Gothic Soul-Mate Part I of II

This is (based on) a true story.

I have been granted in this life, the rare privilege of meeting my soul-mate, my twin flame, my other half. My soul-mate, in this meeting was within the body of a man. A very gothic man, with a soul as dark as my own. I saw him across the way and my heart nearly stopped. He had long, straight, flowing raven locks of hair, with streaks of cinnamon brown, braids here and there scattered about in a rational frenzy. His clothes were made from different materials, with no set scheme. He looked ancient, but modern, sexy yet subtle, mysterious yet familiar. He was the personification of everything I was, everything I longed to be, everything I felt and desired and loved and it scared me.

It was quite obvious it frightened him as well. Time after time we would see each other as our paths caused us to be in the same place fairly often, but we would never talk to one another. He would steadfastly ignore me; pretend I did not exist, though when he looked at me, his eyes spoke not of disinterest, but something deep and unfathomable. It was something I could not explain. I longed for him secretly. I was fascinated with him. His every move entranced me, called to me, though I refused to show it and I ignored him just as stoically as he did me. Constantly and without fail he was want to pretend I existed not, choosing instead to focus all of his attention on the two friends he was never without and he would avoid me at all cost. His animosity toward me perplexed me.

Was it because I was Goth, like himself and his friends? Was there something he seen inside of my soul when he looked into my eyes that he found disturbing? I knew not. But I did know that despite his behavior, and my returned avoidance of him, that I wanted nothing more in this life than to know him. I could not explain the desire. I was a solitary creature. I did not like people and refused to be in society longer than I had to be. I never wanted company or longed for companionship- until he came along.

One day I heard of a Gothic theatre and decided, perhaps against my better judgment, to visit the building. It was dark inside, and the theatre was complied of strategically placed tables with accompanying chairs, the stage small and taking up an entire wall in front of all the seating. It was more of a lounge than a theatre in my eyes, but quite comfortable. Each table had its own lighting and I choose one by the stage and opened the book I carried with me and began reading. I know not how long I sat there in the exile of my imagination, but suddenly all lights became dim. It dawned on me that they must be rehearsing for an upcoming show. As I was not asked to leave, I decided to sit back and enjoy the dark rehearsal.

In a fury, all the Goths came into the theatre, dancing in a way one should only dance for the gods. It was beautiful, those movements. Words would never do it justice. Then I saw him, dancing like a heathen at harvest. He was perfect in every way. All at once, the gothic dancers started pairing up, including him. It was at that time, he seemed to notice me. Whether he knew I was there before or not I do not know, but by the look in his eyes, I would think he had known from the moment he waltzed in.

           The pairs all began kissing and holding each other, each forging a sexual stream of their own brand of intoxication. The heat they let off flew across the air, turning up the temperature by notable degrees. None seemed to notice or care, but continued on their sexual exploration of mouths and embraces. Except one. Him. The Goth man who seemed to haunt me. He was kissing his partner for all he was worth, and she him. But he was looking at me. The entire time, he looked only at me as if saying “I am doing this to her, but I want to be doing it to you. It is you I am kissing, am holding against my body, just you…” I cannot remember the rest of the play.

When the performance was over, those involved chatted for a while and then left, until only the Gothic man and his two friends remained. He kept staring at me, and refused to look away, his face held an expression of self conflict and hinted at an internal hell that raged inside his soul. I thought it best that I leave. As I came to that decision, he also came to a conclusion as he quickly approached me. Before I knew what was happening he stood before me and I had nowhere to run, no means of escape. I felt panicked by what seemed a sudden interest to my person by such an extraordinary man whom I had long since felt, deep all-consuming attraction for.

He stared imploringly into my eyes, his own eyes held a sea of dark brown that melted my heart and warmed my soul. After a few moments of the silent exchange of uncertainties he said two words. Two words that shattered my existence in waves of sheer ecstasy and fear.  He simply said, in a voice echoing with resolution “You’re mine.”

In the next minute he had grabbed me and had lifted me out of the chair, silently pulling me along to follow him, his hands around my arm as if frightened I was going to run from him. It was something he need never have worried about. I would have followed him anywhere at that point. His two friends trailed behind and came with us as he took me to a place I can only describe as a lair and I was quite sure it was his place of residence. It looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It was as dark and as gothic as anything could ever hope to be, a perfect mixture of subtle paganism mixed elegantly into all things occult.Thus our journey together truly began.