jaime," Michelle's plea pierced through the café, her tear-streaked face begging, "Return to me, I can't live without you. How could you be so cruel to someone who loves and needs you so? This is your child, Jaime."

Immediately, a profound silence enveloped the café; the patrons froze, staring at me, even the waiter standing before us halted, forgetting his duty.

I grimaced, yanking the bill from the waiter's hand, glancing at the total, and hastily fumbled for my wallet. I paid the bill and dragged the weeping Michelle away.

"Jaime, if you don't love me, at least think about our child..." Michelle's sorrowful weeping trailed off as we made our exit, causing the café's occupants to collectively hold their breath. Their accusing eyes followed us out; I had clearly erred. "You cannot be irresponsible for what you have done to me."

"Maybe it is not my child." I tried to protect myself in front of many people.

"But I only slept with you at that time."

I should've remembered another one of Michelle's pesky habits.

I reached out, my hand gently encircling hers, drawing her closer to me as we walked side by side.

"How far along are we?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Michelle looked at me, her eyes filled with puzzlement. "Huh?"

"Our child," I clarified, my heart thudding in my chest at the prospect.

"Two months," she revealed, her voice a gentle murmur against the hush of the night.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. "When did I sleep with you? Or do anything that might have led to this?"

"Two months ago," she responded, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk.

Our gazes met, and in her twinkling eyes, I saw the teasing sparkle that was so uniquely Michelle. "Keep dreaming, Mich. I've never even touched you." Her chuckle, light and musical, filled the silence. My fingers itched to flick her ear, a playful reprimand. "Please, don't joke around like that again," I pleaded, my voice brimming with sincerity. "I know you enjoy creating a spectacle, especially when you can use an unknown face, but I have only this one face that I must protect."

"Hahahaha..." Michelle's laughter filled the air, genuine and infectious. She clutched her stomach as if in pain, her amusement echoing off the silent walls. "If only you could have seen your face and everyone else's back there." I retaliated in kind, pinching her nose hard. "Don't do that again, you little attention-seeking imp."

"What do you think of today's drama?" Michelle asked, her voice laced with an undercurrent of cheerfulness. "It reminded me of a show I recently watched."

"Except for the times when you pretended that I cheated on you and cried until some guests intervened, or when you claimed that I had kidnapped you and I ended up being chased by several people," I retorted, my tone lightening at the memories. "I think this one was far better." Thankfully, this time it hadn't landed me in any trouble.

Almost…

"And do you know something?" I probed, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"What?" Michelle responded, her fingers intertwining with mine, holding my left hand in a gentle embrace.

"I believe you're still a virgin."

The silence that followed was only broken by our intertwined breaths. Michelle hugged me tighter, her voice a soft whisper against my skin, "Thank you."

***

In the lavish seminar room of a modern hotel, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as an eclectic group of individuals, including entrepreneurs, traders, politicians, corporate workers, and spirited young teenagers, had gathered around a charismatic figure known as "Guru." The room was adorned with sleek technology and elegant decor, befitting the importance of their quest.

The Guru, with an air of mystique and wisdom, stood at the front, captivating the audience with the promise of uncovering secrets that extended far beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. He spoke of the enigmatic truths that lay within the fabric of the universe itself, unveiling the mysteries of existence.

A young man, with an intense look in his eyes, broke the silence. His voice quivered with a mix of determination and fear as he addressed the assembly, "To prepare for the imminent arrival of angels in many places, we must embark on a profound journey of purification. These locations must be cleansed of all negative emotions that pollute them - the seething anger, insufferable arrogance, and consuming hatred. Only then will these places resonate with the frequencies of love, compassion, and connection to the True Source, becoming beacons of light where angels shall descend to assume their positions for the apocalyptic armageddon."

Whispers of awe and trepidation filled the room, and the air seemed heavy with a sense of responsibility. The realization dawned upon each individual that they held a crucial role in shaping the destiny of the world, for the time for action was limited - just five short years remained.