Lavinia’s skin was the shade just above albinism and her straightened hair, dyed deep crimson, framed a beautiful face marked with matching black eyeliner and lipstick, and occasionally when she tilted her head he thought he spotted black gages that created flesh tunnels in her earlobes. Black was the obvious theme for her ensemble as she was done up in black Elizabethan style clothing. Despite the fact that he had zero interest in goths, the four words Eason thought best described his blind date were: Out. Of. His. League. But somehow, through an odd series of events and several disastrous dates, they had become a couple.

And there was love, perhaps not on her part but certainly on his and even though Eason was treated far below the level he deserved, he could not bear to quit the relationship for the simple reason that should Lavinia leave, he feared no one would knock on love’s door ever again. So, while the theater of his soul was only occupied by one disinterested audience member, it was far better than playing his one-man lonely hearts show to an empty house.

But was it truly a relationship? Had Lavinia considered the poor, besotted fool more than a mere friend with benefits? They did not know each other’s friends, let alone their families, and the pair always met in obscure places like cemeteries, a section of a public park where creepy dolls had been strung up among the trees, the sites of car accidents where victims’ families and friends left flowers and lit candles in memoriam, and abandoned subway stations and catacombs. Essentially places where they ran little risk of running into known people.

There were also no public displays of affection, but amorous congress could be had if an area possessed the proper ambiance, such as in a freshly dug grave or a deserted mental hospital. When no such place presented itself, Lavinia allowed Eason to rent a motel room, the shadier, the better. He put up with her eccentricities for the same reason as thousands of women and men remained in bizarre relationships, because the coitus exceeded his every expectation.

During a rare dialogue exchange, Lavinia admitted to suffering from anthropophobia, which was a fear of both interacting with and being around other people, and she was only able to be with Eason because she had not thought of him as a person. She also considered herself a presentarian, a word she invented to describe only living in the present moment because the past was irrelevant and she did not believe in the future. And in his heart of hearts, Eason knew that they would not grow old together.

On the final night they would ever be together, Eason rented a nice hotel room and ordered room service with champagne and candles because he wanted to show Lavinia what he thought of her. The problem was he didn’t really see her. He was an ambivert overthinker whose head remained planted firmly in romantic clouds, and he had a terrible habit of constructing fantasies about women based on the limited knowledge he gleaned from their social media photos. While she was an introvert who would rather read true crime books than deal with the real world, and that she possessed an abnormal love of silence.

Lavinia picked at the meal, sipped some champagne but spent most of the evening perched on the window sill, in her very own pocket dimension of eternity, watching pedestrians on the street below. Eason always prided himself on being the most patient man on the planet but he came to realize that next to her, his patience was nothing, a pebble in a rock slide.

She was beautiful, silhouetted against the moonlight, and that beauty weakened Eason’s patience and made him annoyed at being ignored and when he was unable to bear it any longer, he broke the silence.

“Do you know the irony of being a mime?” he asked, and when no answer came, he continued. “Dying and being trapped in a box. Get it? Mime? Trapped in a box?”

It was a stupid joke, an icebreaker, and off her expression, Eason was immediately regretful of having disturbed her solitude.

Lavinia turned and held her hand up, palm facing him, exposing a tattoo he had not seen before. It appeared to be a baby’s skull that was divided by a dagger-like crucifix that was intertwined with a long-stemmed thorny rose.

“I remember,” she whispered low and soft but somehow her voice nearly shattered Eason’s eardrums. “When the cold of peace and the heat of evil were no different from each other. That was before the edges of earth were rounded by popular belief. I remember when the clouds would sacrifice its life to feed the hungry earth, slashing its wrists so this planet could drink its fill and slake its voracious thirst.”

Eason was about to speak, about to question the meaning of what she said but Lavinia crossed the room, pressed her black nailed finger to his lips, and eased him down onto the bed. He was suddenly dumbstruck by the power she had over him, this silent power. Even her body, which he mistakenly thought he knew so well, radiated a power that made him weak.

Hours passed, and Eason drifted in and out of sleep, still mesmerized by the very silent sight of her on top of him. He dozed off again, and when he came to, she was still astride him, but her normally long, cool stare was somehow different now and it caused him to tremble.

The corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. “You are a fool, Eason Gadsen, for making me see you as a person. Your affection disturbs me. It slides into my silence, shredding it and sending it spiraling down on the heads of those who pass under this window. They do not know or sense it now, but it will affect their lives significantly. They have taken pieces of a life that does not belong to them. That they do not deserve.”

“I don’t understand,” Eason said in a voice so timid that it might have belonged to a child.

“They are taking my silence with them, taking me. And I am not to be shared.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Now, I must go to them, to each one and see the sights that assault their eyes, smell scents that nauseate them, touch the textures of their worlds, be compressed into the microcosms that are their lives. I was not meant for that. And if I cannot retrieve the pieces they have stolen, these strangers will kill me without ever knowing me. And it will be your fault.”

“None of this is making any sense, but tell me how I can help you! I’ll do anything you ask!”

Lavinia cupped Eason’s face in her hands and said, “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Do not hate me.”

“Never.”

“I need your help to undo what you have done. Will you aid me? Will you give me what I need?”

“Of course.”

“You have to promise.”

“I promise.”

“No, you must speak the words of the promise.”

“Okay,” Eason said, confused. “I promise to aid you, to give you what you need.”

“You are a better man than I deserve, Eason Gadsen, and I will never forget you,” Lavinia said as she pressed her lips to Eason’s mouth and inhaled sharply.

As per the promise, she breathed in what she needed: the elasticity of his skin, the strength from his muscles, the vision from his eyes, and every last drop of silence that he possessed. But in an act of kindness that proved that she too loved him, she had not taken everything. She left him his life, and perhaps, if she was able to reclaim what was hers, she would return to restore him for he had given her the ability to believe not only in love but the future as well.

Text and audio ©2011-2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys