That's not what his pillow smelled like.
That was the first thought that came to Georg's mind. The smell was sweet, cloying, delicate. Definitely not his pillow.
His second thought, unfortunately, wasn't there, only a wild throbbing pain in his temples.
He tried to open his eyes, even. His eyelids felt heavy as lead, and his mouth felt dry. His whole body felt heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to spin into a cocoon and not come out. I've died and gone to hell, he thought, but strangely the pillows in hell smelled like something cherry. After a couple of tries, Georg managed to open his eyes.
Afterwards he made a very important discovery to himself. He was not in his room.
Okay. He wasn't at home, for that matter. He wasn't in Max's flat, too clean. He wasn't in Elsa's flat, not too elegant. It wasn't his parents' house, thank God, and it wasn't a hotel. He was in some room he didn't know.
The room he was in was small, bloody small. It was a bedroom.
Amazing, Georg, a room with a bed is a bedroom, you're almost Sherlock Holmes.
There were garlands and pictures of some kind on the walls. There was a white cupboard in the corner, one of its doors slightly slanted, and a small dressing table to Georg's right. It was even somehow cosy, strangely homely. There were two doors in the room: one of them was open and led to the bathroom, the other was locked.
He forced himself out of bed with an extraordinary effort, noting that he wasn't nauseous. Okay, that was good. Jumping out of bed he paused for a second, it was hard. Slowly he made his way to the bathroom, needing to clean himself up.
As he entered the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, he noted that he was still dressed, which was a good thing. Wait, what was that. There was a strange green stain on the sleeve of his jumper. It was his favourite jumper. Rolling up the sleeves to make it easier to hide the stain, he splashed cold water on his face and rinsed his mouth. He stared at his reflection again. He looked disgusting.
He decided to take his mind off his horrifying reflection and took a closer look at the bathroom. The walls and floor were the same light green tiles, and there was a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a couple of hairpins on the counter next to the mirror.
God, what happened yesterday?
He was still wondering where he was and how he'd got here. His mind was a mess, thoughts swarming in his head like bees in the street. He went back into the room and sat down on the bed, trying to put himself in some semblance of order. Feverishly running a hand through his hair, he considered his next course of action. He couldn't stay here.
Forcing himself up again, he headed for another door. It opened with a slight creak, leading him into a corridor, a very narrow corridor. It was darker than the room, and smelled like something cherry. And then he heard a voice, a quiet melodious voice. he followed it of course.
When he left the corridor, he found himself in the living room and kitchen. There he found her, the girl standing with her back to him, humming something and pouring boiling water into cups. The girl. Did he spend the night with her? No. He'd remember. Well, he hoped so, because he didn't remember anything.
He had to pack, he spent the night at someone's house. Why had he slept in the bedroom and not on the couch? He stared at the worn sofa, beside which stood a coffee table piled with various books. He tried to imagine that he'd have to fold himself in half to fit there.
Still, Georg had to admit, it was cosy in here. He looked under his feet; he was standing on a plush, well-worn rug that strangely added a note of vintage comfort underfoot.
For now there was nothing left for him to do but consider the room. On one of the walls are large white bookshelves that housed all sorts of books, in general there were a lot of books here.
Against the wall, next to the shelves stood a guitar, hinting that the landlady clearly owned the instrument.
He didn't know how long he'd been standing like that, staring at everything around him like he was in a museum, the girl still didn't notice his presence and he had to cough to get her attention.
She turned sharply, fear flashing across her face for a second, but then just as quickly it was replaced by a smile. A dazzling smile. They stood like that for a while, just assessing each other.
She was beautiful. Very. Lovely, even. She had short blond hair and the biggest eyes Georg had ever seen.
The girl was wearing a grey t-shirt with a cardigan over it, her bottom hidden behind the counter.
"Oh, you're awake already," she spoke somehow too friendly, breaking the awkward silence and biting her lower lip.
Georg felt too uncomfortable under her gaze, "yeah, hi."
"Here, have a seat," she pointed to a chair at the kitchen counter, "I made us some coffee," she set two cups on the table, hopping into a chair on the opposite side.
Everything's too weird.
Slowly, he walked over to the table, and with a muttered thank-you he settled into a chair. He could feel her considering him, sizing him up, clearly waiting for him to start the conversation. Georg took the cup in his hand, it was like one of those that Frau Schmidt used to drink. He squeezed his eyes shut, Frau Schmidt, she was clearly never going to help him with the children again.
"Georg," she did break her silence, though, and at the sound of his name he threw his head up sharply. The girl knew his name. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken his name with such concern and tenderness, it felt very strange. He stared at her, "how's your headache?" She tapped her fingers on her own temple, she seemed genuinely concerned about his well-being.
"Hurts," he answered honestly, laughing slightly. Everything seemed too surreal. One moment his head was loaded with a million questions, the next everything was receding as soon as they spoke.
She smiled at him too, taking a big sip from her cup. He decided to follow her example, taking a sip as well. The coffee was hot, strong and sweet. Perfect. From the moment he'd awakened in her flat, he'd been repeating to himself that he needed to come to his senses, and strangely enough, in her presence he did.
"Actually, pretty weird," she pondered aloud, "I don't usually do that, well, I'm about, anyway, you get the idea," she bit her lower lip again.
Honestly, no, he didn't. Still wondering how he'd ended up here. How long had he been here, and what time was it anyway? Slipping his hand into his jeans pocket, he realised there was no phone, he must have lost it somewhere.
The girl could clearly see his anxiety, and the fact that he was checking his pockets like a madman.
"Are you looking for your phone, if so, here it is," she slipped her hand into the pocket of her cardigan, "sorry, I had to pick it up, but only after Liesl rang for probably the twentieth time. You know, nothing against it, but you really weren't in any condition to answer. But you don't worry, it's fine, I explained the situation."
Alright. So she knew, and not only knew, she had also spoken to his eldest daughter. Georg shrank inwardly at what conversation awaited him at home. Liesl may have been only 16, but she wasn't worth pissing off. She was like a hurricane.
Pondering this, he stared at the phone in his hand. The screen glass was shattered, just shiny.
"Oh, yeah," she looked slightly embarrassed, "you dropped it when we were coming up here. In your defence, it's because you decided to show me the picture with Gretl again."
Damn.
What. Is. Going. On.
This girl spoke so simply about his children, as if she knew everything about him and them, and even a little more. He, on the other hand, knew nothing about her. He didn't know her name, her age, or how they had ended up in her flat.
Georg was embarrassed and humiliated. He had a headache. But that was the least of his problems, for he could not stop admiring her. A girl who was obviously too young, and too kind to him.
"You won't mind if I find out, rather embarrassing as I don't quite remember your name," he swallowed heavily, staring at the liquid in his cup, "and how I ended up here."
He looked at her again, she was smiling good-naturedly, "this is Maria," she took another sip, "actually, we met in a bar, remember," he nodded dumbly, he remembered going to the bar the night before, but the rest was a blur, "you were already pretty drunk when I got there, you were dying to chat with someone and I had just cancelled my date and you offered to keep me company, you were quite nice, although for the first five minutes you were reciting Hamlet's monologue."
She snorted at the memory and Georg felt himself blush, he had never blushed before but now he thought it was an appropriate reaction.
"then you started telling me that you had seven children: Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl, and a boy, wait, don't help me, K-K-Kurt, here. You even showed me pictures, you really have a lot of them."
She smiled at him, but he sensed there was something else behind that smile, as if she were considering how to phrase her thought, "and then you started crying," she pressed her lips together slightly, as if silently apologising for mentioning it, "and asked me to take you home. But you never told me where you lived, so yeah, here we are."
Minutes passed, but neither of them said a word.
The girl found him completely drunk and abandoned in a bar, spent an entire evening listening to his nonsensical chatter, and then dragged him back to her house. Had he done something like that for a stranger? He wasn't sure, and the thought suddenly made him sick.
He felt even more uncomfortable with the silence between them, with what she had told him, with his behaviour last night. He leaned back in his chair slightly, needing to get the conversation back on track, so he said the first thing that came to mind: "You have a nice place here."
The words didn't seem to convince Maria, she looked at him sceptically, and with a raised eyebrow, "you said my flat looks like a Lilliputian shelter."
She was staring at him, and he felt as if he would squeeze into a chair, and wished he could just disappear, so he wouldn't have to go through this again. Yes, he was clearly dead, and his main punishment was to be tormented by a beautiful angel.
But then her melodious laugh spread through the room along with the aroma of coffee, "come on, the flat is small, but it's better than nothing, I'm not offended, it was funny."
He forced himself to smile, but he was sure his face looked more like a suppressed grimace.
"Okay, ahem, sorry," he rubbed the back of his head with his hand, "why did I sleep on your bed and not the couch," he turned his head in the direction of the green couch.
She looked thoughtfully at the couch, "ohohoho, believe me, I was going to put you on the couch," she smirked, "but you made a very comprehensive argument for your height and the fact that you're older, which means you should sleep on the bed."
He needed to stop asking her questions, he'd never get rid of this shame. It was like he was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole every time.
"Well, that was definitely the most awkward, experience of my life," he ran his hands through his hair again.
She laughed again. Kindly and sincerely. He liked her laughter; there was something soothing and distracting about it. It reminded him of jingle bells or a summer breeze.
"Are you hungry?"
He only shook his head negatively. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible; he'd made her uncomfortable enough already.
"I think I should go," Georg said as he rose from his chair.
Maria nodded again, not moving from her seat. She watched him put on his shoes and pull on the jacket that hung on the hook by the door. Oh, the effort she'd taken to undress him yesterday.
"Eh, look, this is going to sound weird," he felt like a shy boy rather than a man, twirling his battered phone in his hands, "can I get your number?"
Maria thought for a second. It was risky on one hand, but then again, with the way their last night had gone, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about, so her smile grew even wider, "Sure."
She jumped off the chair, crossing the room in just a couple of steps. Reaching out, deftly snatching the phone from his hands and quickly tapping the screen with her slender fingers, "Just don't sign me up with any hurtful nicknames."
He only grinned crookedly.
As he approached the front door, he heard her say, "Say hi to Marta and Gretl."
He stared at her in surprise, feeling his eyebrows rise almost to his hairline.
"What?" she just shrugged.
Okay, he'd deal with that later.
"Well, bye," he muttered quickly opening the door.
"Bye-bye."
Maria watched the door close behind him, well, this was definitely her most spontaneous, weirdest, and most impulsive encounter. oooh, she would definitely have something to tell Christina at lunch. No, she wouldn't wait for lunch, she was obliged to write to her right now.
Stepping out into the fresh air, he was still trying to get his senses in order. A deep breath and out.
He needed to make a logical chain of actions. The how of what and what followed what. He glanced at his phone. The clock read 11:03, September 4. He swallowed.
Only once he was outside her apartment, fully recovered, did the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. He saw everything as if he were watching a movie on fast-forward. Yesterday was the anniversary of Agathe death, yesterday was the fifth anniversary of her death.
He didn't have to seek salvation in alcohol, he never did. God knows he didn't drink, not like that. He never allowed himself to drink himself into oblivion.
His thoughts returned to her again. That girl, Maria, there was something almost ethereal about her. How was that even possible, she seemed so open and good-natured. He needed to thank her somehow. He would have to send her flowers, or take her out to dinner. Oh yeah, great idea, after everything that had happened, dinner with you would be the ultimate reward, genius.
His inner monologue was interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.
Liesl.
Oooh, damn, he hadn't gotten home yet, but he already realized it was going to be a very long day.
Hi, so I decided to try something new. I've always been attracted to modern au stories. It's unusual and fun to see how the characters develop in such stories. In general, while finishing this chapter I had a vague feeling that our dashing captain had become a bit too shy. I don't know, I always thought that his soft side would only come out in the presence of Maria and the children, so I hope no one will be disappointed by this.
I still apologize for any errors in the text, grammatical or punctuation. Here's the truth, punctuation in English is not my thing at all. Also, I really look forward to your comments, and I hope you enjoy it.
I'll see you soon.