A/N: I don't know where I am going with this fic, enjoy it while it lasts.
Sorry for the first part...it was hard for me to write that too, okay?
•x•
I wake up still unsure about what I witnessed last night, the memory is hazy and blurry in my not-fully-waken mind. Was it all a dream, or maybe a hallucination... and what if that magical creature was real? That's the thing with photography...it's always real.
I turn around and try to shrug off all of the intrusive thoughts I have been having since yesterday. How many times have I photographed her, discovering and exposing every secret, every little detail of her fair skin, every inch of that body that once made my heart race behind my ribs.
She once seemed perfect, sitting for me in the morning sun: her cognac coloured curls against the white wall, her eyes, so transparent and true and the little brown freckles on her nose and cheeks that would only become more in summer. All her pictures showed grace and passion, like her colours, red and white. But the more time passes the more her photographs around the house seem out of place and wrong. Everything just seems wrong at times, but that...that thing I saw last night, it was steer perfection, tormented perfection. It all seemed to fit perfectly in a picture I have taken just inside my mind.
"Hey" Natalie whispers softly in my ear, tangling her legs around mine and caressing my cheek with her delicate nose. Her body presses against my bare chest and she shivers slightly, her side rubs against mine to find some warmth.
How would I trade all of this for another note...I disgust myself, trade the woman I...I love, for something I don't know and I will definitely never see again.
She presses her dry lips on my neck and starts biting and sucking the skin around my clavicle, I don't feel anything.
"Natie, we got to go" my voice sounds harsh and distant. I push her on the side delicately. I can't fulfill her, not now, and I don't think I'll ever be able to make her happy again.
"Can't your friends just wait?" she is still half asleep and I have already disappointed her.
Am I giving this up? A four years relationship gone just because passion has died? Shall I throw her away like a used toy?
I observe her as she gets dressed, every piece of clothing accentuates the contrast between her complexion and her hair and lips. I will not be that monster.
•x•
There is something strange about the city today: everything seems so gray and lifeless, even the voices of my lifelong friends are plain. They love Natalie, she captured them with her smile and her light sarcasm the very first time they met and since then they seem to never get tired of her. Not as tired as I am of walking through this rather monotonous streets.
Suddenly I hear a note. No...it can't be him again, I'm surely in some sort of hallucination.
Curiosity wins over rationality and my eyes wander searching for that familiar silhouette. He is not far: dark, handsome, his music creating an aura around him. He has much more public today, but his eyes, his marvellous, mysterious eyes, are still closed, still absorbed by that distracting melody.
"Will you excuse me?" I say interrupting Marc, a handful of questioning glares fall upon me, brows frowning in concern when I walk away. "Go on without me" I almost yell.
I am now just a few feet away, walking through the crowd around him. Their mouths are wide open as they stare at the artist in front of them. They are all intruding something that I want to be just mine, something I thought was made for me only. I am in the front row, probably the first he'll see when he'll wake from his conscious sleep.
"Still the guy with the violin, huh?" The words flow out of my mouth before I can think about it. I feel so stupid. Of course he's still the guy with the violin, he's playing a fucking violin. He opens his eyes slowly, raises his eyebrows perplexed and, for the first time, stops playing.
"Still the lost tourist" he states. His voice is exactly as I imagined it, smooth like silk and warm.
The people around us are complaining for the interruption as we stare into each other's eyes. I am completely lost.
"Please take me away" I beg.
I don't even know what I meant, I lost all control over my mind and my words after our first encounter, but I know why I said it. This is not a spell or an enchantment, it's my chance to escape.
I can tell he's still puzzled, who wouldn't be? But he unexpectedly takes me by the wrist and we turn the corner.
••
His grip is strong and his callous and warm hand is firmly pressed against my pumping veins.
I watch him, trying to capture what is so mysterious about him: his eyes are even more beautiful at such short distance, distracted and intense, his curls are messy and oily, but somehow charming in the end. Why is this boy like a magnet to me?
He's leading me somewhere, and my body feels lighter. I want to laugh and cry, jump and shout at the top of my lungs. I trust my hand in his, it's completely irrational and so not-Kurt, but I can't help feeling relieved.
"You really can't stand them, can you?" the sound of his voice makes my heart jump in surprise, he hadn't talked till now.
"Well...I...uhm" I'm short on words, offended. He dares saying I can't stand my own best friends, but there is a slight part of my brain telling that maybe, somehow, he is right. "I wanted to escape from...reality, I guess?" my sentence sounds more like a question that doesn't get any answer.
I can hear his breath, regular and deep, and his pulse against mine. That's the only thing telling me he is real and not a cruel joke of my imagination.
Around us people live, eat, chat, each one is busy in a different activity. They don't notice us.
The boy drifts and takes me in a deserted bar, without even asking for my approval.
Everything is dusty in here, tables, chairs, glasses, even the owner seems dusty, with his hunch back and his graying moustache. He doesn't even turn to us, occupied with his newspaper.
The violinist jumps on a chair and taps on the other, asking me to sit next to him.
"Two vodkas" he shouts at the owner, lighting a cigarette. He offers me one just by raising an eyebrow.
"I don't smoke, thanks." He replies scrolling his shoulders and putting the lighter away.
The only noise now is the barista, moving slowly behind the counter with heavy steps.
"Where from?" he interrupts the silence, his hand trembles as he takes the cigarette out of his pink and chapped lips.
"New York. Well, I'm actually from Ohio but I live in the big apple as we speak" I'm being too wordy, as usual. He shoots a glare at me again, probably trying to understand why I asked him to rescue me from a life that is apparently perfect. I'm healthy, pursuing my dreams and able to afford an apartment in one of the most expensive cities of the world. I have no right to complain, not if I compare myself to a street artist.
He drinks his vodka in a sole swallow, showing the burn in his throat with a short lasting flicker of the eye.
"Drink, fast. I have a place in mind" he demands. He doesn't talk much and he keeps it short when he does, most of the time he's just tapping a melody nervously with his long and thin fingers.
I do as he orders. Hell. It burns. I am choking on my own cough. He must be amused by my inexperience with alcohol, for he gives a smirk. I want to see him smile, not a smirk or a light stretching, a proper grin, I want to see how more marvellous he can get before I have to go back.
The boy extracts a bunch of dirty coins from his pocket and leaves them on the table, once again he drags me out with his vehemence.
For once in my life I have no control of what the hell is happening and though it is unfamiliar and extremely peculiar, I feel free.
We reach an arch in the shadows, many houses surround us but no sound comes out of them. This city is always so silent, yet the adrenaline makes my blood fill my ears with its rhythm.
"Like the city?" he asks, his voice raspy, finally throwing what is left of the cigarette away. He is near, very near. I can feel my heart overwhelmed by the thought of what he might do next, it wants to escape from its cage.
He's moving his mouth but I hear no sound, all I can see are his lips terrifyingly close to mine. I mutter something that is vaguely similar to a "somebody could see us" but his finger is faster to reach my mouth and the gently touch of his warm skin on my fresh lips makes my mind go blank. There's no Natie, no work, no dead father, just me and this magical, handsome boy in front of me.
Now his mouth is on mine, caressing, soft. I part my lips and his tongue encounters mine, making a ballroom of my mouth. He tastes like tobacco and a scent of vodka is all over his upper lip. He keeps kissing me against the brick wall. My back encounters the hard material but I'm too busy focusing on what is happening to the rest of my body.
I need something to keep me stable so I reach for his fluffy, curly hair and pull it softly.
I let out a delighted moan as our lips are playing hide and seek in this sweet and strange dance we are both leading. My stomach flutters and my mind wanders through unexplored lands.
I am now completely hard, his hands wander under my shirt, playing with the material and feeling my skin. He brushes against my bulge with his hips, his mouth is now on my neck tracing my collarbone.
I hear my phone buzzing in my back pocket. Natie.I pull him in one last, fierce and breathless kiss before I push him away.
"I have a girlfriend" I say, out of breath and completely, hopelessly heated.
"Never stopped me before" he replies, his right hand reaching for my waist again.
It takes all of my strength to deny his offer "I am not a cheater"
I glance at him one last time. His hair is pulled back, his eyes have now lost that excited glimpse and he looks like a dog that has just been scolded. Why do I feel sorry for him, someone I don't even know and dragged me all the way to a deserted spot just to hook up with me?
"Fine" he yells, visibly disappointed. I'm not a sex object, I'm not here to satisfy his need and frustration, yet the guilt knots my stomach and my whole body feels heavier.
I walk away as rapidly as I can, knowing that if I turn one last time I'll never go back.