Dmitry's Closet Nelson, S. (best reads TXT) 📖

She would resume her job hunt after she had fed her growling stomach. Maybe then she would be able to think straight.

It was mid-afternoon and all the lunch dwellers had rushed back up into their high-rise buildings and their important business meetings. Now only shopkeepers, vagabonds and tourists walked the streets, monitored by police officers on bikes and in beaten up patrol cars.

Royal slowly inched down the cobblestone lane along the trolley line clutching her money and trying not to further agitate her pulsating toe. A hot wind blew down the street and brushed through her long, damp hair. She moved thewild strands from her face and yawned.

Feet swollen and stomach growling, she followed the beautiful smell of cooked apples and mangos to a small shop covered with large crimson awnings and smoke-tinted bay windows. She inhaled again, feeling her stomach growl louder in response to the prospect of a hot meal. Grasping the elaborate, hot gold handles, she pulled opened the large black, embroidered wooden doors and walked into the dark restaurant.

From the outside, the restaurant appeared very simple and adequate, but to her surprise inside the beautiful two-story building was decorated in decadent colors, gold textures and brilliant hues of crimson. It reminded her of a setting that she had seen on an old movie. She looked around curiously, wondering what new world that she had accidentally stepped into and grateful for it.

The winter breeze coming from the air conditioner cooled her hot cheeks instantly as the door closed behind her.

Gratified by the change, she sighed thankful for some relief. She would owe them strictly for the ability to not breathe fire.

Remarkably, the place was empty. No waiters or wai-tresses came out to help her. Standing alone in the middle of the floor, she looked around confused and cleared her throat.

“Hello?” Her voice cracked.

There was no answer.

She walked on.

“Um…helloooo?” she called again, this time louder.

There was an intoxicating aroma coming from the kitchen, indicating the place was still open. But where were all the people? Where was one person? Anyone would do. All she heard was music playing from the back of the room.

Instinctively, she followed the sound of a lonely violin weeping its melody from small stage near the bar in the back of the restaurant. She walked slowly on the wooden floors, feet still aching, to the edge of a staircase, where below a man sat playing the instrument.

The musician was perched flawlessly on a long, black piano stool. His wing-like arms were perfectly formed around the small instrumentwith his left arm protectively cupping the hollow wooden frame and his right hand gracefully guiding his bow. While his fingers plucked the strings, his eyes tightened as if the music was a continuation of his own emotions. Somber. Magnificent. Resilient.

Royal stood entranced by the beauty of the harmony, by the smell of the food, the stunning translucent glow of the foreign restaurant and the welcoming crisp air. Alas, she had found a safe havenin the eye of Memphis’ hell storm of heat.

She listened on gratefully as he played, trying not to interrupt his apparent concentration. However, the melody that he played was so sweet and so alive that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. It sounded very much like her own life, full of high peaks and such low, intricate valleys. It was controlled by the men who had touched her, played like the man who now played his violin, made to cry out – to weep. Her little life.

The music swept through her, creating small goose bumps over her body. She sighed deeply with her eyes closed for a moment, trapped in his lovely tune.

Oblivious to his audience, the man played passionately with his eyes closed for a while, until he felt her presence. When the slits of his ice cold blue eyes opened, the grip on his bow loosened and his perfect chin dropped. He stopped, looked curiously at her for a moment and then set his violin down on the polished Fazioli grand piano.

Royal’s breath was suddenly shallow. She didn’t mean to spy on the man. She didn’t mean to disturb him, but she could not help it. Without saying a word, he had impri-soned her with his fiddle.

There was a moment of utter silence as the exchange was processed. The two locked eyes and captured each other in a blank space in time, strangely enough with Royal still hearing his now silent violin. She looked on not knowing what to say.

At a loss for words, she swallowed hard and blinked. Only, the man did not move; his body was like a statue. He had no expression on his face, no surprise in his movements. He was merely there.

Finally breaking away from the moment, jolted out of his shock, the man stood up, exposing the full height of his monstrous enormity, and began to walk towards her.

His black, Italian dress shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he moved. Click. Click. Click.

Royal’s eyes widened in awe. He had to be nearly seven feet tall. He was a giant; a very beautiful Zeus-like creature commanding in all of his presence. His golden blonde hair caught the sun in the reflection from the mirrors behind him and casted a luminous glow as he came to her, making it even harder to take her eyes off of him. He was absolutely mesmerizing.

Royal tried to move but was stuck. Maybe it was his sheer height or his liquid blue eyes or his chiseled, high cheek bones, or maybe it was just someone to serve her a meal, but Royal felt an indescribable urgency. Unable to move, her posture horrible, she was planted concretely at the top of the steps as he approached her.

In long, leisurely strides that equally matched his very graceful body, he moved down the aisle. She barely blinked as he stopped at the bottom of the short steps at eye level with her.