It’s uncanny how I can feel him before he walks into the room. My heart lurches and my pulse quickens.
Then, I see him. The center of attention, hugging the ladies, shaking hands with and giving slaps on the back to the men. Everyone wants to touch him…to have him turn his golden-brown eyes and flashing smile their direction.
I wait. He will eventually see me. I will get my turn to touch the golden one. His entourage follows in a flurry. They all know their jobs. It’s been practiced and honed over the years. The short man with long hair and eagle eyes stays close to him, ever watchful. As if anyone would want to hurt this gorgeous being. Not in a million years. Not in this crowd.
He’s making his way around the room. Flashing his pearly white smile, hugging, kissing, and posing.
Then in front of me, there she is. The perfect specimen of a woman. Beautiful blonde hair falling around her slim shoulders, the perfect body, and perfect poise. Her spun silk tunic, rare jewels draped around her neck, and soft leather sandals leave no doubt she is a woman with money accustomed to the finest things it can buy.
He sees her. Everyone else is forgotten. It’s all about her. I watch the exchange and feel a gnawing jealousy start to grow. I want to be that woman. I want to be the one that is capturing his attention.
A part of me wants to run, but I am glued to my seat.
Here he comes!
He hugs this beautiful woman, and they chat for a minute. Then he turns to make his way to the stage and there I am.
He reaches out for me. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” I savor the embrace and my breasts tingle and harden against the rough fabric of my tunic.
He kisses me on the cheek. “It’s good to see you.” He continues on his way.
Inside, I scream. “Don’t you remember? Did it mean nothing to you?”
Outwardly, I smile and nod to the rest of the entourage.
What was that one night all about? But, before I ask the question, I know the answer. For me, it was the chance to have this beautiful specimen of a man all to myself for a few hours.
For him, convenience.
I should be ashamed of my shallowness, but I’m not. I should be ashamed of his shallowness, but I’m not.
He picks up his lute and strums. Everything else fades away and the music takes over.
He works the crowd like he always does. He smiles and points to individuals in the audience as he is performing. It’s a well-rehearsed show that he’s done hundreds of times. Everyone feels like they are a part of him, happy to bask in his glow.
I look around the filled room. All eyes are on the golden god. Women sit slack-mouthed. Men smile and chug their ale. The magical dance of entertainer and audience has begun. Shadows deepen around the stone walls as merriment rises to a crescendo.
Every woman grows wet just fantasizing about one moment alone with him. The men wait, knowing their reward awaits…knowing they’ll be the ones to try and fill the ladies’ fantasies at the end of the night.
All know their parts to play in the dance.
And me? I’m the observer. I can see it all unfold, almost as if watching a play. Disconnected, I sway to the sensual notes that flow from the golden one’s Lute, caught in his spell.
My breath hitches in my throat when he flashes a smile in my direction. But in an instant, that breath turns to a choking lump when I realize it isn’t me he’s smiling at. It’s her.
I let horrid scenarios form in my mind. I could follow her and kill her. I could push her from a ledge and pretend it was an accident. I want with all of my being to destroy her.
I want him with all of my being.
It’s never to be, foolish one. You are not worthy. You are not good enough.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance up to see a handsome young man extending his hand, asking for a dance. I smile and stand. Floating across the room in his arms, I watch the golden one. Will he notice? Will he care?
“You are the most beautiful woman here tonight,” the handsome young man whispers in my ear.
“Are you an Angel?” I ask.
A smile turns up the corners of his full mouth. “That is for you to find out.”
I melt into his strong arms. Perhaps he is an Angel. Perhaps divine intervention has seen fit to soothe my ragged and worn soul, to boost my self-worth.
Whatever it is, I will take it. I cast one last glance at the golden one and suddenly I see him for what he is. A frightened insecure man in a beautiful body with that being his only attribute. Now, I’m sad for him, for her, and for all the ladies dreaming of him between their legs. I see it for the emptiness that it is.
I’m dancing. Jealousy has flown, and I am beautiful. I am desirable. Thank you, my saving Angel!
**I dedicate this short story to every woman in the world who has ever suffered insecurity or self-doubt. May a beautiful Angel always come to your rescue!**
Oh man! This is me. I want to be the woman with the golden hair. I’ve always been the one on the outside with my face pressed against the window looking in. Insecurity and self doubt always lives inside me. I love the raw emotion in this.
Thank you, sister. I am happy this moved you. I think we both know a lot about that feeling of being an “outsider” from our childhood. But, as adults, we have the power to find our own Angel, even if it is ourselves. Thank you for stopping by. I love you!
Masterful, Jan. Through this story, you’ve captured universal feelings and then brought them to a beautiful conclusion. ♥
Thank you, Gwen. I do hope you are doing well. You remain in my thoughts and prayers. I appreciate you stopping by and leaving a comment. Hugs!
Such an unusual and well-executed story, Jan. You did a great job tapping into a spectrum of emotions from start to finish.I did not expect it to end the way it did, but love how you let things play out. Well done!
Thanks, Mae. I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Yes, I toyed with the idea of her killing the woman who was causing her such anguish, but then I have such a hard time killing characters, so decided to let the main character find redemption. 🙂 I appreciate your comment.
What a romantic story. And those amber eyes are a little mesmerizing, aren’t they? Ha ha. I was horribly insecure as a young woman, but it wasn’t a man or angel who cured that. It’s was finding and appreciating my own value and strength as a person (plus years of therapy Lol).
I think we can all relate to that, Diana, and you gave the perfect answer. The key to everything in life starts with self-love and for me, that was such a hard lesson. Thank you SO much for your insightful comment and for taking the time to visit today. Hugs!
I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I loved the outcome. Very happy an angel appeared and she saw everything for what it was and what she was. I think we’ve all felt this way many times throughout life.
Thank you, Denise. I am so happy you stopped by and yes, I too was very happy the Angel appeared to save the poor girl from herself. I appreciate your comment. Have a great Monday!
Loved this, Jan. The insecurity and lack of self-worth permeates this story, the ending was great. This is such a different style for you, and you nailed it! Bravo!❤️️
Thank you, Sooz. This is a different style for me and it was fun. 🙂 I am so happy the feeling came through the story and thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment. Hugs!
Bravo, Jan! Great story, so much delicious tension throughout. You hooked me from the start. I think we’ve all been insecure at one time or another. 😊💕
Thank you, Vashti. I am so happy you stopped by and glad you liked the story. Hugs!
Thank goodness for Angels!
I have often had the same feelings. Excellent piece, Jan.
Wow, that surprises me, John. I’m almost afraid to ask what feelings resonated with you. This was pure fiction and just another way to stretch my writing muscles. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Yes I know it was fiction. I think you touched upon feeling less than adequate until an angel comes along. I certainly have been there.
A bit different for you. I like the raw emotions and style of it. Emotion is so important to a story, and there are more of them than happy or sad. Really enjoyed it.
Great, Craig. Yes, this is different for me and I continue to stretch my writing muscles whenever an inspiration hits me. I appreciate your comment.
I am a big believer in that school. I set a personal goal for each story and work hard to achieve it. It adds tools to my kit.