The second part. We meet Sara.
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The chocolate is sticky. As sticky as her lips, her face so unlike yours and yet so similar, when I overcame my fear and tasted her. The chocolate is sweet. Her lips weren't. And yet I crushed her tiny frame in my arms and we fell from the sofa and it was my back that connected with the floor - again, as I recall with amusement now, studying the chocolate cookie I found on the counter.
On the counter near an empty coffee mug and a half-eaten apple.
You still are clumsy, my love.
I'm chewing the cookie, slowly taking in the surroundings. Not much has changed since my last visit here. Newly painted door, same bright red as always, one more lock to pick, new sheets on the bed and a tiny red pillow on the sofa. I smile, licking the chocolate off of my fingers. So you like red now.
She liked red too. She scratched my back leaving long red marks, expecting me to like it as well, expecting me to be skilled in this art. Expecting me to just take her right there like anyone else would.
Like everyone else did.
I gently pick up all the cookie crumbs with my index finger so the counter is clean. The night has already come and your loft is floating in the long shadows moving across the floor. The windows are closed, but I can still hear the distant murmur of the city.
The sharp sound of the Buell somewhere outside catches my attention. So, you're back. For one crazy moment I just want to stay there and then greet you as you come in. "The tea is ready, my dear. I'm sorry though, but I've eaten all the cookies." I fight this desire for a while, hearing your footsteps on the stairs. Then as I hear the key turning, I hide, hoping to disappear from the plain sight.
*
Your steps are heavy, as you enter your apartment and toss your jacket onto the couch in a long but accurate swing. You don't even bother to switch on the light. Instead you stride across the room in the darkness, knowing the furniture layout by heart - just as I do - and you enter the kitchen area.
Did you hesitate a second by the door or was it just a shadow from outside that played on your weary face?
The sound of the water running. The fire from the lighter flickers on your face for a short moment. You put the kettle on and now I can hear you rummaging through the shelves in search of something. You find it and an awkward silence falls suddenly.
I stopped breathing, I think. I wait.
The kettle whistles, you catch it quickly and pour the water.
Was your move just a bit too quick or was that only the kettle whistling that startled us both?
You turn and walk to the couch, still in darkness. Then you lean over the coffee table, put something down and extend your hand to light a small lamp beside the couch. The light reflects on the table top with tea mugs on it.
Two mugs.
I cannot help but smile. Ever the detective.
I wait. You sigh. Heavily.
"Long time, Nottingham."
I hold my breath. When was the last time I heard my last name spoken that way? Hell, when was the last time anybody spoke my last name at all?
"You gonna sit or just stand there and keep lurking?"
I just love that disgust in your voice. I've missed it. I think I should pack it, label it and save it for later, so I could apply it to myself in small doses each time I feel empty inside. Each time I have nothing but the cold shimmer of my blades to keep me company.
"Sugar?" you ask, lifting a teaspoon above your head. You don't even flinch as I quickly snatch it from your fingers. I shake the coat off and throw it over the back of the couch. I circle the couch and sit, watching you take your mug in both hands and lift it to your lips.
"Hello, Sara." Does my voice sound a bit too hoarse or is it just the silence broken too soon?
Your hands are trembling. You take a sip and slowly put the mug back down onto the table. Then you lean back against the couch, covering your face with your clasped hands. Still not looking at me.
I slowly take off my gloves and place my hands around the steaming mug, welcoming the stinging pain of the hot porcelain against my bare skin. I blow the steam and inhale slowly.
Earl grey. The smile on my face must look quite stupid right now, I guess, as I recall the earl grey afternoons my father loves so much. Should I assume you knew, since you searched your shelves for it for quite some time?
"Just stop grinning and drink it," comes your weary voice from between your fingers. I smile even wider and lift the mug to my lips. I thought you weren't looking. Silly me.
And we sit there in silence. I think I've grown accustomed to silence. How could I not?
"I feel like I'm losing them, one by one." Your voice sounds firm now.
And what should I say to that? I quickly go through all the appropriate answers and I find none that would fit now. So I go back to my tea instead.
"Danny and Jake seem to make a good team." You're still not looking straight at me.
Not that it bothers me, it's just that it is rather my habit not to look at you when we talk. Instead I just sit here, sipping my tea and looking at your slim but strong fingers, the insides of your palms so soft to the touch - I guess - and the rich curve of your lips just below. I guess I must be staring.
"They're complementary." And that's where your voice breaks. Or did I just imagine that? No, I couldn't have. You draw a breath that seems quite shaky and press your palms tighter to your eyes.
"Even your 'family' seems to have given up," you continue, your voice firm and steady again.
Why does the word 'family' sound so bitter in your mouth, Sara? Were you so upset about having no family that you had to destroy mine as well?
"No more freaked phone calls, no more attempts on my career and life."
Something clicks inside my head and I begin to understand. But before I can draw my breath and respond, you speak again.
"Even Gabriel seems rather. off. lately."
You sigh deeply and almost desperately and it makes me feel suddenly out of place. I shouldn't have come here, I shouldn't have assumed that you would be as you used to be - annoyed and pissed off to see me. I shouldn't have thought that everything was back to normal.
"And even you..." You are looking straight at me now. I meet your gaze and I'm suddenly hypnotized by it. There is more to these eyes than it used to be. I begin to realize now that I saw it then, in the back of Mr Bowman's store, but I failed to notice the eyes behind your eyes, they disappeared so quickly. But they did stop me cold back then.
Somewhere in the background my brain registers the black rings around your eyes but all I can see now is that you are crying. What is it that you mourn, Sara?
The eyes behind your eyes are gone now.
You rise from the back of the couch and slowly extend your hand to touch my cheek. I freeze in place and close my eyes. Your voice drops into a whisper as you brush my skin with your fingertips: "But you're not even here, are you?"
I struggle to keep my eyes shut. My fingers touch the mug with my tea, I make sure it stands securely on the table. I lightly push it back just out of my reach, should I make a sudden move and spill the liquid over myself.
Your face is now inches from mine, I can feel it. Your breath moves the hair tucked behind my ear as you whisper almost inaudibly:
"I want my life back."
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Still like it? I would love to hear from you. {Hug} :)=
------------------------------------------------------------
The chocolate is sticky. As sticky as her lips, her face so unlike yours and yet so similar, when I overcame my fear and tasted her. The chocolate is sweet. Her lips weren't. And yet I crushed her tiny frame in my arms and we fell from the sofa and it was my back that connected with the floor - again, as I recall with amusement now, studying the chocolate cookie I found on the counter.
On the counter near an empty coffee mug and a half-eaten apple.
You still are clumsy, my love.
I'm chewing the cookie, slowly taking in the surroundings. Not much has changed since my last visit here. Newly painted door, same bright red as always, one more lock to pick, new sheets on the bed and a tiny red pillow on the sofa. I smile, licking the chocolate off of my fingers. So you like red now.
She liked red too. She scratched my back leaving long red marks, expecting me to like it as well, expecting me to be skilled in this art. Expecting me to just take her right there like anyone else would.
Like everyone else did.
I gently pick up all the cookie crumbs with my index finger so the counter is clean. The night has already come and your loft is floating in the long shadows moving across the floor. The windows are closed, but I can still hear the distant murmur of the city.
The sharp sound of the Buell somewhere outside catches my attention. So, you're back. For one crazy moment I just want to stay there and then greet you as you come in. "The tea is ready, my dear. I'm sorry though, but I've eaten all the cookies." I fight this desire for a while, hearing your footsteps on the stairs. Then as I hear the key turning, I hide, hoping to disappear from the plain sight.
*
Your steps are heavy, as you enter your apartment and toss your jacket onto the couch in a long but accurate swing. You don't even bother to switch on the light. Instead you stride across the room in the darkness, knowing the furniture layout by heart - just as I do - and you enter the kitchen area.
Did you hesitate a second by the door or was it just a shadow from outside that played on your weary face?
The sound of the water running. The fire from the lighter flickers on your face for a short moment. You put the kettle on and now I can hear you rummaging through the shelves in search of something. You find it and an awkward silence falls suddenly.
I stopped breathing, I think. I wait.
The kettle whistles, you catch it quickly and pour the water.
Was your move just a bit too quick or was that only the kettle whistling that startled us both?
You turn and walk to the couch, still in darkness. Then you lean over the coffee table, put something down and extend your hand to light a small lamp beside the couch. The light reflects on the table top with tea mugs on it.
Two mugs.
I cannot help but smile. Ever the detective.
I wait. You sigh. Heavily.
"Long time, Nottingham."
I hold my breath. When was the last time I heard my last name spoken that way? Hell, when was the last time anybody spoke my last name at all?
"You gonna sit or just stand there and keep lurking?"
I just love that disgust in your voice. I've missed it. I think I should pack it, label it and save it for later, so I could apply it to myself in small doses each time I feel empty inside. Each time I have nothing but the cold shimmer of my blades to keep me company.
"Sugar?" you ask, lifting a teaspoon above your head. You don't even flinch as I quickly snatch it from your fingers. I shake the coat off and throw it over the back of the couch. I circle the couch and sit, watching you take your mug in both hands and lift it to your lips.
"Hello, Sara." Does my voice sound a bit too hoarse or is it just the silence broken too soon?
Your hands are trembling. You take a sip and slowly put the mug back down onto the table. Then you lean back against the couch, covering your face with your clasped hands. Still not looking at me.
I slowly take off my gloves and place my hands around the steaming mug, welcoming the stinging pain of the hot porcelain against my bare skin. I blow the steam and inhale slowly.
Earl grey. The smile on my face must look quite stupid right now, I guess, as I recall the earl grey afternoons my father loves so much. Should I assume you knew, since you searched your shelves for it for quite some time?
"Just stop grinning and drink it," comes your weary voice from between your fingers. I smile even wider and lift the mug to my lips. I thought you weren't looking. Silly me.
And we sit there in silence. I think I've grown accustomed to silence. How could I not?
"I feel like I'm losing them, one by one." Your voice sounds firm now.
And what should I say to that? I quickly go through all the appropriate answers and I find none that would fit now. So I go back to my tea instead.
"Danny and Jake seem to make a good team." You're still not looking straight at me.
Not that it bothers me, it's just that it is rather my habit not to look at you when we talk. Instead I just sit here, sipping my tea and looking at your slim but strong fingers, the insides of your palms so soft to the touch - I guess - and the rich curve of your lips just below. I guess I must be staring.
"They're complementary." And that's where your voice breaks. Or did I just imagine that? No, I couldn't have. You draw a breath that seems quite shaky and press your palms tighter to your eyes.
"Even your 'family' seems to have given up," you continue, your voice firm and steady again.
Why does the word 'family' sound so bitter in your mouth, Sara? Were you so upset about having no family that you had to destroy mine as well?
"No more freaked phone calls, no more attempts on my career and life."
Something clicks inside my head and I begin to understand. But before I can draw my breath and respond, you speak again.
"Even Gabriel seems rather. off. lately."
You sigh deeply and almost desperately and it makes me feel suddenly out of place. I shouldn't have come here, I shouldn't have assumed that you would be as you used to be - annoyed and pissed off to see me. I shouldn't have thought that everything was back to normal.
"And even you..." You are looking straight at me now. I meet your gaze and I'm suddenly hypnotized by it. There is more to these eyes than it used to be. I begin to realize now that I saw it then, in the back of Mr Bowman's store, but I failed to notice the eyes behind your eyes, they disappeared so quickly. But they did stop me cold back then.
Somewhere in the background my brain registers the black rings around your eyes but all I can see now is that you are crying. What is it that you mourn, Sara?
The eyes behind your eyes are gone now.
You rise from the back of the couch and slowly extend your hand to touch my cheek. I freeze in place and close my eyes. Your voice drops into a whisper as you brush my skin with your fingertips: "But you're not even here, are you?"
I struggle to keep my eyes shut. My fingers touch the mug with my tea, I make sure it stands securely on the table. I lightly push it back just out of my reach, should I make a sudden move and spill the liquid over myself.
Your face is now inches from mine, I can feel it. Your breath moves the hair tucked behind my ear as you whisper almost inaudibly:
"I want my life back."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Still like it? I would love to hear from you. {Hug} :)=