Blinding Basile

Blinding Basile

With great struggle, he raised his head. His neck ached; there seemed to be some kind of chain around it. His head was full of clouds, threatening a storm within his mind. He had never felt more groggy, or confused. Basile Giroux rarely found himself confused. He tried to open his eyes, but the burning light of the fire hurt him. He strained himself and finally opened them. He looked up to a shape before him, and it took a few moments before the blur turned into a beautiful woman.

Justine.

Of course Justine did this; recently, Justine had been the source of all of the complications in his life. He examined her carefully; she was bent over with her hands on her knees, facing him. Jet black hair fell past her shoulders, dark green eyes focussed on his own light brown eyes. Her skin was porcelain, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the fire to their right. She wore that dress he liked…yes, the lacy black one. She wore it when they first met and he found it the easiest of her many gowns to take off. He shrugged that particular thought away from his mind.

Basile mumbled something so incoherent and even he wasn't sure what it meant. With a laugh, Justine grabbed his legs and straightened them onto the floor. She placed herself on his lap and before she placed her hands on his shoulders, she adjusted something to their left. Basile glanced over too quickly and everything became a blur again. The chain around his neck was too tight. The object was a phonograph with a wax cylinder on it. This couldn't be good.

Justine placed a hand on his cheek, moving his face so that he was facing her once more. "Speak into the phonograph, Basile, mon chéri," she told him, her voice an amused song. A sense of foreboding filled him. Normally, could easily push her away from him but his arms were limp beside him.

He groaned, "What did you put in the wine?"

Another laugh; it was loud, obnoxious, rather annoying. When he first met Justine, Basile thought her laugh was the most annoying thing he had ever heard. When their relationship developed, he was able to tolerate it. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. Now was not one of those times. "Absinth, silly Basile," she answered him. She looked down at him, giving him an innocent look that would never convince him. "Strong men like you don't drink wine – wine is for helpless women like myself," she continued.

Basile ventured to move his head again and it was extremely painful. "My head," he complained, still groggy. "What is this thing?" He tried to gesture to the chain around his neck. "Get me out," he commanded, becoming immensely angry. His anger lessened his grogginess and his voice was booming as he told her, "I'm not up for your games!"

Justine shook her head, looking as she herself was becoming angry. "No," she said. "You have to say it first: how beautiful am I?"

He stared up at her, confused. Of course she was beautiful, there was no denying that; her hair was always sleek, her lips were always a deep shade of red that he enjoyed. He wasn't too happy to just give her the answer she wanted. So he answered, "Plenty." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head once more. "Now let me out of this thing," he continued.

"No!" Justine gripped his shoulders tightly, sending a thrilling sensation down her arms. Why, she was a haughty creature. "That is not what you say!" She told him, still gripping tightly, painfully, onto his shoulders.

Basile groaned again, a frustrated and almost bored groan. "Your beauty is blinding."

Justine smiled then, and bit her lip. It was an exciting sight. She leaned close to him and kissed his lips. He tried to push her away at first, but succumbed her lips on his own. The kiss was deep, passionate. She was a good kisser, that was one of her redeeming qualities. The kiss distracted him from his pain and grogginess, and as a result he did not notice her hands leaving his shoulders. He did not realise she was leaning back ever so slightly to grab something. He noticed what happened next, however.

He noticed how quickly she pulled away from him, and he noticed the two white hot fire pokers in his eyes.

The pain was the most intense pain he had ever felt; more intense than any injury he experienced in his days as a carpenter, from cutting fingers to hammering down on himself.

He released a scream. Basile Giroux rarely found himself screaming. "My eyes!" He howled, "What have you done to my eyes!?" He grabbed the pokers from his eyes; coming out was far more painful than going in. He felt the warmth of his blood stream down his face. As he threw the pokers aside, he felt Justine get up from his lap. He made a grab for her. He wanted to choke her. "Justine," he yelled, "this isn't funny, you blinded me!"

Justine laughed victoriously. "Can't catch me now," she sang.

He tried to get up, to grab her, but the chain around the neck stopped him. He could not imagine anything other than pain and anger. He yelled to her, "I'll kill you, you whore!"

He heard the clip-clop of her shoes as she walked away, the creaking over the opening door and then its slamming. Now alone in the room, he screamed as he punched and punched the floor, over and over again.


End file.
