.
Thursday
It was Thursday when they met.
Thursday.
Cloudy, windy and lightly congested.
Thursday.
At the train station, around 4:47 pm.
She would return home, while he planned to escape.
They had collided with each other, because both of them were so distracted that nothing around them existed before their eyes.
It was Thursday, the first time they bumped into each other.
He was rude and demanded her to watch where she walked. She, on the other hand, just accepted it and let out a soft apology that was almost completely lost in the scarf that protected her from the cold, only to walk a few steps further and stop enough away from him, while both waited for the same train.
It was still Thursday when through different doors, them both got into the unusually empty vehicle and silently traveled together to a destination that, despite being fixed both inside the train and outside of it, was unknown to them.
He remained standing while she took a seat not so far from him, but far enough so as not to disturb him, placed her bag on her legs, taking out her headphones and closing her eyes, disconnecting from everything.
They stood like that for two stops, like strategically placed sculptures, or at least that was how it was until he noticed some men -who he didn't know when had boarded the train- approaching the distracted stranger erratically, noticeably drunk. They were not that far away, but the drunken state they were in and the constant flight of thoughts it caused them had taken him a good three minutes before they were close enough to allow him to hear the outrageous things coming out their mouths directed at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how the short distance they kept from her was getting shorter and shorter, and he could hear how the words became ruder, more violent.
His inner voice told him that he should not intervene and let her learn for herself the reason why she shouldn't let her guard down when it was common knowledge how dangerous that space could be for a woman, but, strangely, his body said otherwise. With just a few steps, he reached her before any of those men could carry out their intention of touching her, and without saying a word he took the only available seat next to her and gave them a flat look, slightly moving his suit jacket so they could see the weapon he was carrying, and it was enough to make them back off.
The slight movement caused by his weight on the metal seats seemed to be enough to make her react, looking at him questionably before he slightly titled his head towards the men who continued to look at them, waiting for them. That simple gesture seemed to make her understand; at least that's what he thought when her lips curved into a slight grateful smile.
Two more stops until she finally stood up and for some inexplicable reason, so did him.
They walked shoulder to shoulder without saying a word, upping the stairs together that would take them out of the station, where crowds gathered at the doors trying to protect themselves from the rain that was pouring down outside, almost fighting when a taxi stopped to pick up the lucky one who could get in first.
They both stayed behind until everything was empty enough for them to get to the door, only to find that the rain was far worse than it could have been moments ago. Her shoulders slumped and his tensed, neither of them motivated enough to stay there a second longer, and being aware of this, he took off his jacket and spread it over his head and hers, silently inviting her to join him in his escape, she accepted after a few seconds of deliberation.
It was uncomfortable and a terrible idea.
They both ended up soaked to the bone, giving up when the fabric could not bear that much water; instead, they ran to the nearest establishment they could find.
A Viking themed bar.
It was warm and dark, cozy and they both sat in a far corner when the owner offered them some towels and hot chocolate.
The chocolate ran out and, against the weather, they decided to drink.
A couple of drinks later they were uninhibited enough to start a conversation.
"Sasuke" he introduced himself.
"Hinata" she answered.
No last name, because it was better that way (although he had a good idea of hers, based on her eyes).
They talked more than they could expect.
She told him that every Thursday she commuted by train to take some of her university classes in his city, when he asked her the reason, she answered with a lie. He did not care.
He, on the other hand, told her that his intention was to escape at least for the rest of the day, he felt overwhelmed by… everything. When she asked him why he had helped her, he just shrugged.
At some point, they started playing "never have I ever."
It soon became a war of experiences.
"I've never kissed a stranger" she said at some point in the evening, and the two of them stared at each other for almost a full minute until he, not knowing when they had gotten close enough to be side by side, leaned in.
It was Thursday, when they kissed for the first time.
And that kiss led to more.
That kiss led them out onto the street, which was still covered in a light drizzle and lit by the dimmest streetlights either of them had ever seen.
It led them down a path unknown to him, a stranger, and to her, a resident.
It led them to the nearest motel, not the best, but not the worst either.
It led them to the counter where they almost yelled at the ever-friendly receptionist to stop talking and hand them their key, all while trying to keep their faces from being too visible to the boy.
It led them to a room on the second level, dark and smelling of cheap air freshener.
It led him to ask if she was sure, looking at the clock on the wall that read 10:53 p.m. and the watch on his wrist confirmed it, but any perception of time he had, any further concern, was completely erased from his mind when she gently captured his lips and whispered a small "yes" over them before merging their mouths in fullness.
They were hands, they were lips, they were caresses, whispers, moans, growls.
It was Thursday, when their bodies molded together.
She could swear she would feel those lips of his on her body even when their paths inevitably parted, because they were hard and possessive and demanding, and no one had ever explored her like that before with just their mouth.
It had to be the alcohol. Good God, it had to be! Because there was no other way for her, usually submissive and dominated, to now be the master in this experience. There was no other explanation, alcohol, because it was not in her nature to ride anyone the way she did with him; with playful movements, alternating between fast and torturously slow, restricting his movement simply with one hand on his chest to keep him lying down while with the other she caressed herself, first her breasts and then her clitoris, all under the hungry gaze of the man she was moving over.
She only needed to be close to Eden for the control she had over him to weaken, for him to take advantage of her moment of weakness and take a sitting position, with his hands on her buttocks and his teeth on her throat, controlling her movements, her speed, seeking the release of both.
And they came.
And it was glorious, magnificent, spasmodic.
And they did not stop.
The release came on more than one occasion and in more than one position.
They fought for power, lost, won, fighting their best battles until they were so exhausted that they declared a silent truce.
"They wouldn't care enough" she replied, shrugging when he asked her what her family would think about this situation, and when she asked him back he mimicked her gesture and in contrast to her answer said "they would care too much" and as strange as it looked, she seemed to understand.
They stayed a little longer, separated by an uncomfortable space on the bed between them, until she silently stood up, dressing as soon as her clothes touched her fingers and without saying a word, although giving him one last look that conveyed more than any words could, she left.
There was still a minute left before it was no longer Thursday.
It was Friday.
It was Saturday.
It was Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and even Wednesday.
And every day that week he returned to the same station, at the same time, hoping to find her even though she had told him she only went on Thursdays, but something in him longed for it to be a lie and for him to actually be able to see her on any of those days.
But it was on Thursday that, after waiting longer than he should have been allowed, after he gave up and considered how ridiculous he was being by chasing a complete stranger whose name he only knew and who he was beginning to believe had been a figment of his sick imagination, after he sighed in resignation and began to walk away from the place he didn't even have the daily need to be in, saw her.
It was ridiculous how they had stood in front of each other at the entrance of the station, horribly cliché in every way, even that unreal feeling that everything was going in slow motion.
It was worse when in a blink of an eye she seemed to decide that she should ignore him, because she resumed her path and tried to just walk past him, as if what they experienced last Thursday had been just an illusion in which he was the only one trapped.
And he didn't accept it.
Instead, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to a less crowded place, even if for some reason it hit him hard to know that she was shuddering under his hand and weakly struggling to free herself. He found the least visible corner and also the least appropriate, because there was no way in hell that a place that smelled like rotten fruit was the best place to kiss her like he had done at that moment, pressing their bodies together, holding her waist with one arm and her shoulders with the other. He avoided being pushed away at all costs, even when her small hand slapped him savagely, he didn't flinch, especially since that same hand quickly slid into his hair and grabbed him tightly, pulling him closer to her even when closer wasn't possible.
God knows he would take her right there if he wasn't the ultimate master of self-control.
Instead, and only when the air was imminently necessary, hey separated and he took her hand and led her out of that place, towards the parking lot where his car was without any resistance from her anymore and opened the door for her to get in. He saw the doubt flood her eyes, but her movements to the inside of the vehicle were never slow, they never stopped, finally being trapped until he did the same and got in the driver's side, getting going without saying a word.
And the silence was welcoming, it didn't take much to realize that, when sober, they were both very quiet people.
But small talk was important to lighten the thickness between them, so, the basic questions were asked.
He learned that Hinata was 24 years old, a year younger than him, and that she was taking two collage degrees that required much more time than she had: business administration –for family reasons– and psychology –which was what she really wanted to do–. Her favorite color was blue—something they had in common, he noted—that she was a sweet tooth and allergic to shellfish.
Sasuke, 25, a lawyer with a newly minted specialty in business law, worked at the family business, head of the legal department. He saw the dismay on Hinata's face when he expressed his intolerance to sweet things and preference for bitter desserts.
"They're superior," he said with conviction, and a small argument about which was better began.
It was no wonder they finally agreed to disagree.
Where were they headed? He didn't know, he hadn't really planned it, but it didn't matter, not when they ended up sweaty and tangled, panting because it had been simply too much.
"It doesn't matter" he said to himself as he silently watched her repeat the same routine as last time, picking up her clothes and getting dressed without looking at him until she finished, asking him in a tiny voice if he could take her back to the station, as the last train was leaving in a little less than half an hour. But even if he wanted to ask her to stay the words never left his lips, instead, like a robot, he repeated her actions and barely looked at her, returning the key to that motel without even looking at the owner.
He accompanied her until the train arrived and said goodbye to her when the train left, at least he thinks he did, he couldn't remember himself saying or making any farewell gesture.
And it was still Thursday.
It was always Thursday when he saw her.
He couldn't say when exactly it became a constant, but every Thursday they would meet at the station and every Thursday they would end up in the same position.
And there was always something new.
They never stayed where they were, instead they would board the train and stop in some different city than the one before and, if they had enough time, they would explore a bit before choosing some hotel or motel. They had silently developed a little game, where they would dress up to avoid being recognized and play the alter ego of the moment from beginning to end.
However, it wasn't always like that, it wasn't always sex, sometimes they just... went out.
They would go out to see the city, to the museum and once they went to the movies, it was a good day.
One of those Thursdays she told him that the next week she would leave her classes early, at noon, because her last teacher had cancelled the next class because he would be away on a seminar.
He took that Thursday off and they met.
That day he took her to his apartment for the first time, and they enjoyed every available space until they finally ended up in his bed.
It was the best part, and he almost considered tying her up so she wouldn't leave, almost.
They went slow, because they had time, and when they weren't trying to eat each other's faces, they just kept looking into each other's eyes, she from above and he from below, and that position had become their favorite.
He had never liked being dominated before.
They exhausted each other, so much so that she had barely been able to position herself properly next to him, being trapped by his arm, which held her close to his body.
They both slept, and a little over an hour later, when he woke up, he found her still in his bed, sitting up, with her nakedness only covered by the white sheet and her head down, and when he also sat up to see what was going on he noticed that she only seemed to be reviewing some notes.
He sat there silently, sitting behind her with one leg bent, looking over her shoulder at her neat, orderly handwriting, embarrassing himself when he tried to help her with a calculation only to receive a soft laugh that told him his attempt went wrong.
They stayed like that for a while, with her studying while he kissed her shoulder from time to time.
It was Thursday, and as much as he liked it, he also hated them, this Thursday most of all, because even if he asked her more than once to stay the negative answer never changed.
It was Thursday, and he hated it.
It was Thursday, when he allowed his anger to get to her.
He was an open book to her; she always seemed to know if something was wrong, and while he would usually adore her ability to read him, that Thursday in particular was the opposite.
"Scammed" that word repeated itself over and over in his head, his father's angry voice and his brother's disappointed look. "Scammed" because it was his fault that the company lost money in a ridiculous way by not having his mind on the game, by having his mind on something else, it was her fault.
It was an insistent thought that he was sure was expressed in his serious face, there was no other reason, if he thought about it, she had only directed words to him to ask him how he was and then just remained silent before his silence.
She could see it and he didn't like it, something bothered him, but the tension in his jaw visibly increased when she insisted, then she stopped talking and almost breathing too.
Thursday, and it looked like all hell would break loose.
Hell broke loose.
Because he was rough when he pulled her out of his car.
He was rough when he threw her against his door before he even opened it.
When he kissed her so hard that the metallic taste of blood from her busted lip slid down both of their throats.
Because he was rough when, once inside, he slammed her into a wall and yelled things at her that he couldn't remember or recognize, things that came out of his mouth like attacking snake poison. They were bad things, he could tell by the expression on her face distorted beneath his fingers that held tightly to her jaw.
He knew because for the second time since they met her small hand slammed into his face, harder than the last time, effectively pushing him away.
They both held their breaths until Hinata finally moved, leaving in a hurry and sendoff in her wake the unspoken promise of not coming back.
And it all rained down on him almost an hour later, snapping out of the catatonia his body had forced him into with an explosion of thoughts running back and forth in his mind.
It was still early, it was still Thursday, but it was late, because he knew there was no way he could find her at the train station where they first met, that didn't stop him from running, completely forgetting that he had a vehicle of his own that would make it easier for him to get there.
It was Thursday, and unlike all the others the train station was packed with people, so many that he could barely walk through them.
So many that the tightly packed carriages couldn't take one more body, he tried, it didn't work.
It's Thursday, it was Thursday, it were Thursdays.
He hadn't seen her again.
It didn't matter how many Thursdays passed. Six, seven?
She didn't come back.
She had no reason anymore.
Not anymore, not when she had finished her classes in that city and only traveled on Thursdays for him.
There would be no more Thursdays for him.
He looked at his phone with hatred, a constant reminder that he didn't have her number because they had a bad habit of making silent deals when they were together, and foolishly one of those deals was not having each other's number.
He was desperate, so much so that he had gone to a phone book. Who still used those things? But he knew what city she lived in and he knew her last name even though she never told him, because he wasn't so stupid as not to recognize those eyes, so he called every Hyuga in the directory, there were ridiculously many and when he thought he was successful, it never turned out to be her.
He hated being so busy at work, but when he got the chance about five more weeks later, he demanded seven days off and left.
It was crazy because he had only been there with her once, looking for a person in such a big city and hoping to find her was almost impossible, but he tried.
His first stop was her university, on Monday, waiting at one of the establishments in front of it hoping to see her arrive.
That didn't happen.
On Tuesday he visited every damn bakery the map on his app showed him.
Safe to say it didn't work.
On Wednesday he went to museums, parks, and malls.
He didn't know why he bothered to do it.
By Thursday he was exhausted, just walking around the city aimlessly, barely stopping to eat.
By nightfall he didn't go back to his hotel, instead, he didn't know why, but his feet took him to that bar where they kissed. The bartender looked at him for a moment, seeming to acknowledge him slightly and giving him a greeting that he could tell was the same for all customers. He invited him to sit at the bar, but he ignored him, slowly scanning the establishment with his gaze.
Fate works in strange ways, they said, and he could agree more than ever because there she was, sitting in that very corner with her face illuminated by the light of her cell phone.
He held his breath and practiced his speech for the umpteenth time.
Sorry
Yeah, that's where he'd start.
I didn't mean to hurt you.
It was true.
It won't happen again.
He'd get on his knees if he had to.
Please.
He ignored the careless man who walked past him, bumping into him.
I like you.
No, he should say something better.
I love y-…
He stopped when he saw her look up and smile.
He held his breath.
…
Because she wasn't smiling at him.
He could feel the bartender's sad gaze on him when he saw her stand up and hug the man who wasn't him.
He should have left then, but instead he sat at the bar and watched them, the drinks coming into his hand as fast as he took them, wanting to drown himself in the alcohol. The bartender protested, he had drunken quite a bit in a short time, but he couldn't help it, just seeing their hands joined together over the table was enough to drive him crazy, he needed to concentrate on something else because just seeing that the new stranger had already made her laugh more than he ever could was too much.
A brilliant man in essence, that was the man, perfect for her he could say.
It wasn't him.
He hit the bar hard, leaving money on it, taking the bottle from which he had been served and leaving the place, not being able to see how they shared a kiss, losing the gaze that was glued to his back as he left.
It was Thursday and he was wandering in an unknown city.
Drinking from the bottle trying to drown his sorrow.
It was Thursday, and he realized…
He had lost her.
I swear I thought I already translated and published this, but it was a Mandela Effect.
I almost killed Hinata. Ya know? I was going to end this with a car accident, where the car would drive past Sasuke and crash a minute later, he wouldn't pay attention and keep walking, but it would end with a shot of Hinata's bloody and lifeless face, but I've made her suffer so much lately that I'd rather leave her alive here. You'll see when I post new stuff later.
PS: Originally it was going to be a drabble, the things in life.