Spiderwebs

Pale moonlight picked out the highlights on her broken body. Her long legs were draped elegantly over the gravestone; her slender figure lay skewed on the floor. It was difficult to make out her features because of the mass of golden hair that encircled her head and poured over the earth- a blanket of riches smothering the ugly, putting a golden sheen on the dirty. However, peeking out from a cascade of spun gold was a pair of perfect scarlet lips that had tasted the wonders of true adoration only a few moments before.

These lips had whispered words that could ruin any man. These lips knew how to get a poor girl seen in a rich man’s world and had used every word to get this goddess seen. What these lips did not understand, what they could not fathom, was the true power they held. The words this woman spoke held men mesmerised for hours, days, weeks. At the upper-class parties she went to in uptown London, she made powerful men weak at the knees and even more powerful women suck their teeth in rage. This woman would stride into the room, wearing a scarlet dress with lips and shoes to match. She would scan the space and pick a man. They were always the same type- the ones who stood telling a story to his private-school chums and laughing obnoxiously into his champagne. She would join the group of people surrounding him, moving ever closer until she was close enough to touch his elbow gently and whisper words into his ear with her perfect lips...

They would always take her home.

She took lovers, but never loved. She held men entangled in her spiderweb, but only for a few weeks. Then she got bored, or they ran out of funds, and she crushed their hearts under her toe like the butt of a cigarette. They bought her diamonds, Rolls Royces, fancy flats, Gucci, Fendi, Armarni. They took her to more parties, where she would sweep away from them and swoop upon the next man who caught her demure, impeccable eyes.

But one day, it changed. It was a party just like the others, where there were men in fancy, expensive suits and women wearing enough of their wealth in jewellery to send a child from the streets to the best school in Britain and save their life. It was thoughts like this that turned this woman’s stomach and made her feel completely sick and disgusted by the world she was part of. She needed a cigarette.

She scanned the room and noticed a fire escape. She slipped out unnoticed and leaned against the banister of the winding, rickety, rusting steps that were supposed to save the lives of a thousand people in an emergency. “Fat chance of that...” she muttered out loud, and chuckled to herself. She rummaged in her black handbag for the elegant silver cigarette case and Zippo lighter. She picked out a cigarette and placed it between her lips, sucking gently as she held the flame to the end. She breathed in the smoke, held it in for a few moments then blew it out, breathing a sigh of relief. She was so absorbed in her cigarette and the pleasure it was giving her, she did not notice the door behind her open and a dark figure slip out.

“Can I bum a light, lady?”

The voice startled the woman, and she turned sharply to look at her intruder.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Dark hair flopped over one of his deep brown eyes, which seemed to completely absorb her own piercing blue ones. He stood about three inches taller than her, and smiled at her with a curl at the left corner of his mouth. She was so taken aback she could hardly speak.

“Well, can I?” The woman shook her head, composing herself, tearing her eyes away from his.

“Of course.” She flicked open the lid of the lighter and watched the flame as the end of his self-rolled cigarette glowed. She popped the lighter back into her handbag and continued smoking her Marlboro. She peeked at this intruder from underneath her mascara-laden eyelashes. He did not seem the type to be at this kind of party. He was dressed in a suit, yes, but one could definitely tell it was very well-worn and of very bad quality. He was dark-skinned, probably from Caribbean decent. His lip and nose were pierced, but the studs had been removed. He looked only about twenty-five years old, the same as her; she was usually by far the youngest person at these dos.

“If I may be so bold, may I ask why you are here? You do not look as if you belong in this... environment.” Her curiosity had got the better of her.

“My grandfather owns this company. I assume you own shares, or your husband does? I’m sure this is a shareholder’s party.” From the confusion in his eyes, the woman was sure he was puzzled as to why a woman so young was at this gathering of elderly millionaires. She was about to start spinning her usual bittersweet web of lies, but something stopped her in her tracks. It was those eyes... those deep pools of mahogany that swam with emotion, begging to be swum in. Something inside this strong, self-assured woman clicked and suddenly... lying didn’t seem like such a perfect plan anymore.

“Do you want to know the truth?” The man nodded, slowly.

“Well, then... My name is Alexandra.”

And out poured her life story. All of her past, from her idyllic childhood to her terrifying and impoverished teenage years. And, the most important part, the story of Roza.

Roza was the dangerously beautiful Spanish escort who had picked Alexandra up off the streets at the tender age of fifteen and taught her every single one of the tricks and schemes she now knew and used to her amazing advantage. Or so she thought. As she poured out her heart, it became more and more apparent that she felt so empty. For the last ten years there had been a hollowness inside her, a hole that lay in the bottom of her soul that she has smothered with pretty jewels and fancy clothes and rich lovers for so long, It was the one thing that Roza had warned her about.

”love, my dear, is the downfall of womankind. Why do you think we have been stuck in kitchens, rearing babies for so long? Forget love. It is a myth made up by men to keep women where they belong. “te amo, te amo!” they will cry. “mi alma, mi Corazon!” But do not believe them, mi aprendiza, they will lock you away and keep you for their own. You will have to put up with bitchy mother in laws, Christmases, birthdays, christenings, children... You will be a free bird with me, una mariposa...

But after ten years of covering over this blackness inside her heart, a scruffy boy on a rickety fire escape in the slow drizzle of a London evening was slowly injecting pure white light into her heart.
As he patiently listened to her story, he removed his jacket and wrapped it around Alexandra’s shaking shoulders. He felt so much compassion for this beautiful but deeply troubled woman who had suddenly touched his heart. When she had finished her story, tears made streams and rivers down her porcelain cheeks, smudging her impeccable makeup. Jeremy placed his hand on her perfect face, and turned her head so she was staring into his eyes.

“It will be okay. I promise. Hey, why don’t we go for a walk?”

Alexandra’s eyes lit up, and they ran down the clattering fire escape, hand in hand and giggling. They found themselves on a street lit up by flashing neon lights reflected in the damp tarmac. Cars whooshed by and left trails where their lights had been, lingering in the midnight air. Jeremy and Alexandra looked into each other’s eyes and grinned, before setting off hand in hand down the moonlit street.

There was something eerily perfect about the next few hours. The two twenty-five year olds, already adoring each other with every breath they took and every glance they gave each other. They sipped coffee by the mighty Thames, the lights of the city reflected in its murky waters. Strolling along the embankment, they exchanged soft words and the kind of murmurs that only young people falling quickly into the depths of love can understand. They balanced along railings, chased each other through tunnels, acted like foolish young things and were smiled upon by the tramps that had already had their time in the sun. A man with a violin noticed them, and started to play a soft, lilting tune that floated through the air in drifts and waves, fitting the lovers’ mood like the final piece in a thousand part jigsaw puzzle.

“May I have this dance?” Jeremy enquired, extending his hand.

“Of course, my good sir.” A smile played across Alexandra’s lips, and she placed her milky-white hand in his nut-brown one. She took a step closer to him, a gentle warmth coursing through her veins where Jeremy touched her. They moved in time to the music, turning with every uplifting note. Their bodies melted into one, their souls combining with infinite clarity. As they turned, they melted into each other... two became one.

As the violin slowed and eventually stopped, so did the dancers. Jeremy looked deep into Alexandra’s eyes, chocolate merging into aquamarine.

“Alexandra. I think I... I think...”

A shot.

Two shots.

Three shots, explosion after explosion.

Dark red, flashing lights, screaming, dark eyes filling with blood, a lifeless form hanging in her hands.
Glittering, hundreds of staring eyes, nothing, anything but this...

Twenty-Seven small holes in the back of the man she loved.
This was nothing she had ever felt before, nothing she could fathom... the shock was too much to bear, and when the hands started to grab at her and the arms were everywhere and the faces and the voices and the ambulances came, she ran. It was the only thing she could do, run, run away from everything and just break her heart into a thousand and one irregular shards.

She ran, and ran, not noticing the hoard of people chasing after her, gaining on her and screaming her name.

She ran, and ran, shedding her high heels and turning down every street she came to until there was nothing left but a dark gateway. She ran, and ran, until there was nowhere left to run. She had no idea where she was, she didn’t care anymore. She turned, slowly, and came face to face with a semi-circle of faces. Faces she had seen someplace before, but could not quite place it...

A man stepped forward, a gun in his hand.

Everything fell into place...the harsh reality of what had happened struck her across the face like the hand her father had once used. She would never know love. She would never again feel the electric shocks that sparked through her when Jeremy touched her with his fingertips...

Jeremy.

All she knew then, was blackness.

Twenty-Seven jealous lovers stood around the fallen body of the woman they had each tried to keep for their own.

Some say it’s impossible to die of a broken heart.

The smallest man removed his hat.