Until the end of time

I wrote this a loooong time ago. In university. I still love it…

Oh does he know does he? How can anyone be so cute? Anyway he can’t help it, he was born this way.

She was contemplating his face again. She could not take her eyes off his lovely face. Her feeling ridiculous did not help at all. Not even his looking up and seeing her stare. She felt her cheek turn red, but her fingers moved carelessly on the sheet, shaping a rather badly drawn female body. She wished. Wished that she was more talkative with those whom she liked. If only she had said hello to him afterwards, and not shy away from him, the embarrassment of both would have disappeared. Of course, cursing herself was no remedy. It was marred, the whole affair.

Goddammit. Not again. What a heck of a situation. I wish she was someone I could like.

He was feeling sort of relieved nevertheless. She had held her promise. She confessed, then shut up. Well. Why did she do that anyway? Who asked her? Well. Why not admit you’re still flattered. Like her or not, she thought you worthy of it. A very special act. Maybe you’re a moron to act this way. But it was her who said no need to react at all. Bla bla. Excuses.

She went to the library right after that. Pretending she needed a book. Ha. She searched on the shelf for her lost pride and self-esteem, and something to quench her desire. She heard his presence behind her, sitting there, poring over that damn book. Heart beating faster. She turned back. He wasn’t there.

She placed the pretext back on the shelf, and swallowed her disappointment. Cursed herself for being the fool again. Can’t believe that I’m the fool again. Ha. They enjoy singing that song, but I don’t. It’s my song, mine. She turned to walk away, and she saw him come back to his table. He was shorter than her. Who cares. Heart beating faster again. She saw some other people around, but she only opened her eyes for him, it was him she wanted to look at. She knew he felt embrrassed, and she couldn’t help feeling embarrassed too. But she went to his table. Reached out for his hand, but then her fingers touched his cheek. Lightly. He was so surprised he remained silent, only looked up at her, and she felt herself drowning in the beauty of his eyes. Her hand was holding his head, and she wondered. Her cheek burning with shame and helplessness, she only spoke with her glance. She said come to me, please, I could never do you any harm, please come and see for yourself. Her thumb trembled when it slid over his mouth, and the slight trace of his saliva remained on her skin for long after she had gone.

She was sitting in the video room. Alone. Watching some movie, she had no idea what was going on in it, and she cared just as much. Her right hand carressed her left thumb, tenderly, unconsciously, and she felt like one dead. Her breath was cold, like a corpse’s. Nothing she could come up with as alleviating her void was actually doing so. She was wallowing in her own depressed thoughts and she loved it, and she didn’t want to quit the land of sorrow, ever. Because she was feeling. Aching, longing, wanting.

Click. Squeak. Noise coming in. Click. Silence again. Only her head turning. Blinking helplessly, like an overturned tortoise. Turning back to the screen, trying to steady her hands, clutching at the remote. Feeling her mouth dry. Feeling little, insignificant, powerless. He will tell me to fuck off, to leave him alone, to

He sat on the table in front of her. Took the remote from her numb hand and stopped the movie. Saw the state she was in, and forgot the reason why he came down. Wanted to be angry no more. Watched her cheek, so flushed, and her hand, so weak, and her mouth, so desirable.

Here I am, let’s talk it out, he said.

She looked up. I can’t talk it out, she said. I can only feel it, I can’t shape it into words. Sorry.

I kind of liked what you sent me. Yeah. Was very unusual. And nice. But you were mistaken about me. That’s not me.

Then who are you? She asked. I showed myself. Show me who you are.

He didn’t feel like talking. His hand played with the remote, his legs dangled against the side of the table. He was feeling bored. He wanted to go back to his book. But his eyes followed hers when she stood up and went closer. He held her glance, took it into his pupils and dilated with it, and his nose breathed in a whiff of her perfume, sweat, and shyness. Her kiss was a beginner’s, slow, careful, yet more and more demanding. She didn’t want to press him, so she waited till his arms enfolded her. At last. She felt salt on her tongue, and drew her face away from his. His eyes were dry, but were looking at her, reading her, fearing, asking, denying, hating, inscrutinably. He hated her, and she hated him. Her hand moved to his shirt, caressing the top button. His chest was bare, smooth, innocent. The nipples felt like two soft buttons on a silky surface of skin. His breath came through his nose, slightly whistling. Someone other than herself took his manhood, helpless, smooth, in her hands. He leaned back a little, propped himself with his fists clenched. Swallowing, he felt his cheek blushing. Because of the stifling heat in the room, and the desire he couldn’t control any longer. His surprise was apparent when she gently took his hand and dragged him to his feet, only to lead him to the chair she had sat on an endless time ago. She pushed him on it, made him sit down, and stood above him, like she did upstairs. She loved him. Her drying tears mingled with her sweat. And she cast away her infinite power over him as she knelt down. She had to prop herself on his thighs, and his hands reached out for hers without him knowing it. And when he knew it, it was too late.

Laughter upstairs. Steps on the stairs, voices. His reluctant wistfulness touched her, and she only wanted to give him a good time. He was so beautiful, so beautiful. She looked up and saw his contorted face, his teeth biting into his lower lip, his nostrils like bottomless dungeons of passion. Ashamed for having seen him so, she wiped her chin and leaned her head on his knee. His hand in hers was trembling, or was it she who trembled?

He swallowed and wanted to cry. To hit her, for making him defenceless. But her cheekbone, hard against his knee, was just as defenceless. He stroked her hair, smooth, dark, and leaned forward, taking her face in his hands. His huge eyes pierced hers, he was so close to her, nothing but a pair of eyes. She heard the mingle of their breaths, warm, urging, rasping. She felt scared of the ultimate will she saw in his eyes, the unstoppable human will. But she felt strong enough to face him.

He somehow slipped on the floor, his sneakers hurting her ankle. He heard her hiss, and he drew her face to his. Her lips were dry, salty, and surrendering. He could not have uttered a word, even if he had wanted to. He wanted to fuck her, in that very moment, and he cared about nothing else. He pushed her onto the floor, and watched her face, a personification of lust and desire. He dragged the tight blouse off her, messing up her already messy hair. The two soft moulds of her breasts welcomed his face, the bra thrown away somewhere. She covered her face with her hands, she was strong enough no more. He kissed a nipple, took it into his mouth, and held it there till it hardened. Oh my god what am I doing. Who is this girl what am I doing. He pulled up her skirt. Her legs, helpless, encircled his waist. He slided into her, and felt her body freeze. He gently pulled away her hands from her face, and looked at her. Tears were streaming on her burning cheeks, and her eyes were two pools of shame, pain, and love. He felt the power in him, and felt her defenceless, and her choice to be so, and he moaned his gratitude into her open mouth.

She let him move in her, she felt so empty, and so happy in her emptiness. He was light years away, his eyes were those of a stranger’s, but he was tender and careful. She offered her body, the soft cradle for his youthful desire. Her eyes spoke, don’t mind me darling don’t mind me I’ll be okay, I just want you to feel good.

They were sitting on the floor, side by side, tired, feeling satisfied and special. He was holding her hand, feeling her moist skin with his own fingers. Her shoulder felt like an inexorable support, yet if he had known that she felt the same, he would have run away, far from the responsibility. As it was, he was only wondering what to do next. He remembered his class, which had started half an hour earlier.

I don’t want you to feel obliged to me or compelled to do anything, she said.

He looked at her sideways, she was staring at her feet. She wanted to look at him and face him, but she couldn’t. She knew the end came, and she wanted to get it over with. She let go of his hand, his tender hand, almost shook it off her own. Reluctantly. Squeezing her teeth together, praying for strength.

So that was it? he asked.

Her left eye started crying, she ordered her right one to be strong, and it did. He didn’t notice.

Well, what do you think?

I don’t know. We’re strangers, he said.

Yes, and we will stay so.

In the hurting silence he heard her swallow, but he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to get away, far from her influence. He wanted his power back.

I will not go after you, rest assured. It was lovely, but this is the end. You wouldn’t want any sequel anyway, and me neither.

He stood up indifferently, with his pride and dignity shattered. But he won’t show her, never.

I have a class, I gotta go.

Go then, she said.

She refused to hear the door close behind him. Her mind started to speak out loud, reminding her of all her tasks, or of anything, or anyone. Words welled up to shut out the hurting which came when he left. It took his place implacably. She wanted to cry, and tears came, not helpful this time, only stinging drops of shame and sorrow. She wanted to be alone, but feared doing so. She closed the VCR and the video room, and left the echo of delight and sweet sense of possession behind.

How much time had passed? She knew exactly, by the minute, but felt it longer. It felt like a year. When it was only a week. Seven days, one long effort to forget and try to accept it as one of her daydreams, never to come true. But she knew it had happened, and trying to forget was harder than accepting the non-existence of something.

Library. Again. She drove herself to go in. She needed nothing, only his caress. She prayed he would not be there, lest she would make herself ridiculous. She walked by the rows, and she saw him, with his back toward her. Sitting and reading, back arched, head buried in the book, beautiful wrist arched too, fingers encircling the side of the book. She stood there, mute, frozen, feeling her whole being tremble. Watched the small movements of his body, and her mind flashed the images stored away before her eyes. She blushed and walked on, just when he turned to look at her.

He only saw her back, and her bowed head. His heart jumped, despite himself. Why did she walk past me. Why did she come anyway. Why didn’t she come to me instead of neglecting me. He turned back to his book. Read a few lines, before he realized he didn’t see the words. He looked up, trying to locate his feelings. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to feel, happiness for seeing her, anger for having surrendered to her will, or desire to go after her and face her.

She sat down, and began counting. Slowly, concentrating on every number. Cursing herself for having come. Cursing him for being there. Cursing God for making things so complicated. I don’t need him, I don’t. I will get up and walk right out, I won’t even look at him. I won’t. He is young, shorter than me, very very young, and the sooner I kick him out of my dreams, the better.

I should just go and leave the whole thing. Fuck. She didn’t wanna see me, I won’t wanna see her. Useless to imagine too much into things. He was leafing the pages of the book, and seeing nothing. Listening for the sound of steps, for something, for advice to fall from somewhere. But he only heard indifferent noises, things which did not trouble his being the way she had done. He was weak, and he could do nothing but admit it.

She stood up, her legs moving automatically, her body a machine, a cage the bars of which her emotions wanted desperately to break. Her heart beat fast, deafening, she wanted to be outside, she knew he was sitting in the next row, saw the elbow of his checkered shirt, his whole arm, his legs, his handsome face, his eyes looking at her. She couldn’t avoid his glance, her own stare was fixed on him, but the warmth of her tears made a blur out of his face. She wanted to go past him, but his hand reached out and gripped hers, and she knew she was lost. He stood up, and pulled her to the back of the library, behind the last row. Someone was looking for a book, but looking up and seeing their eyes, left instantly.

She had to sit down onto the wooden bars above the heater, her legs let her down, and she felt exhausted. She was crying helplessly, hiding her shame behind her palms.

I am sorry, it’s all my fault, she pushed out the words.

It took the two of us, right? he said, standing in front of her. He was glad she was crying. He had more power, it was all that mattered.

She wiped her cheeks, and he saw the lashes loaded with uncried tears. Her fingers were trembling, beautiful flowers, her lap the meadow of safety and delight, and he felt the power he had possessed a fraction of an instant earlier flee from him unhindered.

She looked up, and what she saw in his eyes made her lose control. And because she lost all control, and she didn’t mind anymore, she could finally give way to her emotions without any restrictions. Her smile lit up his hesitant heart, and he felt no doubts any longer. He smiled back, and that was too much, she couldn’t bear it, she didn’t deserve that beauty, nor that happiness, she knew. She had to put her arms around him to hide away from his smile, it was only then that she could breathe again.

He held her tight against his chest, he wanted to crush her, to kill her for what she had done to him. But something else was nestling inside him, something infinitely more sweeter and warmer, and he knew he owed it to her. So he held her, gratefully, gently, like a china rose, which enveloped him with its perfume. Her petal-fingers moved tenderly on his back, her velvety blush caressed his cheek, and he wanted to get away no more…