Resurrect Thy Heart

“You seem to be at a loss for words? Why so?”

The man in front of Ysabelle remarked in reverberating tonal waves. Everything was the same with this man, everything... but amidst this, she could clearly see - as clear as the platinum cross around his neck - the brilliance of the red tint in his eyes. With roughened breaths, she had concluded something was amiss with him. Something...terribly dark.

He had the same handsome face - disarming to the core - yet it was tainted with the slyness of his mouth’s grin. He had the same posture of a confident, strong man, but a distasteful aura reeked outside of his body. She could feel it well, it was so palpable and it easily made her feel cautious.

As the man paced across the room’s available space, his black clothing opened halfway on its own showing the rigid torso Ysabelle had seen countless times but choose not to ogle. The show made her blush momentarily but realized it was a condemnable act especially that the teeny sign of attraction was directed to him. It was sinful by nature to feel so, but with the current circumstances, was it wrongful then?

They eyed each other, but his was by far more intimidating than hers. It made her feel the chill in her spine. It made her feel the violent churning of the contents in her belly. It made her heart flutter wildly and her lips in cold quivers. She had always despised the feeling ever since he arrived, but it was of a different reason back then. Now, it was purely out of fear.

After seconds of feeling like a stone sitting at the edge of the bed, Ysabelle pulled herself up and stood near the bedside table. Courage and a sense to protect herself kicked right in as she curled her hands into a tight fist.

“You look different, ” she stated, finally regaining her voice.

The man quirked an eyebrow and gave another smug smile. “Do I now?” he said.

“Yes, ” was her quick reply.

“Funny, I don’t seem to feel so, ” he replied nonchalantly, raising out his hands as if he could see something physically different from it.

Ysabelle’s breath hitched again. Believing his words would be the last thing on her mind. She may not be able to see what was exactly going on with him, but she could well vouch for herself that he wasn’t the same man she knew him days ago. “Quit your lies, please, ” she requested kindly, but there was a considerable amount of tremble in her voice.

“Hmmm...I saw the way you look at me, Ysabelle, ” he remarked, ultimately changing the subject. His words were soft amidst the undulating echo of his voice. It had a trail of strong emotion in it, like it wanted to erupt but was not permitted to do so. A step closer he did with ease, and that made her heart leap in panic and her pupils, briefly dilate.

“I have eyes, it is only natural, ” she stated, hoping it was sarcastic enough to discourage him, “I give preferences to nobody.” She lifted her chin as a sign of tenacity and held that pose until only a second passed.

“Oh, but you do, ” the man immediately responded, taking in another step closer to her, “...to me.” Affected she was and that made her determination shrink and wither. It was the truth. His word did hit the right spot. Although she hoped to hate it, she couldn’t deny that there was an intense attraction collecting inside her towards him.

This time, they were both inches apart. Ysabelle could feel his warm breath touching her forehead and now-flushed cheeks. She leaned forward against the table and gave him a frown - the only meager comeback she could make. “Don’t misunderstand things, ” was her stern reply.

“Quit your lies, Ysabelle...” The man spat the words right back at her. This caused her to press her lips thinly. Ha! What irony it was indeed to be slapped by her own words.

When he closed the short gap, Ysabelle poised to throw a hand in between them. A quick push of his chest away from her would do the trick but never had she imagined that he would make a counter by hooking an arm around her waist and holding a mass of hair with his free hand.

“Step back!” she ordered a little more than alarmed. Touching a copper-molded picture frame with her other hand, she grabbed it immediately planning to bang his head just in case he would still advance.

But advance he did, leaning his face and trespassing her private space without so much as a show of fear on the object she was holding. He did not utter any words, only grinning at her with amusement.

“I swear! I’m going to hit this frame in your head so much that you would bleed if you dare kiss me!” she threatened, now shouting.

“Oh?” he paused, “You would do that now, would you? He wouldn’t be pleased I’m pretty sure.”

His red eyes somehow became faint and the shade of smoky brown replaced it briefly. Ysabelle thought it odd but nevertheless found it redemption for her.

“Marcus. Marcus!” she desperately cried as if she was talking to a third person other than the man holding her waist. “Please wake up! Please! Get a hold of yourself!”

He released a short wicked laugh and then proceeded to cup her chin tightly. “But he is, Y-sa-be-lle...” he stated, slurring her name intentionally. “He is awake. Don’t you know? I am him and he is me. He is still in control of his emotions. Only, I am just magnifying it so that it would bloom a thousandfold.”

Whatever he said, she considered it gibberish. She dared not believe any word that comes out of his mouth, especially when this man wasn’t exactly Marcus.

“Unhand me. This is not what he wants!” she spat, trying to push him away, but failed.

“It is, ” was his limited answer.

And then, he kissed her. Mouth on mouth. Lips on lips.

Patience. Yes, patience...wasn’t his thing. It was never his thing. So, without so much as a minute of waiting, his warm tongue slid, invading her delicate muscles. This instantly caused her to unintentionally moan. Moan in protest? Surely. Of pleasure? Maybe. Possibly. Because even though she denied it with all her heart, it was still Marcus’ mouth that she was tasting. Warm and soft. Burning and fueling a desire she hadn’t felt ever since the sun greeted her.

A short moment of bliss it was, in her part, but luckily a sense of reason came. She wriggled in an attempt to free herself but unfortunately, she brought out no success. No. Not even a millimeter of difference....