She tromped off the bus in a fury; long, sultry black tresses trailing behind in the damp wind like malign spirits. She stormed up the neat walkway to the impressive Mediterranean-style house, muttering incomprehensible diatribes that rambled out of her pretty young mouth with flashes of electricity.
The fresh-faced lad sprinted after, guiltily nonplussed about her behavior and instantly regretting his words. He still wore a slightly quirky grin.
"Don't follow me, you bastard," she cried vehemently. "I'm gonna tear your vitals out through your scruffy little throat!"
"You know I like that pain stuff! Almost as much as I like you!"
He never knew what to say, so everything turned into a jest before even it left his lips. He knew she was angry, maybe terminally angry, but a part of him always wanted to chide her for what he felt was emotional instability.
She reached the stout oak door and flung it open. He saw her disappear inside, and was slightly chagrined when she whammed it shut and bolted it.
Tears of flustered anger pattering the lush, self-grooming carpeting, she punched a wide indentation in the living room wall on her way to the bedroom. She ran down the broad hallway and entered violently into the chamber.
He was sitting docilely in her swivel chair, eating a blushing crimson apple, with a solemn expression set in his features. Her flabbergasted reaction was apparently too much for him. He split a lopsided grin.
"What the-how did you-ugh!"
She glanced wildly at the locked and shuttered window, but he shook his head with feigned seriousness and aimed one slender finger at the ceiling. The girl's dusky eyes moved slowly up to the roof. They rounded with preternatural rage.
Opening her bedroom to the hushed autumnal night was a huge, ragged hole. A fat brown leaf floated indolently down to brush her hair. There followed an instant of silence, while she almost frothed at the face as she glared at him.
"A skylight becomes you, amber duchess," he murmured. His eyes bunched in glee.
"You fucking-fuck! Fuck! You don't know what you've done! God damnit, you did NOT just cut a hole in my FUCKING ceiling with shurikens!"
A tiny vein pumped in her smooth neck. He thought it made her awfully pretty.
"These old things? Nope. Used a ninjutsu! Sign of the horse, you know."
He kneaded his tapered digits in an intricate pattern; she advanced on the chair, hands held high, menacing him with pure animosity. At the last second he covered his head and expelled an exaggerated sob. "Come on, do you want me to say something exquisite? Or hand you a diamond? Whoa, whoa! I didn't mean that! The fact is, the open sky really does make you look…well, you're beautiful…that is to say, err…I love you, of course."
He flushed, then leapt to his feet and saluted her. "My body and mind are at your command, my dear! Limitless, undying love! 'Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side.' I'm sorry."
She gave pause for a moment. She was still incredibly angry, but she had a weakness for Coleridge. He knew it, and knew he had scored a little hit.
"What the hell's your problem?! I can't believe you did this! You know I didn't want to see you now. And plying me with poetry's not going to work."
She was distorting the truth somewhat. She had wanted him to follow her, but had barred him from entering in her tantrum. She softened a bit. Well, he did do all that just to pursue me. He's an imbecile, that's all.
Now he clapped his hands together in another sign. A dozen doppelgangers materialized in front of her, crowding the room. They spoke in unison, switching to Yeats this time.
"'I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet.'"
"'Tread softly because you tread on my dreams,'" she finished, and sighed inwardly.
She wasn't angry any more, really. The skink had ways. A talent of understanding. And he really did care for her. She plucked the flawless, half-consumed apple from his hand, and the clones vanished to whence they came. "So where'd you get the fruit, anyway?"
"I kind of love you back."
She bent over him, immersed in the passionate conviction of the young. No one was watching as the apple winked out of existence. And the real apples rustled in their trees overhead.