Bedelia sat there on the plush seat in the air conditioned airplane. Although the seat was very much comfortable, she felt uneasy. It could be the fact that she is once again leaving her life behind her. It could be that she is traveling back to her home, or maybe it could be that she is very much aware of all the bloodshed back in Baltimore. Despite all that, she likes to believe that her nervousness is originating from the fact that she is sitting next to the most deadliest serial killer of all time.
A man who stepped into her life and took the reins.
A man who slithered his way into her subconscious.
A man who holds her heart with his bloodstained fingers.
She sits with her back to the window as she desperately wants to watch the clouds go by, but she won’t risk having her eyes stray away from him. She can’t trust him. He could kill her now and somehow convince everyone on the plane that it was self defense. No, she can’t risk letting her guard down for a second.
Hannibal can smell the fear radiating off of her, and he revels in it. He knows she does not trust him, and in some ways he applauds her for that little fact, yet another part of him desperately wants her to rely on him with every fiber of her being. However, he knows with Bedelia that you must make gradual changes in order not to overwhelm her.
In the corner of his eye, he finally sees her move which surprised him because she’s been sitting there like a Greek statue of a goddess the entire flight. He watches closely as her leg slowly crosses the other and he secretly basks in her otherworldly beauty. His blood begins to boil yet his heart beat never rises above that exquisite number of eighty five.
His bodies natural reaction is to pounce and to devour her, both literally and figuratively, but a public airplane is hardly the place to do just that. Thus he must only be allowed to admire her elegance from afar, even if she only sits mere inches away from him. It’s maddening, really, for both individuals.
Both wonder what the other is thinking. Both wonder when the other will strike. Both wonder if the other holds the same feeling they have for them.
A slight ruffle of a curtain is heard just before the waitress begins to make her way down the aisle, asking in a perfect French accent, “Jus d'orange? Eau? Champagne?”
Hannibal turns his head towards the waitress and with his own flare to the accent, he replies, “Je voudrais du champagne, s'il vous plaît.” He reaches out to take one of the flutes as the waitress turns her attention to Bedelia, “Madame?”
Bedelia stiffens up enough for Hannibal to notice, but she quickly regains her composure as she whispers out a simple, “Non merci.”
While the waitress leaves, Bedelia pleads to the woman to stay with her eyes, but the waitress seemed not to make eye contact with anyone. Once the waitress was out of eyesight, Bedelia turned her attention back to Hannibal.
She was caught quite off guard as their eyes met. She wanted to cower away and to be rid of him for the rest of her life, while another part of her wanted to leap into his arms and never let him go. The hardest part is that she is not sure which decision Hannibal would take more pleasure in.
She did not want to seem like a poor deer caught in a car’s headlights, so she offers a small smile to satisfy the beast. If she were to die tomorrow, Hannibal would remember how perfect she looks right now.
His beast within begins to go out of control, yet he dares not open it’s cage. He needs to feel her skin under his finger tips, he needs to taste the sweet metallic flavor of her blood on his tongue, he needs to hear her say his name with her very last breath, he needs to know that his face is the last thing she sees before the bright flame of her life is blown out.
He returns the smile and the fear in Bedelia starts to slowly melt away. Hannibal senses her vulnerability and decides to act upon it. He reaches over and grasps her hand with his free one. Surprisingly, she does not flinch or let her smile falter, she just squeezes his hand back in acknowledgment.
Hannibal straightens his back, turns his head away from her, and brings up the flute of champagne up to his lips. The strong aroma of the champagne swirls across his tongue as he tries to savor it, like how he is trying to savor the feel of Bedelia’s delicate hand in his.
She can feel the warmth of his hand, and for some reason all the doubt she had towards him is now long gone. His thumb gently caresses the back of her hand, and that’s how they stayed for the rest of the flight to France.
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