Fenix always had a cigarette to light. Even when he was at his lowest, the smoke had the ritualistic effect of making him numb just for a while. She was gone in one of these clouds of smoke after he fucked her senseless right in this old and rusty trailer.

"You are my Midnight Mist" she said with a half smile, reading the name of the tobacco.

She could say the stupidest thing and it could make him grip her wrists and kiss her frantically. Those down-turned innocent eyes were the first calming elixir that he stumbled upon in his life - he would always go mad with desire before he could let himself be calm. He was always on the move and chasing the rush. That led him to some serious trouble with the law. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as a "bad boy", though. Everything he had ever done was the product of his desperate urge to be the one who is in control - he just didn't feel like fitting the boxes and playing by the rules because that would mean having it easier by conforming, and just remaining passive and stagnant. And here lies the clue to his identity for the world - in his mere differentiation from most of the other men.

Pear recognized this right away, when she saw him training the boys at the campus. He was brought in to show a firm hand resembling military training for which he is known. He was one of the prisoners who stuck out imposing his strict workout regime on others, and eventually, the word got out. She watched him behind the fence. That first eye gaze was movie-like. He immediately felt that there was something sensual in the way she layed her hands on the caged fence and looked at him mouth half open. She was wearing shorts, but she was at that age when she could wear anything and look like an erotic picture book. He felt weakness trying to get to him. She couldn't have been just curious, because she explored his muscles and eyed him up and down as if trying to do it deliberately (because she could see him watching at that moment), but nevertheless feeling shy about it. Something was frightening to her about seeing a strong man, a real man, but it was compelling too. It was almost as if she didn't see herself as able to get to him. He was out of touch and only was she rarely in the presence of a man who could make her weak - she wasn't a little girl anymore and she could tell that everywhere around her men were full of weaknesses and faults, unable to take responsibility or even approach a woman because of their insecurities. She was used to this, and he dedicated his life to bringing out the masculinity in those men who have some potential for it, hidden and neglected by the rules of society while it was still too fragile to overrule.

The first time they were standing close together, when he was exiting the building for the day, she was reading on the bench in the sunlight. Her aubergine hair was like a liquid metal curtain underneath which she was hiding from the eyes of the world, secretly yearning to be devoured by its stare. He asked her what was it that she was reading and she answered that it was the book on puppetry for her drama class. She was working on a piece about love that was long expected, in a world that makes finding it the biggest prize. He said he didn't know much about puppetry with a smirk because the correlations that were starting to form in his mind were cheesy in the most magical way - he could tell that she was writing her own story. He could sense the waves of warmth which sent flashes of red to her face as she was hiding her eyes from him as if she was thinking about something shameful. There was something in the way her sensitivity added to her innocence and the promise of a beautiful mind carefully cultivated for someone like him to take it like a flower. He never had the patience for being a good student, he always learned only what interested him and for this now he had a sharp mind, raw and quick to speak or offend, prone to read into the details. She didn't dare to approach him, so he took the lead, as a man should.

He saw it in her - when he moved away - that she was trembling like something went terribly wrong.

Their next encounter was in a dark alley. She was a little bit drunk, coming from the party, and was walking with makeup smudged and feeling her little purple dress pushing up with every step, but she didn't care. It was a feeling like many she had felt when returning home from a night out in the club, tired and unfucked. Like she had wasted the night that always started with some stupid hope that girls have about something hot that could happen. All she really wanted was to lie down on the cold asphalt and weep. Weep for the overwhelming frustration that she felt and didn't know how to explain to anyone without sounding like a slut... All of this makeup, the dance, the dress... The little moments of fun that we look forward to only to leave feeling dumb. In the blinking lights of the underground bunker that served as a club for the kids in the boarding school, all of the guys were just that - kids. Their faces revealing immaturity and their blank stares being as attractive to her as a goat's stare.

He came from the dark. He pushed her against the wall of the tunnel filled with graffiti. Those were the only shapes that she was seeing because suddenly she was filled with fear. When she saw his face, she was struck by surprise, but the fear wasn't gone. I don't know him, I have only seen him a few times, I don't know what he is capable of doing went through her head frantically. Suddenly they could hear the steps - somebody was walking by.

In the moment, she had to decide - if she screamed, he would get caught. As she was looking at him, she felt her heart racing. She knew he wouldn't harm her, or was it only because she could suddenly feel the heaviness of his body and was yearning to stay right there, very close to him? As the person walked by, she hugged him and they stayed like that for a while, soaking in each other's smell, thankful to be this close together... She sensed it in his wild black eyes, and in the strength of his grip - he was an animal that wanted to devour her. As soon as they were alone, his look was saying that now she has sealed her fate - everything she had to do was to surrender. He kissed her passionately and forcefully, and even though she wanted it with her whole being, it didn't feel any less forceful... This made her go mad and melt at the same time. He slid his strong muscular hand between her legs. Her pussy was so fucking wet from dancing, hoping, frustration... Her makeup was messed up. At this moment, she felt like a street whore and she couldn't care less. She loved it. She ached to be fucked properly, used, and chased from the moment she saw him. If this was all she would get from life, she would be the happiest fucking girl in the world.

When he felt her dripping, he unzipped his pants and slid right in. It was what she hoped for and it filled her with a feeling of excitement and gratification - his cock was huge. She moaned loudly, more loudly than she should have, but she couldn't help herself. It was so fucking good... He took complete control, holding her legs from below, and pounding her hard all the while looking into her eyes. If she was just a slut to him, how come she felt him with all her being, and why did he look at her like that... like he sees her? She had never felt seen before, no matter what she did or wore. So she leaned into her solitary activities such as reading and writing poems. She wasn't ugly; in fact, she was quite tall, had captivating eyes, full lips, and a big ass, but guys didn't seem to notice. It was suddenly clear to her that she was melancholic because she was forced to accept that this was bad, and everyone around her have come to accept it too, so they ran from the sins of the flesh, as the nuns in the school would say. She too was so scared of this rush, associating it with things that could only go wrong and fill you up with sadness. There wasn't any use in being a good girl, though because you would end up invisible, like all the rest who obeyed. This felt so good because he went against the only natural order she knew of, against the world and the everlasting moment of emotional emptiness, and he had a fucking huge throbbing dick. It lasted for a few minutes, and then he came all over her dress.

"Don't worry, baby, it looks like you spilled some drink." Fear overwhelmed her again - he might just walk away... Instead, he took her hand and they withdrew into the foot-paved path close to the trees by the road, which led to his trailer.

His trailer seemed half empty-half loaded with stuff, like a garage. It was the living space of a man who could not stay put, so he didn't feel it necessary to arrange the little details either. He dressed carelessly, too (when he wasn’t wearing a uniform) as if he wasn’t giving it much thought. He wanted it all, or not a thing mattered. And he certainly lacked a feminine touch. She quickly realized that everything around there was meant for building something, or it was a tool of a sort.

Such were the ropes that he ended up tying her up with. She was scared, but she wasn't able to move even if she physically could - the female freeze instinct prompted her to stay put and she could only rely on his eyes telling her that everything was going to be okay. As he slid in and out, she started to enjoy it too much to think about fear. The thinking was beyond reach. Finally. His expression and force were that of a man who wants to possess completely and give his all to the lucky one. "My little fucktoy..." "Whose pussy is this...?" The words were like a sweet echo on his lips coming from inside of her. Never before had she felt like a man could tell anything at all and she would completely surrender. (The phenomena of dominance and submission had always fascinated her - for example, the nuns were considered more dominant than her because they held the authority, but they were claiming to be about equality.) She could think or silence all the thoughts, and still feel him to the fullest - she realized; she could finally be herself. He felt her every urge and filled it up with his scent, his hands, his words... The light was coming from his porch through the window, just enough for her to see his tattoos and the gaze of a hunter. He didn't get off of her that night. He fucked her pussy all night with her legs spread, and would sometimes turn her to her stomach and fuck her from behind, never once demanding her to move a muscle, as if he knew that all she wanted was to feel completely fucking helpless and receive him. She was dripping wet for him, like a used-up whore who was finally taken care of.

The wind coming through the window would bring the fresh scent of summer's pine trees, which she associated with Deva's laughter and mom's homemade pie in the months before she died. So sweet, everything was so sweet and full... He smelled like musk and cigarettes, the hypnotic scent of sweat and testosterone was putting her in a haze, in a mist. He smelled like the tires of motorbikes in the midst of a race, like the metal he was soaking in in the dungeons, and the powders that had sunk into his skin from all the use, making him addictive as only darkness can be.

She was drunk, but she knew she would want more in the morning, and the day after... she could not get tired of his body yearning for more and more of her, and taking her in a manner of a man who knows that he could take anything in the world - just as the movie stars could feel the warmth of the spotlights in their bones and chase them down. That is how things work. This kind of man had chosen her. The happiest girl in the world, which her piece in the making was inspired by, was playing on his small TV forever. She had this desire for him to know everything about her, from her little thoughts to the motivations behind her creations. They would always pause the movie and end up fucking on the 70s crimson sofa. Knowing one another seemed to be given and absorbed by their bodies the first time they inhaled one another. For this simple and rare meeting of the right particles, this too was arousing - the dirt and neglect of the rusty place in which she became dizzy and drained, foggy and unclear, ravished raw and brutal, finally living.

The magical mist didn't fade away after they started to spend more time together. He felt the residue of her shyness to be especially endearing. He loved seeing the expression on her face when he barged in while she was sitting on the toilet. Her face turned red. "What are you doing, get out!" She would yell at him, red-faced because she was seeing her in such an embarrassing state, as she thought. "My sweet girl is feeling shy… I am not getting out until you finish what you started, baby." But she couldn't stop and was suddenly moaning, as red as a rose, all the while looking at him as if begging him to get out. He wouldn't. He started acting like an animal that smelled the natural smell of a female in heat, and even more so because those were the parts that women usually kept hidden. She felt humiliated, but when she was done, he spread her legs and fucked her right then and there only to cum all over her content in the toilet.

"Tomorrow I go." She said into his chest, and he stopped breathing, although it wasn't news to him. He was a sculpture. He ran his harsh hand down her collarbone and enveloped her waist. Every time he did that, she would gasp loudly. He put his finger in her mouth and spread her legs. "Now you're gonna take it like a big girl, without a word. You are mine. I don't even have to say it, and you know the meaning. It is said every time we are together. So since we are going to be apart from now on, I want you to listen to the sound of it in silence."

Midnight Mist. The words were dead and existent, saying much, but echoing into the void. Midnight was when she would come to him, after the guards were asleep, and he would fuck her in the blinking lights of their eyes reflecting each other like the limelights that don't annul but magnify in the peak moments of a disco night.

If she doesn't come tonight, he will hunt her down.