The engine has grown louder, the wind is digging its cold claws into me. My heartbeat swells into a throbbing ball in my throat. I shiver. I grip so hard with my arms and knees to the man in front of me that even muscles I hadn’t suspected existed are stretched to the point of spasm. They ache, yet I squeeze harder.

His white hair covers me completely, waves around me like a wild sea, hiding the world. My panting sheds thick mist on my glasses, broken only by the dark silhouette of the passing lampposts. I feel dizzy.

Shit, where are we?

I concentrate with all my nerve fibres to look out, but my eyes and mind are unable to form a picture, time and space are merging into a unified white mass.

I wish there was a sharp bend where he would have to slow down!

But with each bend he brakes less and less. – Does he brake at all? – As if testing the maximum speed at which he can take them without tipping over.

Oh, I wish I’d jumped off at that red light!

Why is there no more of them? Where the hell are we?

Why did I get on behind him? What’s got into me? Why didn’t I run when I had the chance?

I lost my mind. This isn’t some romantic fantasy where the average girl falls in love with the special, rich guy who saves her…

It’s a trap. I’m trapped in the backseat of a motorcycle. By choice.

And he takes me wherever he wants. Out of the world. Into the unknown.

Into death.

He’s leaning into the bend. Deeper than ever before.

We’re gonna tip over.

My body goes into a rigid spasm. I want to scream, but fear blocks the air. I bite my cracked lip, my tears spilling out in a silent cry for help.

He straightens up and accelerates further.

He moves the bike to the left to dodge a cyclist, then abruptly back.

How can he process and react so quickly?

Maybe he cannot.

Turn after turn.

Faster and faster.

He’s insane… We’re going to die!

We’re spinning sideways, slowing down, the tyres squealing and sliding.

It stops.

Blood keeps racing through my veins.

I can feel it as he puts his foot down, stops the engine. I can’t believe it… Like it’s not happening to me.

“Here we are.” His melodious voice is as calm as it was when we drove off. How can it be…?

I dont care anymore… I just… I need to get away from him, as far as possible.

The adrenaline is pouring into my jelly-like trembling limbs. I stand up, grip his shoulders with stiffened fingers. I swing, my feet touching the asphalt.

Solid, hard asphalt. Too hard and static for my body used to speeding.

The white fog fills with black particles, my knees buckle beneath me, my bag lands with a dull thud beside me, the rough crunch of the road digging into the flesh of my palm.

The street ripples.

I gasp for air. Not enough…

My trembling hands press to the cold helmet to take it off, but it gets caught in my glasses; the frame presses against my eyebrows. I fold up the plexiglass, lift my glasses, then remove the helmet. It falls from my feeble fingers with a soft tap.

Blinded by the light, my mouth and lungs fill with fresh air. Black dots devour my field of vision. My skin cool with sweat, hot chocolate and stomach acid creep onto my tongue.

Two palms touch my cheek, lock it in a warm vice. I want to pull away, but I don’t have the strength to break away from the only stable point in the swirling world.

“It’s all right. Breathe through your nose. Slowly, deeply.” His gentle, hypnotic voice soothes my frayed nerves. I close my mouth and obey. The darkness swarming in my vision slowly dissipates.

He kneels before me, hunched over, his black gaze boring into my soul like an anchor. There is something about him… Calm and comforting, that makes me feel at home.

“Better?”

Such a big hand… it covers my face.

Dad’s rough hand clasps my cheek.

But his skin is silkier, his fingers longer. And he wouldn’t hurt me.

“Yeah… It’s better.”

He lets me go slowly, as if afraid I’ll fall apart. Her warmth is replaced by an autumn breeze. It’s cold, but not nearly as frosty as the one that tore at me on the bike.

“Here.” He holds out something white to me. Without my glasses, it takes me a few seconds to realise it’s a handkerchief.

When did I start crying? And when did I stop?

Ashamed, yet grateful, I take it, wipe my eyes, blow my nose. Hastily, nervously, as if that would make my reaction undone.

He untangles my numb fingers from my glasses, slides the stems under my hair, limp with wind and sweat, over my ears, with the same slow movement as before we departed. So kind and caring… It is hard to believe that this man is the same crazy, speeding motorcyclist who put me in danger.

Perhaps I was never in danger.

It was just my imagination…

The guilt burns me.

As my tear-stained glasses slide back into place and the surroundings once again take on a sharp outline, his slightly furrowed brow also seems to indicate some confusion. He glances side to side, brushes back his long hair, which miraculously falls in a flawless order over his shoulders.

A red Audi brakes past us. Out of the window peers a discreetly made-up, middle-aged woman. Her chestnut-brown pincushions gleam with the shine of dyed hair in the afternoon sunlight, and in her ears gleam a simple but expensive-looking pair of gold earrings.

“Is everything okay?” Her green eyes search me with concern. As if she knows me.

Should I know her too? Could she be a former client or acquaintance of Grandpa’s? She might have seen me at the funeral or… who knows where. I’m filled with an awkward confusion. It is probably the same for celebrities who can’t take a step without being photographed.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” I smile, stuffing my handkerchief into my jeans pocket. “I just suddenly felt dizzy, but I’m better now.” I glance at Devin, and the woman smiles suggestively.

“Glad to hear. Take care!” She rolls up the window and drives on.

As soon as the car turns the corner, Devin stands up and pulls out his phone. Oh, no… Perhaps it just occurred to him that my name doesn’t just happen to coincide with the name of the star lawyer who put so many criminals behind bars.

I’m sure he’s looking me up online right now… He realises what a scandal he could get into if he meets me and then walks out on me…

“Sorry.” He says and my heart skips a beat. “Fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes. Actually, even less.” He turns the phone over to me to show the time. 15:29. So if we left the café at fifteen…

Impossible. Where, what roads did we take?

And at what speed?

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Next time, let’s make it fifteen. Or twenty.” I hear my voice, but it’s as if someone else is speaking for me.

Next time?!

No. I’ll never. Ever. Get on that again.

But… why is that exactly? Because it’s the first time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle and overreacted?

“If you insist.” He laughs softly. Puzzled, yet… relieved. Like he was afraid he’d gone too far on a first date and the girl would never want to see him again. “Tomorrow’s my day off, so I’m free. Same time, same place?”

“Okay.” I’ get on my feet, sweep my knees.

He bends down for the helmet. The one I was supposed to pick up and return.

To say thank you. After all, he risked a possible fine for my safety.

But the words are caught in my throat. I push the glasses up my nose.

How can I be so rude?

But he just smiles. As he passes me, he squeezes my shoulder. Quickly, yet gently, encouragingly. As if he knows exactly what’s on my mind… and how much his touch means to me.

“See you tomorrow, then.” He says with the helmet already on.

I open my mouth to say goodbye, but he starts the engine and is already gone. This part of the suburbs is a zone thirty, yet he turns onto the main road too quickly.

Life-threateningly fast.

And I was sitting behind him not so long ago…

We could have died.

But we didn’t. He knew exactly what he was doing. He looked out for me, worried about me, cared for me.

You will die alone.

Maybe not.

For a moment, I’m flooded with a pleasant warmth, but I’m immediately overcome with guilt. All the time, attention, care from someone like him. It’s… it’s just too good.

Too good to be true.

I’m slowly walking to the side of the main road.

He must have known from my card that I live in the neighbouring street… Still, he didn’t intrude with questions. Thankfully. I was reluctant to admit but I do not want my mother to see us through the window. Who knows how she’d react. She might be happy, she might be angry. She might make a scene…

A silver car honks its horn and brakes next to me.

I’m frozen in terror. When did I step off the curb? Here, where there isn’t even a crosswalk…

“You son of a bitch!” The driver shouts at me as I run across the road.

Shit! I almost got run over! In a similar situation I would have been in tears, but now it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.

On both sides of the street, there are trees trimmed into a sphere. The afternoon sunlight streams through them, scattering tiny dots of light on the narrow pavement. As far as I can see, two- or three-storey luxury houses rise up with ornate columns and arches, their gardens lined with exotic decorative plants, pools or fountains. At other times I am overwhelmed by the sight of them; like a pack of predators watching with hungry, gleaming window-eyes, waiting for the right moment to pounce on the stray prey. I always feel I must flee, yet now I am greeted as an old acquaintance. I inhale the scent of freshly cut grass and bush leaves. The smell of home. Maybe I was home all along, only I felt like an outsider and tortured myself with the thought of being an outcast. Peaceful happiness tingles, I want to laugh and run.

His deep voice rings in my ears, I feel the warmth of his skin on my face. I recall it again and again, afraid that if I think of anything else for a moment, I will doubt it ever happened.

Same time, same place?

Tomorrow has never seemed so far away. Like Christmas as a child; the more I look forward to it, the slower time passes.

Come on… it’s only twenty-four hours, I’ll manage. Somehow.

I open the reddish brown fence gate. With springy steps, I walk along the paved path between Mum’s pink and white hydrangeas, not stopping until I reach the marble stairs.

The house casts its two-storey shadow on me. I can almost feel the weight of the white walls, windows and balconies. But even this doesn’t seem so heavy that I can’t bear it.

I step through the glass-paned, cassette-paneled front door, which closes softly behind me. I’m taking off my shoes when the tap of my mother’s slippers echoes from upstairs, chilling my happily rolling thoughts.

I wait for her to scold me. True, I’m late, but yesterday I did the dishes and laid out the clothes…

She appears in the stairwell. She’s wearing a elegant, loose-fitting sweater, her tight leggings are slightly off her thighs. It was a perfect fit a month ago – just a hint of how much weight she’s lost since Dad died. Her make-up is still perfect, her hair is in a neat ponytail down her back, the shine of her French fake nails is a sign she’s had a manicure today. Her eyes remain dark and piercing.

“Where the hell have you… been for so long?” Her sharp voice is suddenly tamed by dismay. “Why the glee?”

I am indeed smiling. Since when? I need to wipe it off my face right now… But I can’t. Maybe because I don’t really want to. Let her see that no matter how angry she is with me, I won’t let it get me down.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Her face twists with curiosity as I smile wider. She’s no longer in control!

“Try me.” Her mouth twitches upwards. I can almost see her lining up her reasoning behind her poker face, so that whatever answer I come up with, she can attack with the appropriate weapon.

“I had a date.”

Her eyes widen, but shining with genuine curiosity.

“You must really tell me about it! Every little detail.” With light steps, she walks into the dining room, sits down at the mahogany table and kindly beckons me to join her. Her troubled wrinkles soften and the shadow of grief fades from her face.

Nostalgia takes over. She took me to the cinema two years ago, or maybe it was three… That was the last time we talked about anything besides school. Laughter tickles my throat. Maybe things will change for the better.

I sit down opposite of her. It’s as if I’m taking my place as a new person, in a new life, with the mere memory of Devin wrapped around me in a protective shell that prevents anything bad from happening to me.

“So how did you meet him?”

“I saw him yesterday in the library and took an instant liking to him.”

“So that’s why you were late yesterday.” She winks.  “What does he look like? Is he handsome?”

“Very. Muscular, but not overdone. Elegant.” I blush at the memory. “I was looking for a book and he helped me find it. When he handed it to me, our hands touched and… I got very nervous. So embarrassed that I left there my library card, and she brought it to my school today. Then he asked me out for coffee, we talked…”

“Did it go well?”

“Very. He’s kind and thoughtful. Like he really cares about me. Guess what, tomorrow’s his day off and he’s meeting me again!”

“Day off?” She frowns. “He works besides school?”

“Well… He’s not in school anymore.”

“So he’s older than you.” Her sincere smile turns into a fake grin. “How many years are we talking about?”

The shame is a thorn lump in my gullet.

“A few…” I look away, my knees pressed together under the table, my back arching.

“So, if I understand it correctly, this boyfriend of yours is an adult…” She leans up on the table, rests her chin on her fist, glares down at me from under her long lashes. “…Right?”

I swallow, but the stinging lump clings to my throat with a thousand needles.

“Oh, my dear…” She sighs, her voice dripping with pity wrapped in kindness. “Don’t get carried away.”

My held-back tears hurt.

Please, don’t go on! Let me be happy a little longer! As soon as I go up to my room, I’ll figure it out myself…

“Look at you! Shabby boys’ clothes, greasy hair, excess weight… And he’s elegant, neat and athletic. Did it ever occur to you why he was talking to you?”

I bite my lip. Hard. The pain keeps me in the present, distracts me from the ache in my soul. The anguish swells inside me like a tide. It starts in the middle, then gradually floods my whole body, from my ears to the tips of my toes.

Please… Don’t say it!

“Because you’re easy prey. He sees the contrast between you and he wants to exploit it. He needs you only for that. And only for that time.

“No… You weren’t there. You don’t understand anything!” I say, but mostly I’m just trying to convince myself.

“Oh yes, I do understand. And so do you, you just don’t like what you’re hearing. I’m your mother, and as your mother, it’s my duty to warn you. For your own good.”

For my own good…

I am immersed in the memory of his touch, in the depth of his black eyes.

Do not get carried away.

Same time, same place?

He needs you only for that.

Only for that… Would that be so bad? At least someone wants me that way.

Who would fuck a pig? – Dad’s voice rings in my ear as clear as if he were standing right behind me.

I swallow my tears – its getting harder to hold back. But I have to hold on. Just a little longer.

Her determined gaze waits for a response, just so she can speak her truth over and over again, humiliate me.

I stand up without a word.

She raises an eyebrow defiantly – If you flee now, you admit defeat.

I agree. But I would rather retreat quietly than give her the pleasure of seeing me cry again.

I shoulder my bag and head up the stairs.

 

<< Previous                                                                                                                                                                                                    Next >>

“Have you ever been on a motorbike?” He walks up to the infernal machine, runs his long fingers over the seat, over the black curves, and eventually settles on the handlebars.

The immaculate bodywork is illuminated by rays of light piercing through the leaves. I cross my arms in front of me, leaning from one foot to the other. My chest is gripped by fear. Just like when I was a kid and I didn’t want the doctor to take a sample of my blood. I knew it was inevitable, yet I was reluctant to go through with it. As a child, I had no choice.

But now, it is my decision. I can still walk away without risking my life for another fifteen minutes with him

Fifteen minutes… Ridiculous; half an hour by car at best.

But at least I can be with him until then. With a man who cares about me, and wants to take me home.

His soft laughter shivers down my spine.

Could the fear show so much on my face?

“Well, you’ll see, it’s not that horrible.” He holds out the black helmet, but I hesitate to take it. “Don’t you trust me?”

His innocent smile and dark eyes are begging. Kindly, friendly, like a kitten clamouring for food, impossible to say no to. I swallow my anxiety, and take the helmet.

Slowly, his hands rise higher, moving closer to my face and lift the glasses from my nose.

“You can put the helmet on now.”

I obey, but as soon as it’s resting on my head, a sinister feeling takes over.

“Wait; if you give me this, what will you wear?”

“Nothing.” His voice is confident and calm.

“And what if you get fined?”

“Then I’ll get fined” He shrugs, with a natural lightness, as if I had warned him that he would get wet in the rain without an umbrella.

His blurred silhouette leans closer, opens the transparent part and pushes in the glasses. I can’t breathe as the plastic stems slip between the lining of the helmet and my scalp. They’re a little high, but they gradually descend. He does it slowly, gently, careful not to hurt my ear. Finally, he adjusts it to the bridge of my nose.

I tingle. Is he so attentive and gentle in bed too?

I’ve had several people try to help with my glasses in my life, but so far he’s been the closest to perfect. Stable, relatively comfortable and the slippers don’t irritate my eyes either.

It’s so… unreal. I have a renewed sense of mistrust.

“What if we have an accident and you die?” I look for excuses, but my voice is low, my mouth dry.

“I don’t die easily.” He folds down the darkened plexiglass with a smile on his face, yet an oppressive confinement settles over me. It’s as if he’d closed the lid of the coffin while I’m still alive.

He sits on the bike, kicks off the support, leans on the handlebars.

“Come on.” He nods towards the short, narrow section behind him.

I crawl even closer, hoping to find a wider, safer passenger seat. But there isn’t one.

That tiny thing is the passenger seat!

Oh, my God… I might not even fit.

“First of all, you always get on and off from the left side because of the exhaust. You can damage it, or burn yourself.”

I nod.

“Grab my shoulder.“ He takes his hair forward to the right, then when he realises how low I am, he leans forward, but even then I can’t reach him comfortably.

“You can also grab my arm. Then put your left foot on the footrest, swing over and sit down.”

My hand shakes as if I am supposed to touch his naked body. Apart from David and my dad, he’s the first man to let me get this close. He doesn’t just let me; he instructs me. Kindly, without the slightest sign of embarrassment, yet firm. It seems I have no choice; I’ll do it.

Even through the fabric of his jacket, I can feel hard muscles tensing underneath. I swing my legs over, sit down, as far away as possible… and almost find myself on the ground.

Anxiously I pull myself closer, my knees touching his narrow hips.

My face bursts into flames. I put my shoulder bag between us. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to…

He reaches back, grabs my wrist and pulls me on him.

“There’s no handhold; so if you don’t want to fall, you’ll have to hug me…” He draws my arms around his waist. “…especially when accelerating. And when braking, lean on the tank.” He smooths my palms over the bulging frame between the handlebars and the seat. My hand presses between the cold metal and his warm hand.

He leans over the handlebar again.

Shyness urges me to pull away from him immediately. Yet I don’t. It feels so good to be close to him. I inhale the spicy scent of his perfume. Cinnamon and cardamom. Anyway; it’s just his waist. But if my hand were any lower…

“Try to relax. Don’t sit stiffly, with your back straight, and don’t turn around. If I lean, you lean with me, otherwise we’ll tip over. Get off only when I tell you. Do you have any questions?”

“N-none.”

“Hay Square then?”

“A little before it, Winter Street opens up to the right. If you drop me off there, it’s perfect.“

“All right, grab on.“

I can hear the smile in his voice. There’s something about it that makes me uneasy. Something wild and bestial…

He starts the engine. It’s loud, but it’s not half as deafening as I expected.

We are off at high speed and I start to slide backwards. I’m going to fall… My embarrassment evaporates immediately; I snuggle into his back as if I want to melt into him. The books in my bag dig into my stomach. My desperate hand gets caught in Devin’s soft turtleneck, right at the muscles I admired so much yesterday while he packed books. Now they don’t arouse me.

I must survive.

The wind catches my hair dangling from under the helmet, whistling through my sweatshirt.

By the time I see a pedestrian, we’ve already passed it. Then another… and another.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

Is it legal to drive at this speed in a pedestrian zone? He doesn’t seem to care; he slaloms between them like they’re road marker cones that it’s fine if he accidentally sweeps them away.

A slight bump signals the end of downtown, the beginning of the main road.

The engine roars as he gives it more throttle, the air resistance pushes against my shoulder. Every muscle in my body tenses to keep me on the seat. An icy hurricane rips at the tendrils of my brown hair, my sweater swells behind me into a storm-flapping sail. The cold pierces the fabric of my jeans with a thousand needles. Devin’s hair envelops me like a cobweb, its shifting strands obscuring my view.

Cars whiz past us. They stay behind as if we’re speeding against traffic. Below us, the white sections of lane marker merge into a single line, while the trees, shops and lampposts lining the road flow into a surreal mass.

I’m trembling.

My fingers grip Devin’s sweater tighter. Grasping tightly, just as I’m holding on to my life.

I want to get off. I want to run. Now.

But how?

If I put my feet down, the asphalt would tear it off.

How fast are we driving?

I gasp for air, my breath forming a thin fog on the lens of my glasses.

“What if you get fined?”

“Then I’ll get fined.”

The memory of his kind smile turns into a demonic grin. Maybe it never was kind , just I wanted it to be…

And I got on his bike. A stranger’s motorbike.

A complete…. Stranger…

I don’t know anything about him.

Am I really so lonely? Would I throw my life away for a few more minutes together?

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. I can’t cry now…

He brakes. Just as suddenly as he started a while ago.

I slide forward, my hand caught between the tank and Devin. It hurts, but once we stop, the pressure eases. The white curtain of hair falls away, the street and traffic take solid form. Beside us, a concrete building towers with a logo of a red rooster.

The slaughterhouse. I know this place!

Ahead of us, the light for the railway track flashes red, the level crossing blocks the road.

This is my chance to jump off and run.

“Get off only when I tell you.”

My breathing quickens, the fog thickens.

No, no! Now I won’t be able to see anything! I’ll be completely exposed!

I already am. We could have an accident anytime. I could die.

No, that’s not possible. Surely he’s an experienced biker, he is looking after me. He has to; if something happens to me, he’ll be held responsible. After all, I’m still a minor; he must have seen it on my library card. However, if my life is in danger, so is his. He wouldn’t do anything like that.

Or would he? After all, he gave me his helmet.

“I don’t die easily.”

I wrap my arms tighter around his waist, feeling his muscles rise and fall in a coherent, hard block. How tight…

He’s like a predator ready to pounce. But why? The light is red.

My heart is racing wildly.

I bite my lips, but it’s no use; the fog thickens.

 

<< Previous                                                                                                                                                                                                    Next >>

I am hunched over my spiral notebook again in the light of the white LED lamps, trying to pretend as if I am taking notes, when the melodious sound of the bell signals the end of the class. The chalk screeches on the blackboard as Mr. Toth writes up the homework; some essay I won’t do anyway.

Around me, the class is packing as one, as if they’re competing to see who can get out of history class and the school first. Mr. Toth says a few more words to his mandelect students, scrapes his short-cropped red hair, picks up the class diary and walks out. I should go too; Mom will kill me if I miss the next bus. Five minutes left to get out… But it feels so good to sit here and daydream. I wish it was this time yesterday and I could see Him! Meanwhile, I’m scribbling the spine of the umpteenth flower pattern in my notebook in the place of the Second World War. I never knew how to draw, yet it helps me to draw out my memories and go deeper into them. I recall the events of yesterday as if it were happening now.

“You’re not coming?” Mandy sits down next to me, her voice breaking the silence of the empty room. She smells of cotton candy. The perfume is intoxicating. Just like her.

“What the hell is that?”

“Nothing!” I drop my pen, close the notebook.

“I know it’s the first day of the Championship, but…”

“Oh, thank you for reminding me. I forgot for a sec…”

“You forgot?!” She slaps the table with her pink porcelain fake nailed fingers. “You? Who can’t think of anything but that Meta-thing? And Bill of course,  but he is already gone to catch the bus…” She narrows her black lined eyes.

”You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not.” I shove my stuff into my shoulder bag, mumbling a silent prayer that Mandy will stop asking me questions.

“I really have to go now…” I get up, but she pulls me back to the bench by the sleeve of my sweater.

“My dear friend. In four long years you have got to know me well enough to understand that I am an expert at sniffing out love affairs. This big secret smells like a guy. But why are you afraid to tell me? You know everything about me. Even that I did Matt doggy-style, I did Eugene in sixty-nine, and I gave a blowjob for Tom twice a day in the old building’s toilet. I thought that this trust that we had…”

“All right, all right!” I turn resignedly to the girl in the red and black top and miniskirt. There’s no other way to get rid of her. “Yesterday, after I left you at the mall, I didn’t go straight home. I was so scared, and it always reminds me of David and what we used to do. I thought I’d go to the library and borrow a Harry Potter for nostalgia. But the library has been reorganized since last school year…”

“To the point, girl.” Scratching her nails.

“There was a man there. A librarian who looked like Metamorph’s warrior. Black suit, long white hair…”

“Pff… What do you like about these long-haired guys? That Meta-boy would also be a hell of a guy if he’d cut off that big blue mane.”

“That wasn’t a mane. It was some shiny, otherworldly thing.”

“Yeah, sure. So you’ve got a crush on a sloppy, snoopy rocker.”

“Mandy! He’s totally different. It’s like he’s out of a fantasy world, only instead of armor, he’s wearing a turtleneck…”

“Turtleneck?! How old is this dream guy?”

“I’d say he’s in his thirties…” It sounded horrible even in my head, let alone out loud like that. I scratch my temples under the frames of my glasses. Mandy laughs. Loudly, deafeningly.

“A thirty-year-old skinny rocker! Oh, that’s great!”

“No, not a rocker. He’s much more elegant than that. And ripped. Not like a bodybuilder, but the epitome of a well-proportioned, attractive man. I could see his muscles through that tee. Not like a muscle shirt, of course, just so revealing that I’d itch to rip it off. Obviously I didn’t, I just watched as he packed the books. But I swear, just the sight of it…

“Gosh!” She runs a finger across her laughing, teary eyes. Unfortunately, her makeup is waterproof. “You’re totally falling for him!”

“Laugh all you want. I can’t put into words what I’ve been through. You’d only understand if…”

“If I see him? Okay. Let’s go!. – She’s getting up.

My strength is leaving me.

Anything but this! I’ll have to think of a way to discourage her. But how?

“It would be suspicious, don’t you think? Maybe when I return the books, you could join me.” She’ll forget by then anyway.

“When’s that gonna be?” She’s got his hands on his hips, impatiently.

“I’ll tell you in a minute…”

I take out my mobile phone and connect to the school’s terribly weak WIFI. While the library page loads, I pull out my cardholder to check my library card ID for access. I flip through it, but can’t find it. I flip through it again. And again. Maybe two pages are stuck together… or I put them in my wallet… or my bag.

“Is everything all right?“ She interrupts my rummaging.

“No. My library card…”

It suddenly dawns on me.

“…I left it on the circulation desk. His hand touched mine and…”

“He touched your hand?” She syllables.

“It was an accident; he handed me the books and I…”

“You did it on purpose.”

“No! I didn’t even look at him!”

“Okay… “ She smiles doubtfully. “Looks like you’re going back to that library sooner than you planned. Mind if I tag along?”

Of course I do…

“S-sure… come.”

I step out into the white-walled, arched corridor. The crowd has already dispersed, just one or two students sitting on the stairs, talking. The afternoon breeze is blowing in through the open windows, yet I am choking on tears of anger and despair.

Why did I tell her? Was it to boast or just to share my joy? I have no idea. In any case, if Amanda Taylor comes with me, she’ll definitely take him off my hands. She wouldn’t be put off by the age difference and the scandal. In fact, she might even enjoy the envious or disapproving looks. To her, nothing is sacred except to gain experience. More specifically, to grow her collection, of which the elven warrior will be the trophy. I can almost hear her telling me about the expensive restaurants they dined at, the TV series they watched, the places they went on trips, the poses they had sex in… All the things I wanted to experience with him.

But I never will.

I push down the brass handle of the front entrance and lean against the double wooden door. Outside, the crowd is gone, only a few are reading on the benches, some playing football in the concrete courtyard, which last year was a green park, scented with flowers. The gate of the antique wrought-iron fence is open, and next to it…

Long white hair, intelligent face staring into the distance, black outfit.

I step back into the shadowy interior of the building as if I’ve been scorched by the sun. I swing the heavy door shut.

“What’s the matter with you?” Mandy sweeps off the toe of her boot. I didn’t even notice I’d stepped on it.

“It’s him. He’s here.”

“Very funny.” She rolls her eyes, but as more blood rushes to my pale face, she finally gives in to curiosity and opens the door a bit.

The light outside draws a streak of light across her thickly made-up face. Her hazel eyes widen round, her peach lips part. She licks the corner of her mouth, barely perceptible. I know that look; I’ve seen it a million times. The look that shatters my hopes.

“Um… Er… You forgot to mention that the guy is a fashion model. And he’s rich. Maybe you didn’t notice, but that elegant fabric jacket is quite the brand name. The upper crust wears them. I don’t know what he did for a living before, but it’s hardly enough to get by on a librarian’s salary.”

She lets out a longing sigh.

“You were right; this really is the kind of guy I’d pay to cum on me.”

In any other situation, I’d be flashing my “I told you so” victory grin. But I wish I hadn’t told you! I wish this dream wouldn’t turn into a nightmare! Mandy, with her perfect shape, in her flawless outfit, drooling here…

“…and I’m wearing this sweater with torn sleeves” I say.

“You see, I told you yesterday to buy something pretty!“ She reprimands me condescendingly. “As punishment, you go first.”

Before I know it, she’s pushing me out into the yard. There’s no escape from here; I have to go to the gate, out into the street, past him…

Never before has it been so difficult to put one foot in front of the other. My knees are shaking so badly that I’m afraid they’ll collapse under me. As I approach, my heart beats faster and faster. I try to stare at the ground, to see if it’s easier, but my gaze keeps wandering back to him. Like a magnet with a pull I can’t resist. I envy Mandy for being able to watch him from the cover of my back.

He brushes a white lock of hair behind his back, an earring glints on the edges of his ears. Silver or white gold, with a greenish blue stone. He pulls out his phone; checks the time.

He’s waiting for someone. But who? He’s never been here before. Maybe a young teacher got a new boyfriend… or, perhaps one of the students is her girlfriend?

My chest weighs a ton.

A gust of wind lifts his hair, carries his sweet and yet spicy scent towards me.

My neck throbs, my ears, my eyes.

I step out in front of him.

He looks at me, his black eyes trapping mine.

– Talia, right? – He smiles.

I flinch, frozen motionless.

How did he…?

“You forgot this on the counter yesterday” He hands me my library card. “It happened to be on my way home. ”Nods towards the school. “I thought I’d return it.”

How did he know which school I go to? He must have looked me up on Facebook. He tracked me down. Just so he could bring it here. For me. I take the card like it’s a winning lottery ticket. I put it in my pocket. I want to thank him, but my throat feels like it’s been cut.

“I’m Devin, Devin Wiczanovski.” He offers his hand.

I hesitate to touch it. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll wake up. But there’s nothing I can do…

My tiny, clammy hand slips between his long fingers. It’s just as I imagined: big, steady, smooth. I’m lost in the sensation feeling, like my hand in his palm. My skin takes on the warmth of his, a sense of calm and security spreads through me.

I have no idea if it’s moments or minutes that pass in this connectedness.

“I’m Amanda Taylor, Talia’s best friend.” She pushes me aside gently with her shoulder.

He shakes her hand too, but it’s as if he’s doing it casually, out of politeness.

“Nice to meet you.” His deep voice is laced with indifference, then he turns back to me.

“Would you join me for a drink?”

Excuse me? Is he… asking me out? No, it must be a misunderstanding. He was obviously addressing his words to Mandy, and merely glanced at me by chance.

“Me?” I poke at my chest, expecting disappointment.

He nods.

“Of course I understand if you have other plans.” His smile is sad, resigned. That’s how I usually smile when Mandy hunts down the IT guys before me.

But not him.

“Sure, why not. Mandy’s in a hurry anyway, she’s got a date with Alan. You’ve been so busy preparing for this day, I don’t want to keep you. So you go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

What am I doing?

Judging by the way Mandy’s eyebrows went up to her forehead, she was asking herself the same question.

“Thank you, that’s very generous. I’ll be off then. See you tomorrow!” She waves in a friendly way, but her eyes say: you’re going to regret this.

Maybe I will, but for now, I’m biting my lips to swallow a triumphant laugh. I hate that everything always works out for her. It’s fine. Just leave Devin out of it.

Devin. What a beautiful name… Although it was my dead brother’s name as well.

“Best friend, huh?” He looks down at me with an all-knowing gaze when Mandy’s out of earshot.

“Yeah, since first grade in high school. She needs someone to help her out when she’s in the mood to pick up nerds, and I don’t have anyone else for the “best friend” position.”

“My condolences.”

What has got into me? Usually I don’t dare to say a word in the presence of boys, and then this strange man comes along and banishes all my anxiety to the past with a single handshake.

He walks over to the motorbike parked on the curb, which I’m just now noticing. It’s streamlined, futuristic, like something out of a science fiction movie. It’s shiny, black, not a speck of dirt or dried mud anywhere. On the bottom, grey lettering: Yamaha R1. I know as much about bikes as I do about dressing, but it certainly cost more than some cars.

It’s hardly enough to get by on a librarian’s salary.

A dark shadow is cast over me. I don’t know anything about him. Where did he get all that money? Inheritance, or some illegal job? What is he really doing here? What does he want from me? From me and not from Mandy?

He’s pushing the bike next to me. As if reading my mind, he speaks:

“If you hurry, you might make up with her.”

Not a chance.

My expression probably reveals more than I would have liked about the horror that has arisen in me, because Devin’s mouth twitches upwards. His faint, wry smile is a mirror of my soul.

I smile too.

I have no idea who this man is. But I want to get to know him.

 

<< Previous                                                                                                                                                                                                    Next >>

It is already dark when I lock myself in my room. Curled up alone on my bed, I’m enveloped in silence, but Mum’s voice keeps roaring in my head.

Where the fuck have you been for so long? Did you really think you could get away with what you’ve been putting off for days? How can you be so careless? A lazy bitch… Good thing your father doesn’t have to see this anymore…

Dark eyes sparkling with rage, hair in a tight ponytail, her demanding figure always intruding on my thoughts. Lately, she’s been shopping and getting her nails done even more frequently. Like Dad, she quit her job, citing grief and inherited wealth. She hardly eats, so lost a lot of weight, even though she had no excess. Crying in the evenings, in the morning there’s often another empty bottle of wine waiting by the bin to be taken to the recycling container. She fills her days with shopping and chatting with her friends, but she has no idea what to do without the war with Dad. Her only goal is to “make a sensible adult out of me”. Because if my father couldn’t do it, she will. Every day she’s at home waiting for me to arrive after school. In the afternoons, she randomly checks on me to see how much I’m studying, when I turn on my computer. I wouldn’t be surprised if she takes down the door of my room, depriving me of the rest of my personal space.

I wonder what she would say if I came home with a boyfriend? Say, a guy twice my age? I smile at the impossible scene. I wrap my arms around myself, imagining his strong arms around me, his big, warm palms holding my hands, dry from doing the dishes…

I bite my lip.

I shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Guilt flows like acid under my skin. It hurts. More than ever before. Maybe because being with him has more reality than all my platonic loves combined. He spoke to me in the library. He smiled at me. And we touched hands twice.

The second time, did he do it on purpose?

But, why would he do that? Flirting? Surely he can get better women with the same amount of effort… Mocking the embarrassment of an underage virgin? Hardly. Those friendly black eyes didn’t laugh at me, though they dug so deep in me where no one had been before. Instead, they reflected empathy. As if he knew exactly what was going on inside me, yet he didn’t mind…

Ah, come on! I’m overthinking it. I was just a reader in a library, and it was his job to help and serve. There’s nothing extraordinary about that.

But I’d like to believe there is.

I’m scrolling through the list of the library staff on my phone. Can’t find him. Maybe he’s one of those without a picture next to his name. Or a new staff member and the website is not updated since his arrival. Perhaps on Facebook, among the thousands of followers of the library…

Why am I doing this? Why don’t I just go back looking for some rare book?

No. I can’t go any lower than this. He’s a mature, independent man who has no intention of getting into a scandal over a minor. After work his wife and children are waiting for him at home, and there is no place for me in his life. He’s a thousand times more unreachable than Bill will ever be.

I have to let him go.

Opening a video of Metamorph just to see the white-haired elf warrior slaying demons. His light, airy movements, his muscular body.

Can I help you with something? Metamorph’s narrative seeps into the memory of his deep, hypnotic voice. How nervous… Of course; tomorrow is the first day of the World Championship! How could I forget? This is what I’ve been waiting for since last year’s disaster! I wonder how he’ll do this year?

 

<< Previous                                                                                                                                                                                                    Next >>

“So, how do I look?” Mandy pulls aside the curtain of the dressing room, revealing her top model figure. She poses in a low V-neck T-shirt and beige tight pants.

“Good.” You look hot, just like in the last twenty outfits. I would give anything for a body like that. I feel like she’s intentionally trying to annoy me with her displeasure. My arms are almost torn off from the garments still waiting to be tried on or put back on.

“Just good? You think good will impress Alan on Saturday? Give me that black top.”

I’ll hold out the full stole, indicating that she should help herself, because I don’t have any free hands. She immediately spots the moodiness behind my gesture.

“What’s the matter? You’re so grumpy today.”

“I forgot to do the dishes yesterday and my mother is going to kill me.” I say, even though it’s only one side of the coin.

“Have you not had the washing machine repaired since then?”

Seeing my expressionless face, she changes her tone:

“Oh… I’m sorry… Yes, you mentioned that after your Dad’s accident, your Mum became even stricter.” She continues in a much quieter voice, mimicking sympathy.

Who knows, maybe she really wants to feel sorry for me. But it wasn’t her father who killed himself. She has no idea how I feel.

“Give me those.” She takes the pile of clothes from me, and a few pieces fall off the top, their hangers clattering to the floor of the shop. I’m about to bend down to pick them up, but she is stopping me: “Leave it, I’ll manage! Go and try on some something pretty! It always makes me feel better.”

You might. It must be a real joy for someone who could be on the cover of any fashion magazine to admire herself in the latest trendy clothes.

She’s just trying to be nice, but I would like to slap her in the face. Why?

“Maybe some other time… To tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit worried about this dishwashing thing and what I’m going to get for it… So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to…”

“Sure, you can go” She smiles.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. All right, get going! See you at school tomorrow!” She winks at me.

The urge to start running from the maze of dressing rooms and racks is strong, but I force myself to remain calm and step out of the automatic doors at a normal pace into the white-lit aisle of shop windows. All around me, noisy young and middle-aged people freshly released from work bustle about, eating in the dining hall, shopping in snaking queues. Some show fatigue on their faces, but the majority are enjoying themselves, chatting and laughing, while I blink in bewilderment, trying to make my way to the exit as quickly as possible amid the waves of people.

As I exit the mall, I take a deep sigh of relief from the afternoon rush-hour petrol fumes. It’s like bathing in the pink light of the sunset for the first time after ten years in prison. But my happiness vanishes as soon as I head for the bus stop. Dread creeps under my skin. If I get on, I’m not going to a dungeon, but straight to the gallows.

Yet I’m on my way.

As I stroll through the valley of glittering glass, high-rise luxury hotels and office buildings, my thoughts bury me deeper and deeper.

You should try on “something pretty”! The last thing I need…

I remember how Mum and Dad bought me the most beautiful clothes for every possible occasion in the naive hope that one day I would wear them and become like them. Normal. What my mother wouldn’t give to have a daughter like Mandy! Who wears make-up, dates, plays sports, is social; a meaningful member of society. Someone she could talk to about nails, shoes, the scandals she read on the internet, instead of “you’ll die alone” and “you’ll be a garbage man” being the only common topics. An endless arsenal of schemes, tricks and restrictions have been deployed to steer me in a direction they think is better. They made me do chores, forced me to share garden parties with their friends, took away my pocket money so I wouldn’t spend it on books, cut off the electricity, took away my laptop… They didn’t even notice that the only result they achieved was an impenetrable wall between us.

Or maybe they just didn’t want to notice.

David was the only one who understood me. That’s why I’m wearing his sweatshirts instead of all the other expensive clothes. I feel safe in them. It’s like when we used play ROTA, watch TV shows, read Harry Potter…

My heart clenches.

I have no idea why, I thought we would spend more time together after Dad died.

But no. Thanks to Sophie.

The last time I saw him was a month ago when I asked him to return my books to the library. I didn’t ask him to take anything out for me; the grief was paralyzing me. I didn’t feel like doing anything. Especially not to go out. I wanted to cease to exist.

How could I wish that he would not return home? On that day…

If it wasn’t for school and Mandy, I’d probably still be curled up in my room.

The domes and huge windows of the library shine out from the bustle of vehicles.

Gosh, when did I get here?

What would Dad say?

My throat constricts, my stomach clenches into a ball.

I relive the terror as I hide erotic fantasies from him under the bed, in the closet, and then, when he finds them, he beats me with them. I feel the hard corners of the cover between my ribs.

I couldn’t be the daughter he wanted me to be.

The weight of failure nails me to the asphalt.

Still… Everything that I am, that I’ve tried to lock away for a whole summer, trusting that time would eat it up, grows weary. Go on, do it! Get inside.

No. I have to go home, do the dishes and study.

That’s what he’d want…

But he’s dead. He’s not here to scold me, beat me, judge me. And beating myself up won’t bring him back.

A hot tear rolls down my cheek. I wish I could be someone else.

But I’m not.

I step across the threshold, fists clenched, trembling.

I breathe a sigh of relief. For the first time in years.

Freely.

The door closes behind me, cutting me off from the outside world. As the noises of the street fade, my conscience fades into silence. I’m lost in the smell of old papers. The mahogany furnitures, the calm of the peach-coloured walls, releases my cramped muscles.

I am home.

Full of new life, I step inside, pass the lending desk and the snack bar, and climb the cream-colored marble steps. As if out of habit, I stroke the shiny, worn wooden railing. I used to get out of breath and had to stop for a rest on the first floor, but now I reach the second floor at the same pace, without effort.

The orangey-pink of dusk flickers through the dome, casting a warm hue over the carved pine tables and the ferns hiding in the corners. At other times, a crowd of students, local and foreign alike, used to study here, engrossed in their textbooks and laptops, but now only two girls and a man read and take notes. It is unusual, yet I like that the large, Gothic interior is so empty.

I walk to the door of the left-hand section. Slowly, savoring every step. Once inside, I tiptoe between the floor-to-ceiling shelves, careful not to disturb the peace that has settled in. I run my fingers along the spines of a few books, soaking in the timeless dignity they exude. My eye catches a title.

Classicist architecture?

I frown. There should be something else here. It’s been so long since I’ve been here I’d forgotten where to find fantasy books? No, there’s no way. I’ve made the trip here hundreds of times.

A soft murmur rings in my ears from across the room. On the other side of the aisle, a tall, dark figure appears in the company of a library cart. The black-clad man’s slim, muscular silhouette is sharply outlined by the light streaming in through the large, arcaded window, his white hair almost glowing as it reflects the fading rays of the sun. He takes a few books off the cart to place them in the gaps between the books on the shelf. His movement is continuous, yet unhurried. Rather, it is measured. I can see the deep respect he has for his work. His long fingers grip the covers loosely, as if he fears his touch might damage the old, weathered copies.

Not like my parents, who throw them on the ground and kick them without a remorse.

Like they did to me.

I am overwhelmed with pain. My gaze clings completely to this stranger, as if the mere sight of him could make my past unhappen. My consciousness is filled with his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his strong arms. He is packing. Puts one book after another in its place. The pain in my chest gradually dissipates. It’s as if he’s putting my shattered soul back together with the books, strengthening my hope that I’m not the only degenerate monster in the world.

Déjà vu comes over me.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him, where does he look so familiar? The black outfit, the long white hair…

Of course! Metamorph’s elf warrior!

No way… My cheeks heat up with recognition. Suddenly it occurs to me that who knows how long I’ve been staring at him. I quickly take down a book and pretend to read, but he’s so immersed in his work that he doesn’t even notice me.

I push my glasses up.

Yes, exactly like him. Except he’s not wearing armor. It’s better that way; his tight black turtleneck lets me see the rise and fall of his abs with each calm breath.

How many times I’ve watched this character for hours, longing, wondering what it would be like to snuggle up to him, to touch him. I imagined her strong arms holding me safe from my parents’ war.

And now here he is. In a library. With me.

As he moves on to the next row, he gets out of my sight. I instinctively move with him. I take down a book again.

Communication and body language.

I really am lost, yet I don’t regret it.

I pick up the book, absorbed in the stranger’s harmonious being, the play of light on his long hair. His face is symmetrical, proportionate. His steps are flexible, yet confident. He knows exactly what he is putting where and why, never wavering for a moment, never turning back. He’s a determined, independent man who is satisfied with his work and himself. Someone I can look up to. With him, I’d never have to be afraid again. My heart fills with warmth.

He’s moving on. So do I. Another book.

Evolution and Taxonomy of Terrestrial Plants – I open it with trembling hands, pretending to read.

The tiny vestige of my common sense beckons me to put it back and leave, for what I am doing is vile and indecent. But I cannot. Towards him, I feel a strong attraction like never before. Every cell in my body trembles to be one with him.

It’s as if he just senses it, moves towards me.

Maybe he’s just packing up this way, or maybe he’s going to someone else’s… I look around quickly, but there’s no one here.

He’s coming to me.

I have to get out of here. Now.

Come on, move!

But I just stand and watch. He’s getting closer, gifting more and more tiny details to my aroused imagination. Neat and elegant. Not a hair on his turtleneck, not a dandruff, not a crumb, as is usual with dark clothes. Just as perfectly black as his eyes. That calm, understanding look… I want to be lost in it foreverlooms over me. As he blocks the light, his shadow falls on me. My heart has never beaten so fast.

“Hello.” His deep voice shivers down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck rising with desire.

“Can I help you with anything?” He smiles. Not with cold politeness, like the people who usually work here, but with sincerity. As if I really matter.

I can feel my panties getting wet. I squeeze my trembling legs together, even though I want to open up to him more than anything.

“N… no, thank you.”

Did I really say that?

Of course. A flawed, abnormal girl like me doesn’t deserve a nice smile or any help. I’m waiting for him to turn around and walk out on me.

But he doesn’t. Glances at the books in my hand:

“Classical architecture, psychology, taxonomy…”

Oh, my God, I took all this off and forgot to put it back?

“I’m interested in many things.”

Especially in you.

I gulp with a dry throat.

“Actually, I was looking for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I couldn’t find it where it used to be. But I came across these and I couldn’t resist.”

What am I saying?!

“The youth section was moved to the ground floor in June.”

Seeing my uncertainty, he adds:

“Come, I’ll show you.”

As he walks past me, I am hit by the scent of his perfume. Sweet and spicy. Cinnamon, cardamon, cedar. A sense of peace and security spreads through me.

“Of course you can wait here, I’ll be happy to bring it up for you.”

I realize that I’m still standing in one place, so I hurry after him.

I’ve been following a lot of people in my life. Trailing my dad on hikes, Mandy in the mall. I could barely keep up with them; with my short height, my fatigue, I was a constant burden. This man is also taller than me, by a lot, and though he never once looks back at me, he steps half as much as his stature would allow. It’s as if I belong to someone. To him.

The thought is mesmerizing. Just like his long, shiny hair. I watch as the strands separate in a perfect arc, then touch his back with every step. I’m amazed that it’s so neat, even at the end of the day. Shining in the off-white glow of the lamps like the natural, healthy hair of shampoo ad models, never subjected to the damage of dyeing or bleaching. Which, of course, is impossible. Especially since his eyebrows and eyelashes are black.

As the minutes tick by, the hypnosis of the rhythmic undulation dispels my logical thoughts. I no longer care what makes it so beautiful, only to be able to touch it. How would it feel? The way he leans over me while his hair falls forward? On me, around me, on my body?

I come to when he bends down and takes the book I came for off the shelf.

Even kneeling like this, he reaches my breasts.

I blush.

How high would I reach for him in the same position? I want to get this nonsense out of my head, but the more I try, the more it gets stuck. That’s not even the most disturbing thing, but that I would be willing to actually kneel down in front of him. Gladly. I wouldn’t mind if he doesn’t even touch me, I’d be honored if he would just let me to…

“Here.” He holds the book out to me.

His hand is even more attractive up close than from a distance. It’s like something out of an anatomy book. His almond-shaped nails are even, short curves framing his long fingers, his skin is fair and smooth. As I take it, I shiver so that I involuntarily touch him.

I wince and drop the book.

How can I be so clumsy?! I burn. With shame and desire at the same time. Quick as lightning, I bend down and pick it up. For a moment, our heads are on the same level. Wish I could kiss him…

“Thank you!” I mutter, and hurry away.

I run through the corridor, I don’t stop until I reach the bathroom. I slam the door behind me, not giving a damn about the silence of the library. I drop the books on the hand-washing counter and lean against the cold  sink.

I stare into the mirror. My face flushed, I gasp for breath. My panties are so wet, it’s like I’ve been watching porn. Am I soaked? Luckily I’m alone, so I quickly run my hands down my trousers. It’s dry.

What the hell has gotten into me?

His hand… It was a split second, yet I relive it over and over again. Big, warm, silky, firm. The kind of hand that’s not hard to imagine would be there to protect me forever.

He’d reach under my shirt…

I wince down there. Desire sweeps through me with intense, unquenchable agony. The open door of the nearest toilet tempts me to lock myself in and…

I wash my burning face. The cold of the water sobers me up a little.

He is a stranger. A complete stranger. Older than me, by a lot. Thirty, maybe. He must have someone; a mistress, a wife, a family, a child… And I’m only eighteen in a month… I’m reading young adult books. And then… I have Bill.

Who I’ve never spoken two words to and never even touched.

My hopes are shattered, replaced by bitter, grinding pain. Loneliness. Shame.

Not even a nerd of my age wants me. Because I am not enough. Fat. A nobody.

My neck tightens with a stifled cry, a silent, inarticulate howl of helplessness.

This is reality. The unvarnished fact from which I escape again and again into books and erotic videos. Into my imagination…. Because life is too horrible to exist in.

Still…

That one second…

In vain I try to suppress it, in vain reason and utter hopelessness… I want nothing more than to touch him again.

And I hate myself for it.

 

<< Previous                                                                                                                                                                                                    Next >>