12th Piece

 This is the 10th post of the book in my "What My Blog Is" post

He is about seven feet tall, with sharp gray eyes that notice every move I make, no hairs whatsoever except for his eyebrows which were black but very thin, and a scar that ran from his skinny eyebrow across his eye and then down to his lip. He seems to have a constant scowl on his face. At least it’s a change from all the fake smiling I've been seeing. He gestures to the leather chair indicating that I should take a seat. I slowly cross the room, my eyes never leaving his, and sit.  He doesn't speak for a few minutes, just stares. I start to get uncomfortable and tap my foot. The sound echoes off the walls and I cringe. Then he starts to talk, “Good evening, Ms. Audra.” His lips barley move but his voice fills the room. “Hello.” I respond. I can’t help but stare at his scar and wonder how it came to be. “ You've been quite a handful Ms. Audra. You do realize that don’t you?”  "Yes I do.” “If need be I will throw you back into the dungeon with your little friend Eric.” “No!” I yell. He tries to smile but it turns into more of a grimace. I cough and say softer, “No. If Eric goes down there in his condition he'll die for sure. Please don't.” “And why not?” he demands. “I-I don’t know.” I say looking down. “That’s what I thought.” I stare at him and know that he would throw me in the dungeon in a heartbeat. The real question wasn't why; it’s why not? Realizing this I look at him harder and say, “Why don’t you throw me back in the dungeon? I’m not going to deny it, I should be down there. But I’m still here with you. Why?” He leans back in his throne of darkness and sighs. Not a sigh of meanness, but a sigh of fatigue and misery. I also lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I think about Eric and how sick he was. He’d never survive if he came out of the infirmary much less in a dungeon. “You can take me. I’ll go without a fight. Please. Just don’t take Eric.” I say quietly. “I can’t.” He respondes gruffly. Before I can ask what he means he snaps his fingers and the guards are there again. They lead me out of the room and I look back at him. He has his elbows resting on his desk and his head in his hands. He almost looks like a normal guy who was just under a lot of stress, until he lifts his head up and stares at me. Behind those cool gray eyes I see pure hatred. I quickly turn around and start walking faster.