Agent on the Run

I closed my hand over her shoulder to turn her to see her back, but she resisted me. My eyes found hers only to see that she was crying.

Her lips quivered as she said, "Please don't! I want to stay pretty in your eyes!"

I wiped the tears from off one porcelain cheek, my fingers black against her skin in opposite color to hers, but somehow perfect in terms of connection. I met her watery gaze, "You will always be beautiful in my eyes Flicker."

I tugged on her shoulder and with an increase of tears slipping down her face she obediently turned, her head sinking down to her chest, as she pulled her hair around to her front over one shoulder.

'Oh God have mercy!' I thought, but I kept from saying it out loud just barely. It was already abundantly clear that she had a very low opinion of herself, which I wanted to break down instead of enforce.

The firelight should've revealed the sensual arched plane of a female's unblemished back, but instead it revealed an ugly interlaced patchwork of scars too numerous to even count. It was a horrendous butchery to behold, but it wasn't what dominated her back the most in terms of shocking scenery.

Her spine was literally encased in a steely matrix of alloy metal the same as her arms and legs. No thought had been given to the cosmetic appearance of the changeover by those who'd butchered her. Her back was literally torn apart.

The steely casing that protected her spine tapered off into the small of her back and disappeared from view. My eyes drifted down to her toned and well-proportioned rear, which appeared to have gone untouched from the butchery above. It gave me the opportunity to say something positive into this setting, when all she could think of would be a negative.

"You've got one hot derrière girl!" What I'd said was the truth, but maybe I'd infused it with a little bit more enthusiasm than I would typically. I really wasn't the kind of guy to comment on a woman's assets whatever they may be.

At my words her head had sharply turned to look at me over one shoulder. She stared at me in an incredulous fashion. I met her gaze honestly and responded, "What? It's true!"

I moved away from her then and picked up my extra shirt and the bar of soap, which I then gave to her. Hesitantly I offered, "If you leave-year-old clothes by the stream I'll wash them for you after you're done."

She had the look of a befuddled little kid and gently I pushed her toward the stream. She started to go, but then mumbled something.