Tag: Talia

I turn off the alarm on my phone. I sleepily roll over to the other side to snuggle back into Devin’s protective embrace for a brief moment, but the dream image is suddenly replaced by the thought of the maths test that awaits me. My pulse quickened to an excited rhythm, but instead of my usual desperation, I am filled with a bubbling curiosity. Maybe this time I won’t panic during the test…

And if I do, I’ll be more depressed than ever before before Devin’s lesson. After all, he’s been tutoring me, investing his time and energy, believing in me… If I fail, I’ll shame him.

I put my glasses on, but as soon as I open my eyes I feel dizzy and take them off.

Shit… My eyesight is getting worse again? And so quickly, by so much?

My hands… I stare at the sharp outlines, my pink fingernails, the texture of my skin, as if I’m seeing it for the first time. My room, the furniture, is drawn in the morning sunlight with sharp edges rather than in patches of colour. The fluff on the worn sweaters, the logo on the crisps’ bag, the books on the carpet… I can read their titles!

I wait for the illusion to fade and the world to go back to it’s usual blurry mess.. Maybe I’m still dreaming…

I run to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. It’s icy, almost painful, but I keep washing it. When I looked out from between my fingers, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Not the white-skinned, red-haired nightmare, but my own pale face. The pimple on my temple, the dried teardrops on my eyelashes, my eyelashes – I can see them… all of them! Brown irises with a few greenish flecks. How much bigger my eyes look without the lenses! Of course, I wouldn’t call myself beautiful… But still…

I laugh.

I can see!

How can it be? – The question, eager with happiness, echoes sinisterly inside me. My smile fades and I stare into the mirror as if I am seeing a terrifying, abnormal apparition. It all started with the hallucinations, then my strength improved, now this…

Is this even possible? If so, how? I should see a doctor. I can almost see their confused faces as they search for logical explanations, force me to undergo various tests and examinations, take blood, dissect me…

No. I’m not going to visit a doctor. Why should I? I have no complaints. They’d laugh at me. Or they’d show me something I’m not prepared for.

Mutation… insanity…

So what do I tell my Mum? I haven’t even told her about what happened in PE. But how can I keep this a secret?

Somehow I have to.

I go back to my room, put my glasses back on, try to force the blurry silhouettes into shape, but all I achieve is a headache. Too dangerous to wear. I put them in the case and slide them into my bag, like a kind of mascot to protect me from embarrassing questions.

I get dressed and go downstairs. Meanwhile, I pray that Mum is still drunk and sleeping the sleep of the righteous.

But I have no such luck. She’s sitting in the living room, turning towards me at the sound of my footsteps.

“You’ve fallen asleep aga… Talia, where are your glasses?”

“In my bag,” I avoid her gaze. “I’ll pick them up at school.”

“Are you seeing your prince in the morning now? I understand if you want to look pretty to please him, but you’re hardly going to impress him by falling through cracks in the pavement.”

Devin… My heart jumps into my throat. What’s he going to say? What am I going to tell him? He’ll think I’m torturing myself just for him.

“If it bothers you that much, you should consider contact lenses. But this way, you’ll only strain your eyes and make them worse. Is that what you want?”

I’m going to get my shoes without a word. She came closer so I can properly hear every word, but despite all her efforts, in my head,  Mum’s sermon fades into the background noise.

Contact lenses… All my life I’ve been reluctant to put anything in my eyes: I’m never going to have anyone, so why should I suffer the stinging, the inflammation? But now, going out with Devin is a great excuse for a change. That’s what I’m going to tell Mandy and anyone else who asks.

Even to Devin?

My shoelace knitting fingers pause.

Would I lie to him? He’s always been honest with me. He has his secrets, but what he tells me is like opening his heart to me. That sad, black look…

“…does he really mean that much to you?”

I look at my mother as if she can read my mind, then realise she’s still worried about my eyes.

I’m overcome with anger. When has she ever truly cared about me?

“Yes,” my voice interrupts her confident monologue. “He accepts me. Even if I am fat, with greasy hair, in boy’s clothes. No glasses would keep him away from me. I decided to take them off. Believe me, as soon as I feel bad, I’ll put them back on.”

Her dark eyes sparkle with silent rage.

“Do what you want. Destroy your eyes, get yourself pregnant, I don’t care…,” she sits back on the sofa and pours wine.

“Exactly. Everyone ruins their own life as they please,” I close the door behind me.

With a force that frightens me. The handle loosens in my hand.

What is happening to me?

 

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The door closes behind me, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the maze of books. Ceiling-high shelves are lined with antique, iron-bound volumes too precious to be borrowed by anyone. There is not a speck of dust, the floor is unstained by the footprints of visitors, the silence distorts my own footsteps into a strange noise. This is a locked section of the library, I shouldn’t be here…

Although Devin said I could visit him anytime.

I look around for other staff, but there is no one here.

Just him.

He’s arranging books on a table, his long hair glistening in the setting sun. At other times he keeps me talking, asking me about my life, talking about himself, but this time he is working in silence, deep in thought. Just like the day we first met, and I watch his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms with the same quiet awe. His graceful fingers turn the heavy volumes as if they were weightless, their covers land softly over one another. I admire the respectful, gentle and yet swift way he works.

As I watch, a corner of a book slips through the neatly arranged pile, his hand wavering.

I turn to the shelves so as not to disturb him, but none of the titles interest me, and my thoughts return to his hands, his mouth…

His embrace… A warmth runs through me, and I insinctively close my legs.

He picks up a pile of books and begin to walk. I resist the temptation to follow him. The sound of his footsteps moves away, then closer, then stops, finally settling behind me.

My nose fills with his sweet, spicy scent. His arm rises above me, sliding a volume into place. Breathless, I wait for him to move on. But he stays. I feel the inviting warmth of his body, his breath softly brushing a few hairs on my head. My heart leaps into my throat as I turn, my nose almost hitting his chest. He doesn’t pull away as he’s done so many times before, his arm resting on the top shelf, shutting me off from the outside world. I would find this closeness threatening from anyone else, yet I would pull him to me. I could just do it. My cheeks burn, my knees shake.

This is not right. I should go home and study and let him concentrate on his work… I look up at him, let his black eyes penetrate me, hold me. Piercing, loving, with a sadness lurking in the depths that only those who have suffered much in the past can look with. But now there is a new feeling in them, one I hadn’t noticed before, or simply didn’t want to notice: desire, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when it can sweep away the barriers.

He leans towards me, but stops inches away, waiting for me to close the distance between us. I stand on tiptoe, my lips touching his mouth.

He kisses me back greedily, passionately, burying his hand possessively into my hair. The walls that have held him back are cracking and everything he’s been trying to hide is coming to the surface. Before, I thought it was unimaginable that he could touch me like this.

You are not worthless.

I want to be his, to make him forget that he was ever not enough for anyone. I want to take in his loneliness, all the things he’s suffered in his life but never told anyone about, his disappointments, his doubts. To let him know that he can trust me as much as I trust him, and that he no longer has to hide the storm raging inside him behind kind smiles.

He kneels on the floor with me. As he hugs me, his soft hair falling around me, his hard groin pressed against me. The same two weeks of repressed anticipation are urges him as they are driving me. He lays me on my back on the floor. Not roughly, but there is no trace of his usual restraint. He unbuttons my trousers, releasing me from them with practiced, quick movements. I expect to be overwhelmed with shame, but as soon as I realise that his dark eyes are a mirror of my own misery, his closeness feels natural.

I hear him unbuckle his belt. He presses me down, his full weight on my arms. His fingers grip me so tightly that my hands are almost numb. I wish that he would hold me like this forever, as tight as no one has ever held me before. His hips move firmly between my thighs when he gets inside me,, filling me completely. He holds me firmly, but my body willingly accepts whatever he gives me. Whether it’s pain or pleasure. He pauses for a moment, but I don’t want him to be gentle. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper into me. Even if it hurts. I want to feel him, not just the side he shows in civilian to please the world.

His muscles force me into passivity, getting deeper inside me with with each thrust, bringing me closer to his true being. Which is far from nice or kind. Wild, howling in pain, possessive. I let his feelings in. His anger at the life others have forced him into. His hatred for those who have hurt him. His grief and loss for those he has lost.

I know exactly what it’s like to suffer, screaming mutely under the surface. I would give anything to ease his burden.

He pushes me closer and closer to delirium. I relax into it, enjoying all the bitterness and sorrow of his soul pouring into me, echoing in me pulse after pulse.

My back arching, my muscles wet with desire contracting around my finger.

When the ecstasy subsides, I pull away. My breathing calms, my mind returns to reality. The dark solitude of my room envelops me, shadows cast on the ceiling by the street lamps.

The emptiness hurts.

What if it never happens?

I crawl under the covers, hug my plush pony and roll over in bed. I remember the embrace of his strong arms, his muscles against me under the turtleneck, the smell of him, the warmth of his breath on my ear.

“Thank you.”

I can hardly believe he actually hugged me, and not just in my imagination.

I can almost hear what Mandy will say tomorrow when I tell her.

“Just a hug? He hasn’t kissed you yet?!”

She wouldn’t understand… There was something about his hug… deep and intimate, that made it hotter than any kiss and swept the thoughts out of my head. I’d even forgotten to ask for his number, although I’d baked the cake in case I might have the confidence if I give him something. But now that the opportunity has passed, who knows if I’ll ever have the courage?

Or is stretching his personal boundaries too pushy? After all, he hasn’t asked for my number. After all, we see each other every day, I don’t want to seem obsessed.

But… what if I am?

A shadow moves across the ceiling, a feathery silhouette of wings. I look up at the window.

These blue and white birds are becoming more common these days. Are they nesting here?

 

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I turn a few pages in Crime and Punishment, jot down a few sentences in my notebook. From time to time I look up, especially when I saw some movement behind the glass door of the adult section. I deliberately chose a spot in the reading room where I could see it. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, but only a few students and librarians make up the sparse traffic. When I arrived, I went in to get this book to analyze and some fantasies to take home – but he was nowhere to be found.

What if I’m in the wrong section?

          Go in and look again!

No. I have to concentrate on my essay. At least I’m not depressed by Mum’s presence here.

Only Devin’s.

I chew on the end of my pen. What if he doesn’t work today?

Come on… If he wanted to dump me, he’d have done it by now. Anyway, he said he was looking forward to Monday.

I’m looking forward to it too. In fact, I couldn’t wait for it. That’s the real reason I came here, while I pretended to Mum that I was going to the mall with Mandy.

I write a few lines.

A black and white silhouette drifts across the edge of my vision and I immediately look up. Our eyes meet. I wave at him, but he’s carrying books, so he just nods with a smile and walks away, his white hair floating like a veil behind him. My heart leaps from my chest to my throat.

I’m sure he’ll come out to see me soon.

My teeth chatter on the plastic.

The hand of the wall clock clicks quietly.

Why isn’t he coming?

I want to go after him… But I don’t want to hold him up. He must be busy…

What if he’s not?

It was too much to come here. Especially today, when I know he’s working. Like a pushy, annoying bitch who has a nervous breakdown when she has to spend three whole days without her boyfriend.

          Concentrate on the essay!

I’m reading the labelled paragraph, but the words don’t make a sentence. Why am I torturing myself? Even David’s sweatshirt can’t protect me from this madness. I should go home.

And deprive myself of hope?

“Can I help you?” Oh, the voice that touched my soul.

It still does.

A shy voice answers, but I don’t understand what it says. The girl is shifting from one foot to the other. The curve of her eyes and the way she was dressed made it clear that she is a foreign student. She is probably being directed to someone who can speak to her… But Devin spontaneously switches to her language, the girl’s face lights up and she follows him into the bookshelf maze.

There, she can walk behind him… smell his perfume… admire the way the light plays on his hair…

My nails, bitten short, whiten on the pen, dig into the stamp, leaving a permanent mark.

He is so kind to her… Because it’s his job. I wonder what they talked about? What did he tell her?

What if he invites others to coffee too?

Maybe I should really listen to my mother and lose a few kilos…

Soon he reappears on the other side of the glass wall as his colleague at the counter stands up and waves him over. A young woman, her face freckled, her blonde-brown hair is tidy, her blouse and skirt are loose but cut to accentuate her slender body. She looks lovely, more than that, she just glows. She looks familiar from somewhere. Maybe because she’s served me more than once. Why had I never noticed how beautiful she is?

Probably because she wasn’t talking to Devin. She wasn’t smiling at him, blushing at his words. The way Devin looks at her… It’s as if he knows exactly why she’s so enthusiastic and doesn’t mind. In fact, he enjoys it. The gestures, the way he moves, the tenderness when he pats her on the back…

I can almost see them laughing together in Once Upon A Time.

I stare at the paper as if I could immerse myself in it. Whatever he’s doing, I don’t want to see it.

Dostoyevsky and the polyphonic novel.

Light, elegant steps, the smell of cinnamon and cardamom. Too close.

“Did you miss me?” He squeezes my shoulder. For a moment I forgot to breathe.

Am I dreaming or has he really come to see me?

“I like studying here. When I manage to trick Mum with an alibi.”

“Dostoyevsky?” When he leans over me from behind, a few white tufts fall on the notebook, but he immediately adjusts them.

“Yes…” I groan in confusion. Now I definitely look like a geek.

“May I?” He reaches for the book and the chair next to me at the same time.

He sits down and carefully runs his long fingers through the book. What beautiful, well-groomed hands. Most girls go to a manicurist for such almond-shaped nails. But there’s something unusual about them… It took me a few seconds to notice: they weren’t divided into white and pink, and there was no crescent at the base of the nail bed – it’s all a uniform ivory. I wonder if are they real? It’s hard to imagine him doing fake nails…

“Maybe it’s time to read it again,” he says quietly, so as not to disturb the other readers in the room.

“Do you like it?” I raise an eyebrow.

“It used to be one of my favourites. How was it?”

“Pretty good, for compulsory literature.”

“That didn’t sound very convincing,” he smiles.

“It starts slowly… And while I like psychological descriptions, putting all the character’s rambling thoughts down on paper is a bit much.” I scribble a flower on the edge of the paper. My hand is shaking.

“I think that’s what makes it real. I can get so involved that I almost become one with the protagonist.”

“I don’t know…” Am I really starting a debate about his favourite book? Yes, I am. Only because he made me wait. “I often found Raskolnikov’s thoughts so odd. He killed a loan shark, did he really think he can get away with it? With a clear conscience? In fact, he tells himself that he has done a noble deed because he is ‘extraordinary’.”

“Do you condemn him?”

“I can understand his circumstances, his misery, his reasons, but still… to kill someone, and then a completely innocent person too… Of course, there was nothing else he could do at the time, but no wonder he was “punished” for it.”

He put the novel down, his hand going to the stole lying on the corner of the table. My freshly borrowed books, all dark fantasy, full of eroticism… My face burns. I should have put them away a long time ago.

“Lorian Ain’Dal: A Taste of Mortality”, he turns it over as if reading the blurb, but from his tone I suspect he knows the story of the cruel fae king. “You seem to like murderers after all”, his thighs brush against mine under the table, his height preventing him from sitting comfortably. My cheeks glow, just like down there. I cross my legs.

“I-I love dark characters. It’s fascinating to try to analyse why they are the way they are, to imagine what it would take to change them…”

“And what did you find?”

“It is often loneliness, trauma, misunderstanding that brings them to a low point. But if they find someone worthy, they can change for the better.”

“So… all bad guys can be fixed?” His mouth smiles, his eyes don’t.

“I think so.”

“What if they are irredeemable?”

“There’s no such thing. Just lack of motivation, time, untreated problems like depression…

Dad… Could he have recovered?

I’ll never know.

“Raskolnikov’s character also develops a lot over the course of the story. How does he differ from the fae king?”

“I don’t know… He’s so… human. Murder is different in fantasy. And different in reality. I think.”

“You find it scary.”

“A little bit. It’s one thing to taunt, to beat, to torture, to blackmail, it’s another to take a life. It’s something… irreversible.”

“I know what you mean”, the peaceful, innocent depth of his black eyes draws me closer. I want to fall deep into them.

He stands up, a sad smile on his face.

“I promised my colleague I’d help with the inventory. Have fun with the polyphonic novel and the fae king!” He adds: “Let me know if you get stuck, I’ll be in there”, as if he knows that this offer will dispel the jealousy that has been building up inside me. I can always go to him, so he has no secrets from me…

 

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“Oh, Mandy, how nice to see you again!” Mum is leaning toward us on the sofa in the living room. Wine glass in hand, her smile intoxicated but fading as she looks at me. “What’s with the shabby outfit again? Has your prince dumped you?”

“No…” I put my hand in my pocket.

“By the way, while you’re here,” she turns to Mandy, “you should her that boys her age might like it if she paid a little bit more attention to her appearance.”

Seriously?

Mandy’s pink manicured hand pats my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it. Let’s go and have a chat,” she pushes me towards the stairs.

“Good…” Mum hums in a slightly melodious voice.

I walk up the stairs, feeling devastated. The strap of the bag cuts deeper into my shoulders with each step, my feet automatically propelling me forward like some strange machine. Mandy’s eyes burn a hole into my back. Those perfectly painted, big, round eyes…  Sometimes I want to claw them out. I reject Devin to be with her, to help her, and she betrays me like that… Maybe she should talk to my Mum instead.

My hand clenches in the pocket of David’s sweater.

I want to send her away.

Come on, say it, kick her out!

I open the door to my room.

“Sorry for the mess,” I close it behind her and lean my back against it, looking for a safe support. “Let’s talk then…” My threatening voice leaves my mouth as an uncertain question.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said downstairs,” she raises her hands defensively. “Drunks are not worth arguing with.”

So she noticed… I feel like sinking. Deep into the darkness of the earth, never to surface again.

“I’m ashamed of my mother. She’s still taking the loss of my father very hard.”

“It’s okay. At least I don’t mind until she throws the wine bottle at me.”

“I doubt she’ll ever do that. She likes you.”

“You never know with a drunk,” she drops onto the bed, brushing back her blonde curls. A thin scar runs from the base of her ear to her temple. It’s covered with foundation so it’s barely visible, but it must have been a deep wound at the time. We’ve known each other for four years and this is the first time I’ve seen it. She always wears her hair carefully combed to the right, leaving a few strands loose around her face even during PE.

Just a few minutes ago I was accusing her of betraying me and wanted to send her away… I bit my lip.

“My father is a drunk too. By the time I was born, my mother was incapable of raising children and ran off with a rich guy instead. My dad tried to make ends meet, pretty well, but a few years ago he had surgery for a brain tumour and although he survived the cancer, his eyesight was impaired. He loved his job, he loved painting and now he has no purpose in life. He’s not the same ever since, and became more aggressive. Sometimes he can be persuaded to go to rehab, and there are better periods, but he always starts drinking again.”

“So that’s why you never invite me over…”

“I don’t like going home either. I sleep at my boyfriend when I can. Which they like at first, but then they feel weird about it. When it gets to the point where I have to introduce them to my parents, I break up with them… Why do you look so shocked? Did you think I was just chasing them for fun? Sure, it’s fun, and that way the relationship doesn’t have time to get stale. Besides, who wants to be the hero in a family of drunks? That only happens in your novels.”

I confessed all my pain to Devin the day before yesterday and he didn’t run away. He met me yesterday… And we’ll meet again on Monday… My teeth sink deeper into my lips. It would feel so good to share with her, but she didn’t show me her vulnerable side for me to strike another blow.

“I understand, my father was also violent. Thank you for telling me and not judging me because of my mother…”

She just shrugs, as if we’re talking about the weather.

“So, shall we get to that Metaphysics-thing?”

I grab my computer and lie down beside Mandy. I put the history atlas under the laptop, which I’ve never opened, but it’s hard cover comes in handy when it needs ventilation. I plug in the charger, turn it on and pull up one of Metamorph’s latest videos. I try to explain what he’s doing, when and why, but Mandy remains silent.

“You can see clearly from here that he’s not cheating… What do you think?” I include her in my monologue.

“Cheater or not, he’s hot as hell,” she blinks dreamily.

“Yes, but you wish he’d cut his hair, don’t you? Have you been listening to me in the last fifteen minutes?” I ask, feigning insult.

“More or less,” she strokes the creases in the bedclothes. She’s as sure of herself as I am in the shopping mall with the pile of clothes while she’s in the fitting room.

“You’re not going to sweep Matt off his feet by telling him how good-looking his favorite streamer is…

“Speaking of guys,” she points to the white-haired elf warrior in the middle of the monitor. “He really is the spitting image of Devin.”

She just can’t get away from her area of expertise… I want to be angry. At least a bit. But I’m also fascinated by the character.

“Right? I told you so.” I grin like a brainwashed idiot.

“You haven’t even told me what happened yesterday,” she smirks.

“Nothing special,” I poke at the sleeve of my jumper. “We were just talking…”

“Still talking?!”

“It was our third date…” I roll my eyes.

“All right, all right! So, what did you talk about?”

“Career choices, strict parents, clothes, why he wears black… And guess what, in his spare time he feeds cats at the shelter!”

 

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I arrive home feeling overheated with adrenaline. I push up my glasses, which have slipped off in the hurry. It’s amazing how much it meant to take them off for the ride. I was still dizzy, and a hair away from screaming, but at least my vision wasn’t covered in a white mass. I saw blurry, but it was nowhere near as bad as I expected. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even enjoy the wild rush… and being able to snuggle up to him…

“I will not ask you where you have been: it is written on your face,” my mother calls to me from the dining room table, a red glass of wine dancing around between her fingers. As she glances towards me, her eyes are slightly veiled. This is the first time she’s had alcohol in the daytime.

“It’s unusual to see you in that top. But it looks good on you,” she smiles. “It would look even better if you could lose a few pounds.”

I instinctively pull the sweater down over my stomach.

Just because someone doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t mean you’re worthless.

“You’re really blushing! He’s really important to you, isn’t he? If you want to be worthy of his affection, let me know and I’ll help you work out a diet.”

You are not worthless, you are not worthless, you are not worthless…

“It’s progress that you’re not buried in your novels and laptop all day. But, I’m still not happy that it’s all at the expense of learning. And I don’t think he’ll be too happy when he finds out you didn’t get into any university. What’s his name by the way?

“Devin.”

Mum swallows the remaining contents of her glass at once and I take advantage of the dramatic silence to go upstairs. I try to remember Devin’s voice as vividly as I can until grows louder and louder and I become free of Mum’s words.

The chair squeaks on the tiles and I hear Mum’s footsteps as she heads for the stairs.

“Since you are going upstairs, you might as well get the dirty dishes from your room. It stinks. I’ve come to terms with you sneaking downstairs at night for food, but to hide the crockery underneath a wardrobe or in a desk drawer is outrageous. I wonder what your prince would think! Of course, by some miracle, he might be more tolerant, but I won’t be. So while you’re living in my house, please try to be a little more civilised!”

You’re not worthless. You are not worthless. You are not…

I lock myself in my room and put my bag in the corner. I take a deep breath and begin. I pull out the drawers one by one, look under the wardrobe, behind the textbooks stacked on the shelf. As quietly as I can, I stack the plates, forks and knives. Some of them are already covered in petrified food, the oldest of which is perhaps a month old…

I bring them up in the evening and forget to take them down in the morning. But I don’t just forget. I wait for the right moment, because I’m afraid of running into my mother, and if she saw this huge amount, she’d make a few reproachful remarks.

Just like she did now. So there’s no way I can get away with it, but I put it off as long as I can so I don’t have to hear how much I’m disappointing her. Again and again, with my very existence.

This time, too, I’ve accumulated quite a lot, so much that when I hold it in my hands, it’s up to my chin. I hope I can get it all down at once…

I wait for Mum to go up to her room and close the door. After a few minutes, I carefully lift the plates. It isn’t as heavy as I expected. I used my elbow to push down the door handle and headed downstairs. I can’t see where I’m going, so I descend carefully, step by step. My palms are sweating. What if I trip and drop it?

How embarrassing all this is… Like our whole lives. Hiding what we’re ashamed of, trying to keep up the appearance of perfection. And as much as I despise Mum and her hypocrisy… I’m no different.

With shaking arms, I place the stinking pile in the sink. I open the tap and squeeze detergent onto the sponge. It would be more practical to let it soak, but I want to erase the traces of my nocturnal excursions as quickly as possible, as if that would undo them.

My hand dips into the foam as I scrub, the dirt running in brown streaks off the originally white crockery. This is how the make-up must have run off my face…

You’re prettier without it.

My being, trembling with doubt, is suddenly warmed by these words.

I smile. I can hardly believe that this afternoon happened and he actually said that!

I don’t even notice and I put the last fork on the drip tray. It usually seems to take longer…

Happy, energized by a job well done and with fond memories, I return to my room and lie down on my bed. I look through the chaos of crumpled blankets, discarded clothes, wrinkled notebooks and bags of crisps.

I wonder what your prince would think!

I bite my lip, holding back the rising shame. Good thing Devin will never see this! This would be the last place I’d ask him. Besides… I am not exactly the woman of his dreams… and he’ll find that out before I have to introduce him to Mum.

I should have broke up with him. Instead, I opened up to him like I had never opened up to anyone before.

I poured the years of accumulated, swelling stream of dirt all over him…

I am sinking.

He should have left me alone. He should’ve left in disgust, fled. I’d run away from myself too, if I could.

I wanted him to do it. To be hurt and punished. Instead, he took my hand.

You’re not worthless.

Why did he say that? How could he say…? Can’t he see how pathetic I am?

Why not?!

With my hands dry of detergent, I take out my mobile, turn on the wifi. A soft beep signals Mandy’s message: “So, what did he think of the make-up?😉”

You look prettier without it. – I can’t text her that. I’ll think of a reply later, in the meantime I’ll mark it as unread. But I still can’t get over it. Why can’t I write this to her?

Because it’s a lie.

Those honest, black eyes…

Still, I can’t believe them. Maybe it’s all a lie, and he was just being nice to me to get out without conflict, and he’s not coming tomorrow.

What if he does?

My stomach clenches with nervousness. I reach under the bed for a packet of crisps, open it and shove a few pieces into my mouth. A salty, cheesy flavour floods my tongue, filling the space of my thoughts.

I open Metamorph’s channel. Judging by the videos, he has indeed achieved to play in isolation, albeit out of competition. I clicked on one where he was playing against last year’s champion team, three players against him. It took them thirty minutes to beat him… unbelievable.

Curious, I scroll down to the comments, but they hit me like a cold shower.

“Once a cheater, always a cheater”

“The world is for the rich…”

How could he cheat?! There’s the judge behind him! Even the assumption is outrageous. Can’t they see the video? This guy is a genius. And yet how many people badmouth him… Just because they can and because they enjoy it.

Life is unfair sometimes.

His hand on mine…

You don’t always get what you deserve.

 

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As soon as the bell rings, I grab my things and storm out of the classroom first. Looking left and right for cover, then I dive into the growing crowd. I hurry through a few corridors and then turn into the stairwell leading to the basement. I throw my back against the wall, exhaling.

Gosh, I hope Mandy won’t find me! I was late on purpose this morning so I wouldn’t have to talk to her, and now I’m going to wait in this secluded spot until my class moves into the other building for literature. After the bell rings I’ll be on my way too.

I pull the beige knitted sweater down over my stomach. Have I gained some weight? Maybe it’s just unusual after David’s baggy clothes. I feel so awkward in this, like I’m walking around naked. Why did I put it on? It seemed like a good idea this morning, but why go to our date at all? To break up?

“So, was it worth to ditch me yesterday?” Mandy throws a punch at my shoulder and I jump in surprise.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to fix my make-up.” She nods towards a nearby restroom.

Shit, I didn’t think of that!

“You could do with some, too, since you’re all dressed up. So there will be a sequel…” She smiles, as if she’s not the least bit angry.

“Yeah, in Once upon a time. But I won’t go.”

“Then I’ll go instead” She winks.

“No! Please don’t…”

“Oh, what’s that mournful look on your face?

“I must break up with him.” I admit with a burning face. “Mum says it’s better for me this way. Because he needs me only for That” I roll my eyes. “In fact, this morning at breakfast she even made me promise to tell her right away if Devin bothers me and she will mobilize grandpa’s contacts…”

Why am I telling her this? Do I really expect her to be so chatty with me after how I ditched her yesterday?

Mandy just shrugs.

“Never mind what your mother says! She didn’t see your dream guy. If she had, she wouldn’t be talking like that. I bet she’d pay him for a date, or maybe she’d even give him the Tesla, just to let her suck him off. So, if you can do it for free, why not?” She puts her hand on my shoulder, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

I wish I could be as sure of what I’m doing!

“I don’t think he would want the Tesla” I turn my head away in embarrassment.

“Of course not! He wants you! I saw the way he looked at you yesterday!” Her face flushes with anger.

Even before of her own dates, she rarely gets so enthusiastic. Maybe she’s been with so many boys, that she’s got more excited about my love life than hers. Wow…

“But, you can’t go out with him like that.” She’s got me by the arm. “Come, I’ll help you get a face as attractive as that sweater.”

She pulls me out of my hiding place and we sit on a bench by the window. Even though it’s cloudy, there’s more light than in the stairwell. I watch as she piles foundations and eye make-up on the windowsill, completely oblivious to the crowd and noise that swirls past us.

She’s so nice to me! Perhaps she never meant to take Devin off my hand, and I just imagined her offended look in the heat of the moment.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday” I say, my throat scratching at the words. “Its just… it was so exhilarating. You know… that I might have a chance…”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too. He’s your first… And why not make it memorable? You deserve it.”

I deserve it – The phrase echoes in my ears like a foreign language, without any meaning.

“Afterall…” She grins, in that typical guy-hunter way. “I can throw myself at him after he’s gotten tired of you.”

Yep, that sounds more authentic than I deserve it.

“But until then, enjoy every minute of it. After all, that’s what life is made of; moments of small pleasures” Her mouth smiles, yet a dark shadow creeps across her face.

A cold silence sits between us. It occurs to me for the first time that there may be more behind the trophy-collecting bombshell’s mask. Something she isn’t telling me, and I’ll never ask.

The stream of students dwindles around us, and with the ring of the bell, the corridor dies out completely. Mandy’s still contemplating while packing her things. It’s as if she’s trying to solve a difficult math equation, but after the unknown doesn’t come out, she starts the calculation over and over again.

“We should be in the other building by now” I say, hoping to avoid the torture of putting on make-up without hurting her feelings.

“You’ll have plenty of literature classes in your life, but only one first boyfriend. So we need to figure out what suits you.” She lifts the foundations and various jars of makeup to my face.

Finally, she presses some onto the sponge and starts to apply. My face tickles at the soft texture, but I stifle a laugh. When she gets close to my eyes, my skin twitches in protest.

Why did I agree to this? No matter how cleverly she applies makeup on me, if there’s nothing to show for it underneath…

Who would fuck a pig?

You’ll die alone.

I can almost see Devin’s kind face turn to contempt.

No, I really can’t go.

Tears sting, so I pull away from Mandy, blinking hard to disperse them.

“Come on, don’t suffer so spectacularly! Trust me, this guy is well worth the inconvenience. Ah, I know!” She lifts an eyelash curler. “I’ll deliberately use this one. It’s not waterproof, so no matter what happens on your date, you mustn’t cry!” She smiles, as if she’s found a cure for all my problems.

I nod, lean forward. The more willing I am, the sooner I’m free. Maybe I can even snatch a bit of the literature class.

“So he wouldn’t want the Tesla…” She continues  “What does he have; BMW, Mustang, Ferrari?”

“A… some kind of sports bike.” I answer between two brush strokes. “It looked expensive. It was parked on the sidewalk.”

“I wasn’t looking… just at him. Well, would you ride behind him?”

“Well… actually…” I wish I had enough foundation on me so Mandy couldn’t see me blushing! But looks like I’m out of luck.

“No way…! You already got on behind him, didn’t you?”

“He took me home.”

“What?! So, did you hug him?”

“If I hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

“You’re full of surprises.” She laughs. “How was it?”

“Terrifying.”

“Not that! His body.”

“Muscular, tight. Just as I imagined. But I couldn’t enjoy it; he drives like a madman. But I asked him to go slower next time” I add, only to see Mandy’s face stretched with dismay and envy.

“Then you can legally feel him up today!” Her hand starts shaking, it stops her for a moment.

“Yes…”

Except I’ll be going home alone today. The lie drips down my throat like red-hot lava, fills my lungs, seeps into my ribs. I have no future with this man. Mandy knows it. Yet, I don’t have the courage to say it. I don’t want to see her eyes widen with pity. And I certainly can’t bear to watch Mandy jump on him.

So, I change the subject.

“Did you hear the scandal about Metamorph?”

 

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