Unsystematic (3)

A leech

She found the door of the factory open, and there was almost silence inside; she could only hear some voices. Battle’s over? Her curiosity spiked as to who had won; either way, it would be interesting, although she would’ve enjoyed actually joining the fight. Cautiously, she went in and sniffed the air. The thick, heavy smell of human blood assaulted her like a big warning sign, attracting her. There were many casualties, it seemed. It also seemed the vampires had won.

“Who’re you?” someone asked - a very tall and muscular vampire, who didn’t wait for an answer before seizing her. “Master, we have an intruder!”

Again, someone was mentioning that Master guy, but now she was going to meet him. The vampire all but carried her to the factory’s main wing, where she saw lots of dead bodies and a large group of vampires forming a half-circle around two figures. The first one was strewn across the floor; the second was skinny and stood tall: it was a bald, horrendous vampire, pointy-eared and rodent-faced. This must be the Master... the Master of rats, she noted, allowing the strong vampire to push her inside the semicircle and down to her knees.

Now she could clearly see the body on the floor: it was just a dead girl, her blonde hair tied up in a single long pigtail. There was a weird angle to her neck, and she understood that the cause of her death had been just that - a broken neck. Then, she looked up at the Master, trying not to smile.

“What have we got here?” the Master asked. His voice was strangely subtle, not the kind of thing one would expect to come out from such a mouth.

“It’s just a leech, Master,” the vampire said. “I caught her entering the factory.”

A leech? Hey! She felt the urge to attack the vampire, but just bit her lower lip. Easy there, if you want some information. Don’t get Ol’ Splinter mad. Early in her human life she had learned about the advantages of silence, the way you could learn more about people if you shut your mouth and used your eyes and ears instead. You could register their reactions, and then adapt your actions consequently, so that they wouldn’t get mad...

“Did you smell the bodies, the blood?” the Master asked her, sniffing his own right hand. “You didn’t come to fight, you did nothing for me. So ‘nothing will come of nothing’*,” his voice had risen a little. “Somebody, kill her. I’m not in the mood.”

“I didn’t come to eat,” she said, hurriedly, before anyone could volunteer, keeping the humble pose.

“Why did you come, then? Who are you?”

“My name is Tara. I am looking for a vampire who I believe is your subject,” she dared to look up to the faces surrounding her. None was familiar. “I’m looking for the vampire who sired me just tonight.”

“Who did that, tonight of all nights?” the Master cried, pointing at Tara, indeed treating her as a thing.

No one stepped forward, and Tara frowned. Where is she?

“Her name is Willow,” she said causing an immediate response of groans and head-shakes around her. Particularly the Master seemed affected by this - albeit very theatrically: resting his forehead on one of his claw-like hands.

“Willow, you say?” he asked, looking as if he was about to recite the “to be or not to be”** speech.

“Yes. All I know is that she has red hair...”

“Stop! I know who she is!” he howled, pitifully.

“Where is she, then?”

The Master glared at her for a minute, and then the tiniest smile appeared in his overturned lips. Without detaching his eyes from Tara, he lifted a long, bony finger and pointed languidly to his left. The other vampires moved to the sides, parting like the Red Sea and forming a narrow corridor. Tara stood up and followed it, seeing that it ended before a very damaged cage made out of wooden planks. There, on the ground, under a broken piece of wood, was a small pile of ashes.

I can’t believe it. She’s dead? Tara knelt before the ashes and sifted through them with her fingers.

“They were my favorites, Xander and Willow,” she heard the Master say. “At least Xander was killed by the Slayer. But how could Willow perish in the hands of some miserable humans? I’ll tell you how. She went out, saw you and transformed you, losing some of her blood and getting a little weaker. If she hadn’t transformed you, she’d be alive now.”

Tara closed her right hand into a fist and went back to the Master, sticking her hands inside the pockets of her leather pants. She had listened to his words but, at the same time, her mind was racing with other thoughts. She didn’t know why, but this situation felt wrong. It was as if Willow shouldn’t have died. It sounded strange, sentimental and all-too human, but she couldn’t shake the feeling away: they should have met. However, the truth was, as the Master had said, that if Willow hadn’t transformed her, the redhead would probably be alive - or at least she would’ve had the golden chance of facing the Slayer.

Talking about the Slayer... Tara glanced at the dead blonde and tapped the body with the tip of her boot. “Is this the Slayer?”

“Yes,” the Master said, indifferently.

“I would’ve liked to have a go at her,” she grinned and crouched beside the body. The Slayer wore tough, worn-out clothes and had a thin, slanted scar crossing both her lips. “Rough little bitch, wasn’t she?”

“Not particularly...” the Master said. “I wonder why Willow chose you. Attraction played an important part, no doubt. But to make you a vampire... she hadn’t done that before.”

She kept quiet, secretly thinking about the strange, illogical link that she felt existed between them. Attraction. Yes, somehow, it was a concept she could ascribe to them. The remembrance of Willow’s a-little-too-wide smile assaulted her. No one could know how she craved to see it again.

But what did it matter now? There could be no mystery to solve if Willow was dead.

Willow was dead. A little pile of ashes. Tara hitched her thumbs in her pockets and followed the cadre out of the factory. No one had welcomed her and no one had expelled her either, so she guessed she could go with them, but not with them.

* King Lear, William Shakespeare

** Hamlet, William Shakespeare

Gather ye rosebuds

('Gather ye rosebuts while ye may', John William Waterhouse)

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

(Robert Herrick)

Unsystematic (2)

2. Treading ashes

It clearly didn’t mind if she was tired or not, for it kept pulling at her, tugging insistently, demandingly, and, more than anything else, uncaringly. She was lying on the bed, knees bunched up against her breast and arms tucked in between, waiting for sleep. In a way, it was a protective pose, a “guarding-my-own-heart” kind of thing; even if she knew it was all quite useless, for her heart had already suffered its share.

It didn’t care about that either… because it wasn’t rational at all. It was a force, a pulling and pushing force and one couldn’t argue against it. One could either follow its urges or refrain from doing it, and both had ugly consequences. Now she was discovering the consequences of the latter, which chose pain as a way of expression.

Pain was a funny thing. One usually feared pain, but it had become a kind of companion to her lately. It’s not the only thing I have, she chastised herself; there was no need to be that auto-compassionate. But pain was one thing that made her feel. If it hurts, I’m still alive, she told herself constantly, like a scratched record. It wasn’t the only thing that made her feel, though, but it was the only one she deserved. So she held on to it.

It was demanding again, like a hungry, big mouth. “Let me out”, it would say, even if it possessed no voice - what it wanted was to speak through her, but she wasn’t going to give up her voice again. Never again she would surrender her will, her feelings… her hands. Those hands were still drenched in blood - metaphorically speaking, but that was just as bad. As bad as it could get in karmic terms, wasn’t it? She had done enough already; she had hurt everyone she loved, everyone that loved her.

But who did they love? Geeky, inadequate, spazzy Willow? Xander loved her no matter what, no matter how scary, dark or veiny she got, meaning that under all that “makeup” there was still lots of geeky Willow to be found. Was that what it meant? After all that time, after all she’d done to herself and others… she was still that Willow. There were no disguises left for her to use. She was Willow, just Willow, sleeping in Buffy’s bed, like a coward child snuggling in Mommy’s bed. Still, to be Willow, “just Willow”… she didn’t know the meaning of that, and couldn’t figure it out either.

She was this body in pain, all huddled up and confused. She tried to be just that, her body, only her body, because what confused her was her mind. However, it wanted everything, the whole package: her body and mind, all her cells and every one of the hairs on her head. It wanted Willow whole, to make a vessel out of her and be free again. But that’s not what I am. That’s just making a dark, scary thing out of me.

Oh yeah, she’d thought about it a lot, and she would never surrender again. They were old friends alright. It was not just the power, but the power: pure, dark, overwhelming. She knew how it lured, how it promised and even how it tasted. They say alcohol lubricates the brain, but that was nothing - nothing compared to what that kind of power did.

Finally, she was allowed a break, and fell asleep.

“This is so unsystematic,” Willow said, shaking her head and clucking her tongue dismissively.

“What does that mean?” Buffy asked, placing a hand on her shoulder to make her crouch lower.

“You know, when systems go ‘poof’,” Willow drew little semi-circles with her hands to explain the metaphorical explosion.

“I don’t know what that means either.”

“It means that there’s no order, that this is messy,” Willow answered, tiredly. Not only were they stealthily moving on all fours, getting their hands and knees all muddy so that the demon wouldn’t spot them, but Buffy was being a dummy language-wise - and a stubborn dummy at that.

They continued dragging themselves along the sloppy ground for a while, and all Willow could think about was the wrongness of the whole situation. Why had the cemetery turned into a pit of mud? Where were all the tombstones?

“Plus there’s a serious lack of grass here,” Willow grumbled. “There should be grass.”

“What does the demon look like?” Buffy squinted and scanned their surroundings. “Is it ugly?”

“God, no! Buffy, how can you say that? It’s beautiful, and I wish you wouldn’t hunt her with that.” She pointed at an enormous sword that had appeared out of nowhere in Buffy’s ready hand.

The Slayer jumped to a standing position and grabbed the sword with both hands - much like a baseball bat- and tensed her arms, ready for action. “I’m sorry, Will,” she said, “but this is what I do. If I see it, I’ll have to kill it.”

Willow scrambled to her feet as fast as she could and laid a hand on Buffy’s arm. “But she didn’t hurt me or anything, why do you have to kill her?”

“Because the means always justify the ends. And how did we go from ‘it’ to ‘she’, Will?”

“Because she’s a girl-demon. And shouldn’t it be ‘because the ends always justify the means’?”

“You’re still not seeing the big picture. You got to step back a little,” she began pushing Willow. “Go on, step back.”

Willow stumbled several steps backwards until her feet settled. She shook her head and saw that she had been inserted inside a radically different scenery, and Buffy had vanished. It was a dark room, a crypt, full of dust - no, not dust...

Ashes. She was ankle-deep in ashes.

How could this be the big picture?

“Could you clean up this room?” a voice asked, filling up the whole crypt. She knew the voice, however, at the same time, it was different.

“Well, it’s not my job,” Willow answered, glancing down at the dark-grey, floaty piles.

“I’m not talking about jobs. I’m talking about duty,” the voice said. “Will you? When the time comes, will you clean up the ashes?”

Willow blinked her eyes several times and then kept them open. Taking into account the strangeness of the dream, she wasn’t sure of where she would wake up. Not that her dreams would ever enter the normalcy scale, but this one seemed like it could fit in quite nicely along with Buffy’s dreams. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t prophetic, but what about symbolic? What could it mean?

Her alarm-clock started blaring in its accustomed skull-drilling way, interrupting her musings, pushing her into real life, and she blindly searched for it and turned it off. As every morning, she didn’t feel like opening her eyes. It was so much better to keep them closed so that she could pretend. There were so many things to relive in a different way...

Unsystematic (1)

1. New eyes

She opened her eyes into a bluish darkness, with a soft, silky sensation covering her skin from head to toe. Nice, she thought, moving her head slightly, so that the refreshing softness would spread through all her face. It was like a thin fabric of some kind, and she moved her hand against it. Oh, right, she thought, remembering the sensation of being followed, the figure that appeared out of nowhere, growling, seizing her, opening her mouth against her neck…

Her hand pushed on the fabric, grasping it and dragging it over her head. The cold light of the neon tubes greeted her and made her close her eyes for a moment. So… this must be the morgue. She grinned and jumped down from the metal bed, not bothering to look down at herself - she already knew that she was naked. It was funny; one minute she was all terrified, struggling to free herself from the strongest fingers, and the next, she had those strong fingers. And she just knew it, which made her grin harder.

The door of the room opened and a man came in, wearing a bright green shirt and pants. He closed the door absentmindedly and paced towards another body. Suddenly, the man looked up, sensing her presence, and locked his surprised eyes with her eager ones. She walked up to him, all the while smiling, and raised a finger to his chin, closing his mouth.

“You know, Doctor, I won’t be needing that autopsy anymore,” she said, laying a hand over her own stomach. “I know exactly what’s wrong.”

“W-w-w…”

“Aw, look at you. You’re stuttering, you poor thing,” she brought her hands to his shoulders, almost hugging him. “Don’t worry; I know how to make it better. You’re going to love the silence.”

She tightened her grip on the man, clenching his arms to his sides to immobilize him. Her brand new instinct was teaching her what to do and how to do it; she was her instinct, and it was very, very hungry. Her instinct even had a face of its own, and it appeared with the excitement, with the smell of blood. She slid the tip of her tongue over her engorged fangs, half-closed her eyes and then dove into the man’s neck, the pointed weapons digging deeply into his skin.

Barely half an hour later, she was already exploring the town with her new eyes - or rather, with her new vision. Sunnydale late at night looked like a completely different place. Devoid of sunlight and its warmth, its kind inhabitants and the colorful variety of college students were almost invisible. Most of them, it seemed, were locked up safely in their cozy rooms and homes, but the very few careless ones that couldn’t be bothered by Sunnydale’s alarmingly high mortality rate shone through the darkness like fireflies.

Other creatures crossed her eye as well, of course, sometimes only during half a second, then disappearing - creatures like herself, who had surpassed the level of humanity. Where could she be, the one which had transformed her? She was curious about her. Why transform her, why not drink every drop of her blood? What had made the vampire decide?

She recalled what she had seen of the vampire’s appearance: two curtains of crimson hair framing a beautiful, white-skinned face. And that smile… an obscene, playful smile and lips as red as blood. Back then, she’d been terrified but now that she was no longer the helpless little girl, she was beginning to feel an interest towards the thing that had attacked her. And what an attractive thing it was. Starting with the fact that she had annihilated the vestal inside her so that her real craving could surface freely, she had many things to thank the vampire for.

I’m eager to thank you. She licked her lips and observed Sunnydale’s main street from the roof of one of the buildings: buzzing with activity during the daytime, and now silent as a grave. Funny. What do vampires eat around here? She knew the rules by heart; after all, not very long ago she’d been just another sheep in the herd. The main one was: never come out at night. There were others, of course, like obeying the curfew; or the one that counseled to never wear bright colors, taken right from the statistics: the majority of people that had died were wearing something colorful.

Her first act as a vampire, apart from killing the man in the morgue, had been stealing some new clothes, so that she could be the color of shadows. She’d actually found her old clothes in the morgue, the ones she’d been wearing when she’d been attacked, but she couldn’t even look at them now. If I wanted to cover myself, I’d wear a poncho, she thought, caressing her newly acquired leather pants.

“But who’d want to cover this body?” she asked out loud, stretching the anxious muscles of her arms.

Suddenly, she saw some movement down on the street. It looked like a man, and he was running. Smiling, and not really caring if she was stealing someone’s prey, she jumped down from the building and landed on her feet, just before the man, which was only a kid.

“Hi,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and enjoying his startled face. “I was wondering if you could help me… Could you tell me where does this friggin’ town hide all the girls?”

“Leave me alone!” the kid cried, snarling at her, his voice distorted. When he looked up at her, his face had changed.

“Aw, you’re a vampire,” she said half-heartedly, but without releasing him, proud of the fact that she was the stronger one of the two.

“I said leave me alone! Let go of me! Who are you? Don’t you know what’s going on?”

“No, I don’t. I was made just a while ago.”

“Tonight? That’s one sick sire… Who made you?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you could help me,” she smiled dangerously and yanked the vampire’s arm, pinning him to the wall. “She had shoulder-length red hair and very white skin. Do you know her?”

“That must be Willow; one of the Master’s favorites.”

Willow. The name echoed inside her head. Funny she’d only felt that sensation while reading the words to a spell; long ago, with her mother… But this was someone’s name. Funny.

“Who’s the Master?” she asked, “and what happens tonight?”

The vampire made a face of disgust. He didn’t want to explain.

“Tell me, where is Willow? And you better make it twenty words or less, or I’ll pull your repulsive head off,” she said, always politely.

“She’s with the rest, in the factory,” he said, hurriedly. “But the Slayer’s there, fighting all of them.”

“And you ran away like a weasel,” she brought a hand to his hair and pulled, exposing his neck. “What’s your name, little weasel?”

“Jim,” he said, through clenched fangs.

“You know, Jim, now you’re going to be a good boy and you’re going to tell me the exact location of this factory. And when you finish telling me, there’s another question I need some help with,” she felt her face change, and saw her terrifying reflection on the vampire’s shifty eyes. “What does vampire blood taste like?”

Sirens & Mermaids

('Ulysses and the Sirens', John William Waterhouse)

Sirens, like harpies (winged death-spirits), were part woman, part bird. In early Greek art they were mostly represented as having the body of a bird and a large woman head. Later, they became female figures with bird legs, with or without wings, playing a variety of musical instruments, especially harps.

In Greek mythology, they were two to five dangerous bird-women who lived on the three small islands of Sirenum Scopuli, a location surrounded by cliffs and rocks. Those who sailed near were compelled by the Sirens' enchanting music and voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast. This relates to the literary motif of harmful sensation, meaning the physical or mental damage that a person suffers merely by experiencing what should normally be a benign sensation. The term "siren song" refers to an appeal that is hard to resist but that, if heeded, will lead to a bad result.

In his journey, Jason encountered the Sirens, but he had been warned by Chiron (a centaur, healer, astrologer, and oracle) to bring along Orpheus (the best of poets and musicians). When Orpheus heard the Sirens' voices, he drew out his lyre and played his music more beautifully than they, drowning out their voices.

('Odysseus and the Sirens', Herbert James Draper)

Odysseus (or Ulysses) was also one to face the Sirens. On Circe's advice (a queen goddess, sometimes a nymph or a sorceress, who lived on the island of Aeaea), Odysseus had all his sailors plug their ears with beeswax, but he was curious as to what the Sirens sounded like, so he was tied to the mast. When he heard them, he ordered and begged his men to untie him, but they did not -as he would have plunged himself into the water and perished- and everyone survived.

('A mermaid', John William Waterhouse)

The English word for mermaid is a compound of "mere" -the Old English word for "sea"- and "maid". However, the fact that in some languages (Spanish, French, Italian, Polish, Romanian, Portuguese) it is very similar to the word "siren", creates confusion. In later folklore, Sirens have been represented as mermaids or naiad-like (water nymphs), contributing to the confusion.

Mermaids are mythological aquatic creatures, with a human torso and the lower half of an aquatic creature. Like Sirens, Mermaids would sing to people in an enchanting way, to distract them and cause them to leave the ship or crash it. They are also said to take humans down to their underwater kingdoms, forgetting that they cannot breathe underwater, or they drown them on purpose, out of spite. Various cultures throughout the world have similar figures.

('Fisherman and the siren', Knut Ekwall)

('The siren', John William Waterhouse)

Hylas & Nymphs

('Hylas and the nymphs', John William Waterhouse)

According to some sources, Hylas was the son of King Teiodamas of the Dryopians (a tribe of ancient Greece); others, like Ovid, state that his parents were Heracles (the greatest of Greek heroes) and the naiad (water nymph) Melite, and yet others say that his mother was the wife of Theiodamus, who had an adulterous affair with Heracles.

('A naiad', John William Waterhouse)

This last version explains why there was a war between Theiodamus and Heracles, which was won by the latter. Heracles taught his son how to be a warrior and took him on the Argo (ship built by Argus), which means that he was one of the Argonauts (the band of heroes who accompanied Jason). In the spring of Pegae, Hylas was kidnapped by a nymph some call Dryope, who fell in love with him and disappeared without a trace. Although Heracles looked for him for a long time, he could not find Hylas and had to set sail without him.

Alternatively, Hylas was Heracles's lover and left him for the nymphs; he was lured by them when he went to fetch some water for the evening meal (this is why he is sometimes represented carrying a pitcher in his hand). The truth is that nobody knows for sure what happens to those who are captured by nymphs, only that they are never seen again.

('The head of a nymph', Sophie Anderson)

Nymphs were mostly represented with a female form, naked or dressed in white, wearing garlands of flowers (which enhanced their natural origin). These spirits were known for their beauty, although sometimes they had unnatural legs, like those of a goat, donkey or cow. They could move swiftly and invisibly, ride through the air and slip through small holes. Although not immortal, they lived ten times longer than humans, and retained their beauty until death, never becoming old or shriveled. These entities inhabited unpopulated areas and were typically associated with a particular location or landform, but they have been encountered by lone travelers who heard their music and spied on their dancing or bathing. Encounters with nymphs were dangerous, as the human was struck by an infatuation which rendered him dumb or insane.

The ancient Greek belief in nymphs survived in many parts of the country into the early years of the twentieth century, usually known as "nereids". This belief is linked to animism, which is the philosophical, religious or spiritual idea that souls or spirits exist not only in humans and animals but also in plants, rocks, natural phenomena such as thunder, geographic features such as mountains or rivers, or other entities of the natural environment.

Due to the depiction of mythological nymphs as female creatures completely outside of male control, who mate with men or women at their own volition, the term is often applied to women who are perceived as behaving in a similar way. Thus, the term "Nymphomania" was created by modern psychology to describe a desire to engage in human sexual acts at a level high enough to be considered a disorder. The person suffering from it is called a "Nymphomaniac" (or "nympho"), and can refer both to men and women.

In literature, the word "nymphet" has been used to identify a sexually precocious girl, most famously in Vladimir Nabokov's novel Lolita. The name "Lolita" has since become a more popular substitute for this term.

Narcissus & Echo

('Echo and Narcissus', John William Waterhouse)

According to Ovid's Metamorphoses, Narcissus was a hero (a demigod) who lived in Thespiae. He was the son of the river-god Cephissus and the nymph (minor goddess of nature) Liriope. Narcissus was extremely good looking, and his mother, who was worried about the well-being of such a beautiful child, consulted the blind prophet named Tiresias regarding her son's future. Tiresias then told her that Narcissus would live a long life as long as he never knew himself, something Liriope didn't understand at the time. However, the prophecy eventually proved to be correct.

As a young man, the beautiful Narcissus was also very vain, and scorned every one of his suitors, as he found that nobody was beautiful enough for him. To rebuff one of his admirers, Ameinias, Narcissus gave him a sword, which Ameinias used to kill himself on Narcissus's very doorstep. However, before dying, Ameinias prayed to Nemesis (the spirit of divine retribution) that Narcissus would one day know the pain of unrequited love. The curse was fulfilled when Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water, seeing himself for the first time. In some accounts, realizing he couldn't act upon that love, he then took his own sword and killed himself; in others, he drowned trying to touch the image, or let himself die by staying by the pool, looking at himself.

('Echo', Alexandre Cabanel)

Ovid's tale, however, links Narcissus with Echo, a talkative or gossipy mountain nymph. When Zeus (the king of all the gods) visited Earth to court the beautiful nymphs, she would sometimes distract his wife Hera (goddess of women and marriage) with long, entertaining tales. Hera, who had become suspicious of her husband's activities, came down to Earth in an attempt to catch him in the act, and discovered Echo's mischief. To punish her, she took away Echo's voice, allowing her to repeat only the ending of what others said.

One day, in the woods, Echo saw the beautiful Narcissus and fell in love with him. She followed him, longing to address him, but she was unable to speak first due to Hera's curse. Finally, Narcissus noticed the sound of footsteps behind him and shouted "Who's there?". Echo, who could only answer back "Who's there?", finally showed herself and ran to embrace him. However, Narcissus pushed her away, as he did not find her beautiful enough to be with him, and told her to leave him alone.

Echo was so heartbroken that she spent the rest of her life moping in caves and gorges until only her voice remained.

Having heard Echo's prayer, the goddess Nemesis sent Narcissus his punishment: when he bent down to drink from a pool, he saw his reflection and fell in love with that beautiful boy.

An alternate take on Echo's story is that she was a great singer and dancer, and scorned the love of any man. Pan (a god of nature, shepherds, flocks, hunting and rustic music) was angered by this and instructed his followers to kill her. She was torn to pieces and spread all over the earth. Gaia (the goddess of the earth) received the pieces of Echo, whose voice remains repeating the last words of others. However, in some versions, Echo and Pan had two children, Iambe (a goddess of verse, particularly slightly vulgar humor, later transformed into a bird) and Iynx.

It is said that a flower grew where Narcissus died. A common English name for the flower is "daffodil", and is sometimes used for all the varieties. Likewise, the aural phenomenon has been named after the nymph Echo, since her story provided an explanation for it.

Pun intended, the two basic ways in which Narcissus died echo the death of his two admirers: Ameinias and Echo. In the first version, Narcissus stabbed himself with a sword, which is exactly how Ameinias died. In the second, the enamoured Narcissus wasted away by that pool of water, while Echo waned thinking about how she wasn't able to attain Narcissus's love until only her voice remained.

Encounters (6)

6. Nothing to talk about

Lena dropped her head over her folded arms and looked at the cell-phone that was strewn across the table, together with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and all of her doubts. It was the second night in a row that she’d declined Phil’s offer to “do something” because she just couldn’t concentrate on anything, and she didn’t want anybody to notice. She’d been staring at her phone for three days like a crazy person - not waiting for a call, but gathering the courage to make one.

Why, in the name of God, had she pronounced the words “I’ll call you”? Maybe being fucked against a wall had finally turned her brain into mush. Could be. She buried her face in the crook of her arm, hiding like an ostrich. Could it be that Yulia was so completely irresistible to her that she didn’t want to lose her, no matter how hard she tried? She’d found a small refuge in her studies, so that now she felt perfectly capable of facing any exam, but was terrified of having to come to terms with any aspect of her life.

If she didn’t see Phil any time soon, her father would surely want to have “a small chat” with her, and she didn’t want that. Even if it seemed the most difficult thing in the world, she needed to display an image of normality at all times, in front of everyone. Her parents and Phil weren’t worried yet, and her friends from college hadn’t noticed anything wrong with her either. But for how long?

Persevering with this “Yulia thing” was a mistake that would soon end in chaos, she was sure. Someone would see them, God forbid, or notice something weird and tell it to someone else… They moved inside a small world ruled by gossip, something like eighteenth-century France, and it would be a disaster - especially for her.

I won’t call her. And that’s that.

Lena remembered the torture of the weeks without Yulia, but her rationality was stronger, wasn’t it? Her mind had always conquered and served her well. Why was she seeing it now as an enemy? I want my mind back, Lena pleaded, raising her head and looking at the phone again. I want my will back. I don’t want to be dominated by this… body.

Her hand moved slowly to the side, and her fingers finally touched the cell-phone, bringing it towards her. You’re a traitor, she thought, mentally accusing the hand that flipped the phone open and looked for the cursed number she had listed under the name “Unknown”.

Don’t, please, just drop the damn phone.

But her hand continued to disobey her, and her thumb pressed the dialing key. Yulia’s phone rang only once before someone answered.

“Hello?” a voice said.

“Uh, Yulia?” Lena could’ve kicked herself. She was so nervous that she began rubbing her arm up and down with her free hand, so hard that it burned.

“Yes?”

Of course it was Yulia. But her voice sounded so small!

“This is Lena,” a pause. “Hi.” That was smooth.

“Hi,” Yulia’s voice wavered a little. “How you’re doing?”

“Fine, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m glad you called.”

“R-right,” Lena cursed her nervous stutter and swore that she would never do it again. “Do you want us to meet? Are you free tonight?”

“I will be. Where do you want me to go?”

“Oh. Um… You know, I was wondering… if you had a place.”

“Yeah, sure. Come to my flat if you want.”

“Do you live on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, give me the address.”

Lena jotted down the directions as absentmindedly as she could, or else her thoughts would restart the cycle of “what am I doing?”, “this is wrong”, etc. The short conversation with Yulia had been ridiculously practical and frugal, but it was all she could do to keep calm and still. Now she had Yulia’s address safely pocketed in her jeans and a cheap excuse for her parents on her lips. Whatever. She just wanted to get into the car already.

They had hung up after a simple “I’ll be right there”, “Okay, bye”, “Bye” because there was no need for more. She knew what her body was demanding, and it wasn’t a nice conversation over the phone.

Miraculously, her parents were too willing to believe that she and Phil were going out to a very nice party in a boat, full of responsible, rich people, to ask many questions. She was jumping up and down on the inside, but her outside appearance was controlled as ever… at least until she drove round the corner. Then, the real Lena came out. She dug out the small square of paper where she’d written Yulia’s address and vroomed towards her goal, past streets of houses that meant nothing to her.

She got to Yulia’s street finally, which was somewhat familiar to her. It was a bohemian sort of neighborhood, where real artists mixed with really bad, fake ones. It didn’t matter. Lena had attended a concert of a solo singer in a café once, when her college friends had forced her to do “something different”, which looked suspiciously similar to: “let’s go and smoke some pot in public”.

Yulia’s building was a yellow, four-story block with both square and round windows. Artists, Lena huffed, and then wondered if Yulia could be one of those losers who thought they were Kurt Cobain only because they owned a guitar. Of course not. Yulia’s not like that. How was Yulia, though? She had no idea. Maybe she played jazz. Something stylish like that. Or perhaps she was a painter. That suits her too. One of those abstract painters. Or maybe she paints naked women.

Lena stopped her finger in midair. What if she wants to paint me, like that scene in ‘Titanic’? She shook her head and jammed her index finger on the buzzer.

“I’m nuts,” she said out loud, genuinely surprised and concerned about herself.

There was a laugh coming from the other side of the intercom, and Lena froze.

“It’s good to know you’re nuts. Thanks for the advice,” Yulia’s voice said. “But I really don’t mind. Get up here, will you? Third floor.”

The buzzer emitted its disagreeable sound once more and Lena pushed the door open. Luckily, the building had no elevator, so when she got to the third floor the deep-red, hot blush on her cheeks had faded. She found Yulia leaning on the doorframe with a silly smile on her lips, but it was hard not to smile back.

“Hi, nutcase,” Yulia said, still grinning. “Wanna come in?”

Lena rolled her eyes and nodded. She could feel her steel grin turning into an open smile, and it amazed her that she wasn’t angry, not even at herself. Yulia motioned for her to enter the apartment, and Lena couldn’t help noticing that even if the brunette was just wearing a simple pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, she looked great. Her eyes roamed lower still, discovering that the girl was barefoot, and, for some reason, she liked that even more.

Okay, stop that. She’s going to notice. Concentrate on the damn apartment. She detached her eyes from the brunette and scanned her surroundings. The apartment seemed to be one open space with two square windows and a wooden floor. There was little furniture apart from a yellowish sofa, a coffee table and a proper table with four chairs. No TV? No books, movies or CDs? Was this place really Yulia’s flat?

She turned towards Yulia with a frown, but the smiling brunette just stuck her hands inside her pockets.

“This is really Spartan, you know.” Lena said.

“That’s right.”

“No guitar? No canvases?”

“What?”

Now Yulia looked confused. Great, thought the redhead. She was acting like an idiot and couldn’t do a thing about it! Someone help me. She rubbed her forehead frustratingly.

“I kind of thought you were some kind of artist, since you live in this neighborhood.”

“Oh,” Yulia smiled widely now. “So you know the ‘hood. I’m not exactly an artist. I’m a designer.”

“What kind of a designer?”

“A fashion designer,” she answered, somewhat timidly.

“Really?”

“Really.” Yulia said, looking down at her wriggling toes.

“That’s great.” Lena was in awe, perhaps more than she should. She was suddenly so excited that Yulia had this amazingly cool job.

“It’s not a big deal… So, if you’re asking where all my stuff is… you’ll find it in my studio. It’s on the colorful building at the end of the street. I spend more time over there than here. Studio’s anything but glamorous, don’t get strange ideas,” she hurried to add.

“I’m not. This is a very nice place.”

“Yeah, well… Would you like to sit down?”

The brunette pointed to the mustard-color sofa and Lena sat, still feeling a little ridiculous. She wasn’t prepared for talking, and was glancing at anything except at little, distracting Yulia.

“Can I offer you a drink? Beer? Vodka?”

“Vodka, please.”

She only dared to look when the brunette had turned around and was walking to the kitchen space. A drink would surely settle her, yes, and make her confident all over again. How could Yulia exert such a great influence over her? Anything that Yulia did affected her in a way in which only an earthquake would’ve distressed her before. But who could remember what her life was like before this… this strange obsession?

Yulia walked back, carrying two big glasses, and sat down on the sofa, beside her. “Here.”

Lena muttered her thanks and drank deeply from the glass, as if it was her own, special medicine. Unsurprisingly, it started working inside her at once, detaching her a little from what she was doing. She watched as Yulia lit two cigarettes and offered her one, and then stretched her legs on the sofa, which the brunette seemed glad to receive over her own.

“That’s it,” Yulia said. “Relax.”

“Why do you want me relaxed for?” Lena asked, grinning smartly and finishing off the drink.

“We need to have a little talk, don’t you think?”

The brunette set both their glasses on the coffee table and slowly dropped her hands on Lena’s legs, as if she was afraid of touching her. Who wanted to talk? And why was Yulia afraid of touching her? Maybe because you’ve shunned her a billion times, she answered herself, and suddenly felt a little guilty. But just a little. Another drink and she wouldn’t feel it at all. However, Yulia wanted to talk.

“Do you think it’s really necessary?” she asked, sitting up and placing her hand over Yulia’s, increasing the brunette’s contact on her legs.

“Yes,” Yulia said, looking vulnerable. “I… I don’t know what’s really happening here.”

“What’s happening?” Lena echoed, tilting her head to the side. “I don’t understand. Nothing is happening.”

Nothing. Except that she moved closer to the brunette and, very slowly, sat on top of her legs, straddling her. It was nothing if no one knew, if no one could talk about it - not even them. If no one said a word. See? Lena thought, silently leaning into the other girl and feeling Yulia’s lips press against the side of her neck and Yulia’s hands reach under her t-shirt, looking for more skin.

Lena closed her eyes and threw her head back, allowing Yulia’s warm research. There’s nothing here, nothing to see, so there is nothing to talk about. With that final thought, she felt satisfied for the moment, and rested her hands on the back of the sofa for support, while Yulia liberated her from barriers and frontiers of fabric and buttons.

Her mind emptied on the floor, following the path of her clothes, and she opened her eyes to the black hair that was tickling her chin. She couldn’t see the moving lips sucking hard on her nipples, but she felt it so vividly that it was like she was actually seeing it.

Like every time she was touched by Yulia, she felt lightning-like bolts striking her insides, which made her something of a living flame. It made her feel alive like nothing else, and she knew it was more than the aftermath of an orgasm. However, even if she knew it, she kept quiet. It was very important to keep quiet.

They had moved to the bedroom, which was behind a door Lena hadn’t noticed on her first scanning of the flat. The room was barely larger than the double bed it contained, so the walls and ceiling provided a sort of cocoon or an outer shell for them. However, Lena felt anything but protected. Under the sheet she was as naked as a newborn, and an equally naked Yulia was pressed against her - not snuggling or hugging her, just resting.

Resting was good, but she was beginning to feel her nakedness, and not only on the physical side. She was feeling alive all over again, even considerably joyful, but she could also feel the shadow of her vulnerability very clearly: as the shadow of a gigantic statue standing beside her. Lena didn’t want that vulnerability; she was actually beginning to feel the need of running away from there, from that immense statue and from the person that was making her feel that way. However, at the same time, she was afraid of moving a muscle, because she knew that would make Yulia react and say something. And she didn’t want to talk.

Feeling trapped, she finally stretched her arms and brought a hand to her forehead, pushing away a rebellious strand of hair. As she had presumed, Yulia reacted immediately, emitting a small groan and pushing herself up.

“Hi,” said the brunette, in a sleepy way.

“Hi,” Lena answered.

She moved towards the edge of the bed, slowly uncoiling her legs from the silky, white sheet, and suddenly felt Yulia’s hand on her arm, retaining her.

“What are you doing?” Yulia asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, dumbly.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” the tone was accusatory.

“Yes," she moved her arm, but Yulia didn’t let go. "I'm trying to."

“You’re not gonna leave like this. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. There is nothing to talk about.”

“You call this nothing?”

“Exactly.”

Lena brushed off Yulia’s hand and got up, desperately looking for her clothes. On the floor, she recalled, feeling ashamed. She padded across Yulia’s apartment completely naked as she was, and found the bundle of discarded clothes at the foot of the sofa, together with her dignity. As soon as she put her underwear and pants on, she felt much better.

The brunette appeared several seconds later, wearing her jeans and white t-shirt as if she’d just tossed them on - and she probably had, since her t-shirt was turned inside out. Her shoulder-length hair was badly tussled, and her eyes were enormous and looked like they were on fire. But by then, Lena was fully clothed and readier for what Yulia had to say, like a warrior who’d just added the final touch to his complete armor.

“You’re not leaving until we talk, do you hear me?”

“What are you going to do?” Lena asked, angrily. “Lock me inside?” She really didn’t know what to expect from the brunette.

“Not a bad idea, given your inclination to run away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

That seemed to tick Yulia off. “Ridiculous? You’re the one that’s being ridiculous. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Oh, really? Then prove it. Sit down, I’ll make some coffee and we can talk.”

“Why are you so obsessed with talking?”

“Why are you so damn obsessed with not talking?”

This was absurd. She had to get out of that flat and out of that neighborhood and get Yulia out of her sight. Rational thoughts were difficult to maintain in her presence. And all that talk about talking! Why can’t you leave me alone?

“What do you want to talk about? My favorite movies?”

“If you want to,” Yulia said, shrugging.

“Casablanca and Dangerous Liaisons.” she had raised her voice considerably. “Yours?”

“I don’t really have a favorite movie.”

“There. It was nice talking to you. Bye.”

Lena turned around and headed for the front door determined, sure of herself, full of the thrilling sensations that her body was still feeling. That’s it, enough of this stupid nonsense.

“Lena,” Yulia called out, in a strangely calm voice that was enough to make the redhead freeze in her steps.

“What?” she asked, her voice a lot gentler too.

“If that’s what you want, don’t ever phone me again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s what you want,” the brunette stated. “I don’t know what your fucking problem is, and you don’t wanna talk about it, so there’s nothing I can do. I don’t want that kind of trouble.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Right.” Yulia turned around and began walking towards her bedroom. “Close the door on the way out, please.”

With that, the dark-haired girl disappeared, and Lena was left alone in the ample living room, between two open doors. Without hesitation, she emitted an offended huff and left Yulia’s flat, remembering to give the door a dignified slam. However, when she was safely locked inside her car, she couldn’t manage to turn on the engine. Yulia’s unmistakable, hypnotizing smell was all over her, invading her, soaking on her clothes and even permeating the car.

She couldn’t get rid of it. And she didn’t want to. What the hell am I doing? “Don’t ever phone me again”, Yulia had told her. And what the hell have I done?

Encounters (5)

5. Smile like a stab

She ordered another drink and then walked to the most secluded spot that she could find on the terrace, zigzagging around colorful clusters of people, which were only a big blob to her, people that could be looking at her or not, talking about her or not. She was accustomed to all of it.

There was a bench there, half hidden by the droopy leaves of a palm tree, half engulfed by the other plants, and she suddenly liked it very much; she kind of felt like that bench, if such a thing could be possible. It was a fine place to watch the night go by.

She’d watched every night go by, faster or slower (depending on the quantity of alcohol units swallowed) since that night: the night she would never forget. Believe me, I’ve tried, she mentally assured anyone in particular. In fact, she had tried everything: both forgetting and not forgetting. Pain was like that; sometimes you wanted to walk away from it and sometimes all you wanted was to walk straight at it. And let it hit you, and hit you, and hit you, and then you wanna roll in the shit.

Trying to establish contact with Lena had proved impossible. Of course, the only common link between them was their boyfriends, who had been buddies in grade school, and reunited on the night she met Lena. She’d tried to make Alex arrange a double date (something that had surprised him very, very much, since she was the greatest antisocial), but he had always received a polite negative answer. Yulia finally let it sink in: Lena didn’t want to see her, so the sooner she got to the drinking part, the better.

One hour later -or perhaps several-, she had smoked all her cigarettes, and her drink had disappeared ages ago - she didn’t even know what she’d done with the tube-shaped glass. Yulia began weighing her chances of success if she went to find Alex and told him that she wanted to go home. He wouldn’t want to go, of course, but there was a chance that he would comply. She would have to agree (in their usual unspoken way) to have sex with him and make it worth it. It had happened many times before, and she didn’t mind it too much; in fact, she was drunk enough to say “whatever” and sell herself real cheap. But still… no, she wouldn’t go to him. She wouldn’t bear feeling any worse. Alex was good to her -better than some, she used to think to herself-, and certainly good to her business, but that didn’t add up to much in her book. Just a joke of a mock relationship… she didn’t need to feel any more of that.

What she did need quite badly, though, was a cigarette. She stood up and looked around, wondering who to ask, because she wasn’t going to face any of those bitches that hated her. A few meters to the left she saw a girl, standing alone: a smudge of dark-red hair and black shirt. Yulia approached her from behind and tapped her shoulder, praying that the girl was a smoker.

“Excuse me,” she said, in the most polite voice she could modulate in her state. “Do you have a cigarette?”

The girl turned around, and the first thing that Yulia saw were her hands, holding a glass and a cigarette. Good. Smoker, she thought, and then looked up at her face. Not good. But her body was paralyzed; only her mouth moved, to drop open. She couldn’t believe it, and still, they were only centimeters away.

“Yulia,” the girl said, keeping her big, green eyes wide open for a second.

“L-l-lena?” she muttered, feeling completely ridiculous.

Of course it was Lena. It had been… how long? No, she didn’t even want to think about the weeks. It had taken a constant and thorough therapy of booze to keep her eyes from scanning every single girl at every party (Alex was certainly beginning to wonder if she was an alcoholic), and another bunch of weeks before her hopes of bumping into the redhead died. But that wasn’t really forgetting, was it? It was just putting something away in a drawer you almost never open, knowing that it’s there, even if you may not see it at first glance.

And Yulia had ended up being what she was now: a shell, unable to be or feel anything. But of course, Lena didn’t know anything about her state.

The drawer had been opened violently, making the memories surround her, flying around like scattered sheets of paper, some of them sticking to her face.

“Well, it’s been…” Lena said, smiling a little and shaking her head.

“A long time,” Yulia finished for her, taking advantage of the pause, not really wanting dates and numbers… not really wanting Lena’s smile either, because each smile was like a stab. But what could she do about it, when she still couldn’t manage to move?

“Yes, a long time. So, how are you?” asked the redhead, with a casual tone.

“Oh, I’m fine, yeah… You know, nothing new. Nice party, isn’t it?” she barked a little laugh that made her feel like an idiot and probably look like an idiot too. I am an idiot. “How are you?”

“I’m good. This is the first free night I’ve had in… I don’t know, a month?”

“Really? Are you working? Or still studying?”

“How do you know that?”

There was genuine surprise in her voice, which in turn surprised Yulia very much, but how could Lena know that Yulia had asked Alex about her (as discreetly and apart in time as she could make it), even if he didn’t know much?

Yulia’s answer was a shrug. Her eyes were dancing everywhere: from her shoes, to Lena’s face, to her own busy hands, to Lena’s hand grasping the glass, to Lena’s lips sucking on the cigarette. She was driving herself crazy, but the small talk was doing worse, drilling her brain. It was killing her. I don’t want this. I want to run away and hide behind the bench. Or better behind the bushes.

“Well, I got my tests next week and then it’s over: I’ll be a psychologist,” Lena said, with mock pride, raising her glass and taking a sip. “But I really needed a break; hence me, plus drink, plus party.”

“Are you… uh, are you here with someone?”

The inevitable question. Lena’s eyebrows frowned for less than a second, but Yulia caught on it straight away. She felt ashamed of herself, and deeply afraid that Lena would end their frugal conversation any minute. Okay, the small talk could be killing her, but it was certainly better than nothing, much better than the previous months. She couldn’t get over how calm Lena was - icy as ever, but always polite, of course.

“Yes,” Lena answered, serious but natural, “of course.”

“Me too,” Yulia said, even if she hadn’t been asked, sounding anything but natural.

What was she trying to do, counteract her own anger? Of course she’s here with someone! What did you expect? “No, I’m all alone, please take me home, Yulia”? She looked away, fixing her crazed eyes on the leaves of a plant and tracing its fibres, but not really acknowledging what she was doing. Don’t ask what you’re thinking. Don’t ask if he’s a friend, or Phil, or someone she wants more than you. At the same time, she was afraid of the silence, since it would surely make Lena end the conversation.

“Here,” Lena said.

Her stomach did a flip-flop, as she wondered what was being offered to her, but Lena was only handing her the cigarette she’d asked for a few moments before, although it felt like a million years. Her heart increased its rhythm as the tips of their fingers brushed almost imperceptibly.

How utterly pathetic could she be, holding on to anything to keep that meeting going? But going where, when this was going nowhere?

“Have a light?” she asked, desperately.

“Sure.”

Lena handed her a lighter, and she lit up after no less than three attempts. You’re making a fool of yourself, Yulia.

I know, she answered herself. Why did she have to give me the lighter? She could’ve held the light for me, and then I would’ve touched her hand to direct the flame and she would’ve felt what I’m feeling. The fucking flame inside me.

What am I saying? God, I think I’ve lost my mind completely.

“Thanks,” she almost whispered meekly, not daring to lift her eyes and encounter Lena’s goodbye.

“You know, Yulia, I was wondering something. I know it’s been a very long time since we last saw each other, but…”

“Yes?” she dared to look up, wondering if seeing Lena’s face would actually offer her some clue of what was going on in her mind. However, as she knew very well, it hardly ever did. And so, whatever the redhead was going to say or do would be a surprise, like it always was.

“I was wondering… Do you want to get lost?”

“Get lost”? Yulia stood completely still, completely dumbstruck and unbelieving.

“Yes.”

No. It couldn’t be. She had to be daydreaming like many times before, when she relived every one of their words before reliving every one of their touches. Yulia dared to fix her eyes on Lena’s, wondering if it was all some cruel joke, but she only found corroboration in those greyish-green orbs. There was a sureness in Lena’s every move and word that disarmed her completely.

But she wasn’t anybody’s slave. After all, she was Yulia Volkova. That used to mean something. That means something, she asserted, closing up one fist. Enough with the weak and whiny.

“Well,” Yulia said, “what do you mean with that?”

“You know what I mean.” Lena was a little taken aback, and that meant being defensive. Yulia was indeed learning how to translate her.

“Just to be sure. Do you mean scurrying away guiltily and then scurrying back even more guiltily so that we can pretend it never happened?”

Part of Yulia couldn’t quite believe she’d just pronounced those words, but, truly, what did Lena know about her? Had Yulia given the impression of being a meek person? She admitted to herself that her recent behavior perhaps hadn’t done much in her favor, and that was why Lena looked somewhat surprised now.

“I see you’re not interested.” Lena said, beginning to turn around.

And this is my cue to stop her, Yulia thought, holding the cigarette between her lips like the bad guys in the movies. But I won’t. She watched Lena turn around completely and walk away casually as ever, as if she’d just asked someone for directions. No one would say she’s just asked me to have sex again. Of course not; Lena was a lady, wasn’t she?

Yulia puffed away a long, twisted string of smoke she’d been holding and half-closed her eyes. Yeah, what a lady. A lady that had touched her in the darkness like no one had touched her before. A woman, yes. Was that the fucking problem?

How could she be so damn fascinating and so fucking annoying at the same time? Yulia straightened her back and raised her head to try and see where Lena had gone. This is crazy. The moment she disappears you want to have her with you. You know you’ve been miserable for weeks and weeks. And the moment you have her, you push her away.

Fuck. Whatever. Yulia dropped her cigarette on the floor and stepped on it before following the direction that Lena had taken. Whenever she was in front of the redhead, strange things happened to her. Her emotions were like a graph full of ups and downs, and there was no controlling it. But she had wanted Lena badly during all those weeks - that was the common factor. She even wanted her now, just as badly.

Where the hell she’d gone? Yulia glanced around nervously - maybe too nervously, since she was beginning to get noticed by two groups of girls that were next to her. Overdressed for the occasion and very obviously wanting all the male attention they could get, the ten or so girls were okay with delaying their goal if it meant glaring and sneering at Yulia.

“Look, that’s Alex’s...”

“That’s Alex’s...? ... What is he doing with...?”

She could hear bits of their chattering, and was used to their hatred. Almost always it had to do with Alex, and more than once she’d wanted to go to them and say: “You know what, you’re right”. But she hadn’t. Was she using Alex? No doubt about it. Was Alex using her? Of course he was. Was Alex sleeping around with some of those bitches? She didn’t know and didn’t ask. Who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t sleep around when even straight-laced Lady Lena had done it?

Where could she be? Yulia glanced around a little more, got a nasty comment (“If you’re looking for the bar, it’s over there”) and its accompanying chorus of laughter, and finally headed to the restroom. She pressed her back against the open door to let three giggling girls out and then found herself alone in front of the mirror.

There was someone moving inside of one of the small booths. Yulia heard a sniff and then the toilet being flushed. Great, someone’s snorting coke, she thought, pretending to wash her hands so that the person coming out wouldn’t glare at her for knowing. Well, hello, you’re the one doing it in a public place!The door opened and she heard the person come out, but she didn’t look up. Nope, just washin’ my hands here... However, the person wasn’t moving, so she went to dry her hands, but couldn’t resist it any longer and finally raised her eyes.

It was Lena. Lena, still as a statue, staring right at her, her green eyes fixed on Yulia’s reflection. They were looking at each other’s reflection, but they were speaking the truth through her eyes. Suddenly, she felt naked, as if those eyes were capable of seeing under her clothes and even beyond. Who was this person? Was this the same Lena that had just turned around and left, as if Yulia was the thing she cared less for in the world? Questions, questions…

Yulia faced the redhead, shook her head to herself and walked straight towards her, not stopping, as if Lena was a wall she wanted to run against. But she wasn’t a wall. Lena was prepared to receive her immediately with lips and hands. The brunette just closed her eyes and pushed into Lena’s body with everything she had, and the other girl walked backwards until they were enclosed inside one of the little cabinets.

It was as natural as walking. She pushed until they found the wall, and then she was completely lost in all the things she had missed during those unending weeks. She wanted them all at once, and the same was happening to Lena, it seemed. They were grabbing at each other in a confusing tangle of hands and legs, and she desired it so much that it was driving her crazy. She groaned frustratingly and pulled up Lena’s already-short skirt while the redhead quickly unbuttoned her pants. Yulia dove into Lena’s mouth while their hands slid between each other’s legs, and smiled when she felt the girl biting her lower lip.

“Faster,” she mumbled into Lena’s mouth, detaching herself from it to kiss her neck. “I’m almost… there.”

The redhead was gasping now, and Yulia knew that she was almost there too, even if nothing more was coming out from her lips. She sped up the pace of her hand and felt an immediate reaction. Lena stiffened and pressed her face against Yulia’s neck, kissing and biting.

So fucking good. So… fucking… good. Those were the only thoughts that entered her mind during those moments, when she came as if a bolt of lightning had struck and shaken her body. She had the mind to push her mouth against Lena’s to muffle any sound, playing with her tongue. It was so delicious, so…

“Fucking great,” she gasped, resting her head against the wall and trying to recover her lost breath.

She glanced at the redhead through semi-closed eyelids and suddenly felt scared that she would run away once more.

“Lena?”

The redhead was gasping too, but placed a finger over her own lips to hush Yulia.

“Okay,” she whispered, praying that there was something more than silence.

“I’ll go out first,” Lena whispered, beginning to smooth down her skirt.

“Please,” Yulia said, blocking the exit and still breathing hurriedly. “We need to talk, don’t you think? Let me call you.”

There was an eternal pause. “I’ll call you. Here, write your number.”

Lena handed over her cell-phone, and Yulia typed in the numbers, although how she managed to remember them she didn’t know. With that, the redhead squeezed out between Yulia’s body and the doorway and disappeared, and the brunette was left on her own to button up her pants and think. She was expecting to wake up any minute because she couldn’t believe that the thing she had fantasized about for so long had actually happened. Again.

And she’s got my number. Yulia sat on the toilet and dropped her head backwards until she felt the cold, tiled wall. Lena would be searching for Phil or whoever she came with, pretending she wasn’t feeling well again or something, and he would be all kind like that last time. No, Yulia didn’t like it at all. It was eating her up. Was it…? Could it be jealousy?

Encounters (4)

4. Dirty water

Her skin had become a silk fabric floating loosely around her muscles and bones; at least that was the way it felt. Three nights had gone by since that night, and it was the morning after when her skin had started feeling strange: like something very delicate which could be easily hurt even by the softest of touches; like something ethereal and unreal. And that sensation could certainly be transferred to the rest of her body. In the sense that she’d been walking around, talking to people and doing the little everyday things she normally did, but nothing felt quite real to her. She thought of herself as a sleepwalker, noticing that it wasn’t the first time - too much, too often, she’d likened herself to one: numb, half-asleep, callous and sightless.

All because of some damn temporal rapture. She shook her head slowly and placed a new cigarette between her lips. Before her, on the table, was a mug of already-cold coffee and a smoky ashtray full of cigarette stubs. She had put her feet up on the chair so that her bent knees were almost under her chin, and that way she felt safer, more protected, like the cocoon shape she formed when she slept.

Three nights and she still felt the same. When would it start to fade? Come on, it’s time already!

It was early morning: the only moment in which she allowed herself to take time and really think. With her family still asleep, not even those unhappy servants around, she rose, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and made herself a mug of strong coffee (which usually went cold before giving a sip) and isolated herself even more by going out to the terrace to sit at the cold metal table. Less than two hours later everyone would be up, and the spell she’d created would be instantly shattered. So she had little time to reflect on herself, on what had happened and what she could do about it.

Nothing, she would conclude. Zero. Every day, she would live her life as always: the dutiful daughter, friend and student. As always, her father would ask her about Phil, and it wasn’t out of politeness. He meant the state of the relationship, and so she couldn’t get away with a simple “Very well, Father”. No, what he wanted was an account, a description. Her father was waiting for a marriage proposal like a salvation rain for his arid crops, and there was no question. Yes, she could be studying, but that wasn’t important: just something else to do with her time. A Psychology degree was worthless. What her parents wanted was to gain position all over again. Respectability. That was all she heard: “It is your responsibility”, her father would say, enclosing her shoulder in his hand. And that was that.

So every thought of Yulia was stored deep inside her, stuffed against the corners of her mind like wrinkled sheets of paper, and she only looked at them during those early mornings. Only then did she dare to relive the thick, dream-like quality of what had happened. Only then she admitted that alcohol had nothing to do with it; that she’d been drunk on a person, not a liquid; that such a thing was actually possible. That she had never felt anything barely comparable to it; that she’d been drawn to Yulia like a magnet; that she couldn’t forget the texture of those lips; that she still felt them between hers; that she was still wearing the taste of Yulia’s body on her tongue; that nothing could erode it - not even considering its wrongness.

She also used that special time as a kind of penance, since thinking about how she’d treated Yulia that night made her feel rotten inside. Lena couldn’t get over how hurt the girl had looked, especially because of her silence as an answer. But what Yulia didn’t know -and would never know- was how those silences were like a punch in the gut for her too. And then, Yulia had grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her to make eye-contact: the last straw; the last question. “Is that what you really want?” Yulia had asked. But Lena was her mother’s daughter. Without a give-away, without blinking or flinching, she answered a big “Yes”. And that was that.

There was nothing either of them could do about it; no way to indulge such desire, no way to make it right either. Something had happened that shouldn’t have happened. Ever. Everything had been a huge mistake.

But the pain was there anyway, wasn’t it?

There was a squeaky sound behind her that made her turn around, although not abruptly, since her mind was still drifting. There, on the terrace’s entrance, was her youngest sister rubbing her eyes: a miniature copy of herself in some kitten-splattered pajamas and pink socks (which had produced the squeaky sound against the terrace’s tiled floor). Lena smiled faintly; she wasn’t the least annoyed by the interruption; better her sisters than some angry, underpaid servant. Besides, her thoughts never took her anywhere. And the kid was too cute for words.

Acknowledging that the penance-time was over, she crushed the cigarette on the crowded ashtray, stood up and carried her sister inside. She left her at the living room, watching the first cartoons of the day, and marched off to the shower, which was like a daily baptism to erase any and every musing about Yulia. The action seemed fruitless, like washing up in dirty water.

Encounters (3)

3. Pleasure congealed

The morning sun, not a blaring alarm clock, was what woke her up. In fact, she hadn’t even set the alarm clock. She’d been too careless even to draw the blinds when she arrived home, late at night; too careless to put on her pajamas. She’d only removed her clothes and dived into bed, and now she could see that the clothes were scattered on the floor like a dead body, a very stylish carcass, but all she was able to do was scan her surroundings with an empty mind. Her brain was sort of in a vacuum, and it was a strange feeling that had nothing to do with the common hangover. Besides, I only had one drink… and I didn’t even finish it. It had to do with the fact of having something lurking in the back of her mind, and not wanting it to come forth - as if the vacuum-pause state could restrain it.

It couldn’t. Thinking about that lurking thing was enough to ruin the illusion. She covered her head with the pillow, but that didn’t prevent the avalanche from tumbling over her head – inside her head. It was as if she could still feel Lena on top of her, surprisingly brave in a deliciously delicate way. Yulia could swear that the girl was still touching her, that she had left permanent fingerprints, bites and kisses on her skin, and that she would always feel them. The surging, enveloping urge to touch, the consuming need to satisfy her desire - she was still feeling it.

She felt heavy, exhausted, but satiated. The things that Lena had done to her, how could she know exactly how to do them? At one point, she had moaned into Lena’s mouth (it had been more of a muffled scream) and, on another, she had to cover her own face with her hands. For some reason, the redhead hadn’t emitted more than a gasp, but Yulia knew that she had enjoyed it very much, as if she’d automatically acquired the ability of reading Lena’s body after the first touch.

When a door is opened, everything comes in: those things you want to remember and those things you don’t. I must’ve been out of my mind, she mused, letting out a small groan. The words “sex with a stranger” did not bother her at all, or the fact that she’d been unfaithful to her boyfriend. Those were the stupid concerns of a straight-laced society with nothing better to do than gossip and tell everyone how to live their lives. She was an outcast in such society.

The thing that was really making her think now (and prevented her from thinking the night before) was that she’d been so completely taken over, like a possession, of which the mind-blowing sexual encounter was only a natural outcome, because it had been much more.

Now what? She wondered, while sinking deeper in the soft sea of covers, remembering everything…

The redhead dressed slowly and silently, without looking at her. Yulia hunted for her clothes and dressed, while Lena tried to flatten her hair with her hands. Her instinct was to leave Lena alone, since the redhead seemed to be deep in thought, and wait for some kind of resolution - or at least some little remark of what had just happened. So she said nothing when Lena started the car; she didn’t even ask where they were heading to. However, she was unable to keep quiet when she saw that Lena was driving back to the party and parking the car in the exact same spot it had been before.

“What are you doing?” she blurted out.

“I’m taking a chance. Maybe they didn’t notice we left.” Lena was staring straight ahead, her hands resting on the wheel, still not looking at her.

Oh, Yulia thought, letting the reality of those words hit her in the face. After a couple of seconds, she reacted. “Is this your way of saying ‘Hey, let’s pretend nothing happened’?”

Lena shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Yulia opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say to the person she’d just had sex with, which confused her a great deal. She still felt tingly all over herself but, at the same time, she felt she was being wronged.

“But…” she muttered.

“Look, this has clearly been a mistake, so we better forget it ever happened and let us go on with our lives.”

“But you’re not even looking at me. Why? Does it embarrass you so much?”

A pause. “Let us be mature, okay?”

“How is forgetting what happened mature?”

“You go in first, look for your boyfriend. I’ll wait a couple of minutes here and then I’ll go find mine. Maybe they didn’t notice, maybe-”

“Fuck, Lena, you’re just… saying things! Are you even listening to me?”

Silence.

Lena’s voice had been completely steady, automatic, and not much louder than a whisper, like a recorded voice giving out instructions, and Yulia couldn’t stand it any longer. She grabbed the redhead by the shoulder and pulled her down, against the seat, forcing her to look her in the eye.

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes.” She answered, without blinking.

The brunette didn’t even nod. She opened the car’s door and hopped out, making for the party without looking up at anyone’s face. No one stopped her or said a thing to her, so she guessed that their escapade did go unnoticed. Yulia only raised her head when she found her boyfriend amongst the crowd. Inwardly, she fumed. Why the hell was she doing what Lena wanted? She was furious, swearing in her mind, but wouldn’t allow it to come out. Instead, she placed herself beside her boyfriend and allowed to be enveloped by one of his arms (which felt like wood, in comparison with what she’d just felt). She also directed a small, polite smile to her boyfriend’s companion, but the smile froze when she recognized him as Lena’s boyfriend.

“Yulia, this is Phil.” Alex said, gesturing towards the boy with his tube-shaped glass.

“Pleased to meet you,” Phil said, smiling honestly and shaking her hand.

But Yulia could only nod, with that stupid smile congealed on her lips, especially when she saw a very familiar red hair bobbing up and down, approaching them, sailing elegantly between the groups of people. Here we go. She watched the redhead touch Phil’s arm (Lights), watched him smile (Camera) and good-naturedly ask “Where you been? Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” Lena answered. “I’m sorry…”

And...

She waited three eternal seconds for Lena’s eyes to leave Phil’s face and focus on Alex.

…Action, Yulia thought, seeing a flash of recognition in those deep-green eyes. It lasted less than a second, though, and it was completely gone when Lena finally looked at her. That half-a-second had sufficed the redhead to prepare. To prepare the damn comedy, Yulia mused, incredulous and awed.

“Well, Alex, Yulia, this is my girlfriend Elena.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Alex, and shook her hand.

Yulia said nothing when it was her turn to shake Lena’s hand. The contact was brief, cold and unfamiliar, with sliding fingers, and Lena only delivered an even colder “Pleasure”. Sure, pleasure’s the word.

“You okay?” Phil asked Lena, stroking her shoulder and then her hair, while Yulia dug her eyes on those strange fingers, touching what she had just touched - owning what she had very briefly owned.

“No, I’m having a headache,” Lena said weakly, leaning into the boy. Yulia merely clenched her jaws.

“Oh? Do you want us to leave?”

“Yes, please,” Lena replied, even more weakly. “Please, take me home.”

And the Oscar goes to…

“Okay, I’ll drive. Will you excuse us?” Phil asked both Yulia and Alex, smiling like a polite boy.

“Of course,” Alex said. “See you another night, Elena. Hope you feel better.”

“Sure. Bye.”the redhead said, not looking at any of them.

Yeah. Headache.

Yulia felt a pang of pain as Lena turned around and disappeared into the crowd, as if darkness had swallowed her. She wanted to be swallowed too. Anything but staying there, nailed to the floor, feeling the rejection like a punch in the stomach and a vast emptiness.

The most confusing thing had been the quickness of it all; it had slipped between her fingers like sand, like Lena’s hair…

Encounters (2)

2. Party crashers

She entered the party with her cheeks almost as red as her hair. Her boyfriend had asked her a million times in a million ways if there was something wrong, and she had finally snapped at him with something rude. Of course, having nothing to do with his girlfriend’s humor changes, Phil had gotten angry and was now walking at a meter’s distance from her, with the words “screw you and your damn moods” written on his face.

Well, he was right, but she wasn’t about to tell him “I’m sorry”. What was the point of apologizing if she was going to do it again soon? An exact week had gone by since she’d met that strange girl at the bar of a similar party, and she’d made it a living hell for everybody around her, but especially her boyfriend. Why? She wasn’t really sure. For some reason, she was finding her life unbearable, so the only way she could think of making it better was terrorizing everyone else’s.

However, it wasn’t really making it better. It was only making her bitter - a bitter old lady that no one wanted to be with. Yulia had been right: hanging out with her would make everyone snub her. They all pushed her away, particularly the girls, and she was starting to wonder when it was going to be too much for her boyfriend. When are you going to leave me? She watched him shake hands and hug everyone, knowing that her father would kill her if they broke up. In fact, the man had warned her about it several times that week.

“I don’t like him,” she had said.

“You don’t know what you want,” the stronger voice of her father had barked back. “Besides, whether you like him or hate him doesn’t matter.”

That was true. Phil had never been a crush or a boyfriend, only a future husband, and the purpose of this relationship wasn’t her happiness. Actually, “happiness” was not a word you heard a lot in her household, nor in her mind. You heard a lot of “rights”, a lot of “wrongs”, a lot of “goods” and many, many “bads”.

She went to the bar, seeing as everyone was more or less ignoring her, and ordered a vodka tonic, dumbly hoping that it would bring her something of the brunette. Something like what? What the hell had happened to her? It had started as a casual conversation, and then they’d left perfectly clear that they didn’t much care for their own boyfriends, which was weird. She had said it to herself many, many times, of course, but how had she dared to crack her impenetrable surface of perfection in front of a complete stranger?

It had nothing to do with her, however, and everything to do with the stranger herself. If she chose to, no one in the world could notice her ups and downs, not even the almost-professional gossips that floated around her. She was like the Marquise de Merteuil character in Dangerous Liaisons. Ever since she saw the movie, when she was very little, she understood her completely, and had always wished her well; the woman that learned to look cheerful on the outside while under the table she stuck a fork onto the back of her hand.

But her own demeanor had changed, and that had scared her deeply. Yulia. Yulia had appeared, out of the blue, and done something to her, something like witchcraft. Something in that girl had made her lose control… at least momentarily, so that she no longer was the Marquise de Merteuil.

Now I’m just a wreck, she mused, looking around for someone she could ask for a cigarette. Yulia had made her feel weird, inside and outside, and she both wanted and didn’t want to see her again. Like when she had touched her shoulder briefly, lightly, after having mocked her relationship with Phil. She had felt something indeed, even if she’d told Yulia that she hadn’t, but she couldn’t place her finger on what it was, and that terrorized her. The only thing she could fathom was that it was both pleasant and terrible.

“Excuse me,” she called to the waiter. “Could you get me a cigarette from somewhere?”

“Here,” said a voice, coming from her left.

She turned her head slowly and there was Yulia, all dark bangs and shy smile, handing her a cigarette. And shiny eyes, she noted, swallowing hard.

“Hi,” she said, finding her courteous smile at last and taking the cigarette. “Thank you.”

“Hi. You’re welcome,” a small pause. “So, we meet again.”

“Yes,” she nodded and gestured to the stool beside her. “Please, sit down. I mean, if you want to.”

“Sure. You’re the only person here I’d want to talk to.” Yulia said, cupping the flame to light her cigarette.

“So, how are you?”

“To be honest, last week’s been hell,” Yulia breathed out a cloud of smoke. “And yours?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” she lied, waving the hand that held the cigarette. “I don’t know why I made myself come to one of these parties again. Maybe I’m a masochist, what do you think?”

The brunette kept silent for several seconds, staring down at her own drink and making the ice cubes clink.

“Elena…” Yulia said, still glancing downwards.

Even if she didn’t know what the girl was going to say after that, she felt a strange tingle running down her spine when she heard her name being pronounced by Yulia. What’s happening to me?

“Lena.” she said, hurriedly.

“What?” the brunette lifted her head.

“Please, call me Lena.”

Why she was giving up her family nickname to a practical stranger she didn’t know, but her more serious name didn’t quite feel right coming out of Yulia’s lips.

“Lena.” Yulia said, with care, making Lena experience a bigger (and, consequently, stranger) thrill.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing.”

Lena watched Yulia’s head drop once more, and missed her shiny blue eyes again. Those eyes were so alive… she’d never seen such eyes. The looks of those around her had always been opaque, dull, or drunk, so those eyes were something like a very appealing bait to her. To say the truth, she couldn’t get enough of her whole face. Somehow, her presence managed to fill up the hole inside, and make her existence both bearable and unbearable.

There was still that damn contradiction…

“Come on, tell me.” Lena encouraged her, as softly as she could.

“Um…” the brunette frowned and looked away. “I guess… I wanted to find you here. I wasn’t sure you were going to come, since, um… well, the way you left.”

“I’m sorry, I was drunk, I didn’t even know what I was doing. Or saying.” You despicable coward, Lena chastised herself. You only encourage her to speak because you don’t dare to do it yourself. That’s right, you’re a coward and you know it.

“Oh.”

“But…” Lena began, glancing to the side. Come on, you can do this. Say it. Say it. “I - I wanted to find you here as well.”

“You did?” the brunette seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yes. You know, I enjoyed talking to someone that isn’t like the other girls one meets at these parties, every single one a carbon copy of the next.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think too…”

Now what?Lena didn’t know what to do with Yulia, now that she had her there. But what could they do in that party anyway? Get drunker? Dance? Her cheeks flushed, for some reason. No dancing, she thought with resolve, until I understand what‘s exactly going on with myself. Then what? Chatting about their hobbies?

It was clear to her that nothing was going to happen while they were at the party, although she didn’t know what she expected to happen. I think I need to get out of here, clear my mind.

“Hey, Yulia.”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering… Do you want to get out of here, get lost?”

“You… You want us to leave?”

“Yes. I feel like I’m choking in here.”

“And what about…? What about Phil?”

The redhead shrugged. Her mind was too full of confusing things and there wasn’t space enough for Phil. Phil would have to manage on his own, because she couldn’t care less. She was trying, she was really trying to consider him, but she couldn’t make herself worry.

“Do you want to get lost?” she repeated the question more urgently, stabbing her eyes into Yulia’s.

“Yes.”

“Yes”. Not “yeah”, not “yep”, but a complete, certain and serious “yes”. The word resounded in Lena’s ears and echoed through her body. She was convinced that it was precisely the word’s resonance what had had set her in motion, since she moved like a sleepwalker when she jumped down from the stool, grabbed her jacket and began to march towards the exit. She didn’t need to look back to know that Yulia was following her lead, since she could sense her somehow, like a halo of warmth almost touching her back. Her eyes were fixed on the wide glass doors and the parking lot behind them -her goal-, while dodging people’s elbows and zigzagging their bodies absentmindedly. Surely, she would’ve paid the same attention to them if they had been columns. How could anyone matter right now, when her bold question and Yulia’s affirmative answer were the only things that fit inside her mind?

Her hands closed around the door handle and pushed energetically, with the night’s chilliness greeting her like a wind of freedom. She really felt liberated by the change of space and looked around with eager eyes, as if she were waiting for the night to deliver an offer. Then, her eyes fell on Yulia, who had finally reached her side. Now, with the both of them standing up, she could see that the girl was a little shorter than her, and looked even smaller outside, against the backdrop of the cold street and black sky, but her eyes were brighter than ever. Can it be excitement?

The question made her wonder about her own eyes, if they were also gleaming brighter and cleaner than the lamplights. One thing she knew for certain was that thoughts like those had never crossed her mind. And now, suddenly, there were all kinds of words swimming inside her head and surfacing suddenly, almost with violence, requesting to be used: words and combinations of words that were making her sick, but they were inevitable too, and undoubtedly… poetic, in a way.

Why?

With her head spinning like that first night in which she’d met Yulia, she knew that she was standing in the middle of a crossroads of sorts, and that the decisions she was about to take were going to change things. That first night, a week ago, she’d felt it… and had ran away from the possibility. Now she had another chance. Now… what?

It had scared her, scared her so much that she’d barely gained control over herself before running away. That night, a sudden dizziness had taken over her senses. Really? Had it really been so sudden? Had it not been more gradual, like a non-violent possession? That thing, lurking there, slowly covering her, making her dizzy, drunken-like but different, cloudy-eyed, about to let go… Let go of what?

“Now what?” Yulia’s eyes seemed to say, peeking under her black bangs. Now what indeed, Lena wondered, glancing around again. Just get out, leave this damn party already and go where we can breathe.

“My car or yours?” she asked, already beginning to walk around the parking lot.

“I came with Alex,” Yulia said. “In Alex’s car, I mean.”

“My car, then.”

Lena turned on her heels to redirect herself towards her car and extracted her keys in a second. How she hated those girls that spent fifteen minutes shuffling through the mess inside their purses until they found keys, lighter, lipstick, mascara… whatever. Not her; she was an organized person. And now she was an organized person in a hurry.

Hers was a bulky, marine blue Saab that was taller than her. Some would say that car drove her instead of the other way around, but those people had never ridden with her. Lena governed it with an iron fist but had the skill to drive it with her pinkie, and would be able to do it if it ever came to that.

She opened one of the backdoors, threw her jacket inside and then opened the door on the passenger’s side for Yulia. The brunette was just standing still and contemplating what Lena was doing, like a bystander. It’s like she’s in spectator mode, Lena thought, wondering if Yulia would be the one to breathe some sense into this thing -whatever it was- that they were about to do.

So Lena didn’t move either, with her right arm slung around the open door and her left hand in midair, about to gesture for Yulia to get in, but not brave enough. She was waiting for the brunette to make the choice and, in the process, make the choice for her too. Coward, she told herself, once more, to no avail.

“I…” Yulia faltered, glancing from Lena to the empty seat. “What about…? I mean… What about Phil? What will you say? Will you come back for him… later?”

“He has your boyfriend to drive him, and both of them have the rest of the night to figure it out.”

The brunette giggled, muttering something like “This is just fucking crazy”, and Lena was glad: she wasn’t being very nice and still, this was somehow happening.

“I thought you wanted it.” Lena said, knowing that she was acting a little cruelly. She closed her eyes and tried to be gentler. “Come on, let’s get out of this place, let’s have a good time.”

“Okay,” said the brunette, a little breathlessly.

They climbed inside the car and Lena took off as fast as the car would take her. She would’ve done no different if she had owned a plane.

“Any idea of where we’re going?” Yulia asked, after a couple of minutes.

“No,” she answered, allowing herself a small smile.

She couldn’t quite believe they had done it, that she was actually driving Yulia around. She couldn’t quite believe that they were completely, absolutely safe, enclosed in the vehicle, and adding distance between them and that awful party. It was like they were escaping from every one of those awful parties they’d gone to and all of their boring partygoers.

“I really don’t mind,” the brunette was saying. “It’s like I’m dreaming anyway.”

“I know, I’m like that too.”

There were another couple of minutes of silence, not an uncomfortable one, but it was full of timidity - at least that was what it seemed to Lena, who wondered if some music would help. Nothing special, just the radio, she mused, moving her hand towards the control panel. She began to say something like “Would you like…?”, while Yulia, at the same time, asked “Do you mind if…?”, and also neared her hand to the control panel. Their hands, muddled like their words, touched, and Lena held hers there, not retrieving it and not making it proceed towards its prior goal. She didn’t even move it so that their hands became something other than a tangle of fingers. The thing that confused her further, however, was that Yulia didn’t do it either. Their hands were suspended in limbo, in nothingness, with no real space or time to dwell in.

It could only have lasted a few seconds, but they were more than enough. In fact, they were extra, since the appropriate thing to do would’ve been to mutter an excuse and turn on the radio. Lena knew this -she was painfully aware-, and was the one to break off the brief contact, after which she heard Yulia sigh or breathe out. She took it to mean that the hand had returned to the brunette’s lap, but she dared not look.

No music, then. She wouldn’t try to switch on the radio again. Not on her life.

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, after counting to twenty. The sigh had troubled her.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop somewhere?”

“Whatever you like…” A pause. “Look, there’s the river.”

Lena followed Yulia’s index finger with her eyes and directed the car towards the edge of the road. Several meters down sat the dark riverbank and, to the right, one could just make out the first trees of a small forest, whose jagged shadows were like bites in the water. It was not much of a secluded place; on the contrary, it was a popular one among horny couples, but it was early enough in the night and they were almost the only ones there. The other few, dispersed cars blended well with the dark.

“I’m still a sleepwalker”, she would’ve liked to say, so that maybe she wouldn’t have to be so damn aware of what was going on. But she was. “Almost unconsciously this”, “almost unconsciously that”… Rubbish. She couldn’t convince herself of her own innocence. Touching Yulia’s hand had been a sort of confirmation by touch, and then… “Look, there’s the river”. Oh, what a coincidence, however did we end up in the dark place where couples come to smooch?, Lena almost stuck out her tongue in self-mockery, and the only reason she didn’t was because she could’ve offended the girl sitting beside her.

No, she wasn’t a sleepwalker. No, she wasn’t unguarded, or unarmed. But still, she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. She’d tried… So what? From the first intriguing moment to the consecutive, confusing others, she had known - not her mind, but her insides, her pull… Her whatever, her everything. She had just known.

And she knew it. She knew it when she turned to her right and found Yulia already looking at her, half-sunken in her seat, lips parted and quizzical eyes. Knew it when she began to move towards her and the girl echoed her movement almost at the same time, as if she’d only needed the impulse. She knew it too when they collided in the middle, joined by their mouths and symmetrical muffled moans at their first touch, with enclosing arms and grabbing hands.

Yulia’s lips were moist but warm as blood. She captured them with her own and kept still for a second, trying to find her place inside her own body and failing miserably. She opened her mouth to those lips anyway, wanting more as well as wanting Yulia to have more. Her right hand had started on the girl’s incredibly soft cheek, but then moved to grasp her hair, which she then slid between her fingers, like a rich man would do with the gold coins in his treasure.

Her left hand closed around the side of Yulia’s jacket, squeezing it tight and crushing the fabric and buttons inside her fist. There was an almost-unconscious need to hold on to something real, a wish to be part of the world she’d always known, even if all her body was now floating in that limbo which their hands had previously inhabited. In fact, Yulia was pulling her nearer, with an arm around her back, so that their breasts were conjoined as one and she could barely breathe.

“I…” she muttered, muffled by Yulia’s lips.

“Yeah?” asked Yulia, although it was more of a gasp.

The brunette was breathing heavily, and Lena could feel it on her face, which only contributed to distract her more. To make matters worse, she was almost laying on top of Yulia. I can’t believe I’m making out with a girl in my own car.

“Are you okay?”

But Lena couldn’t answer. She felt that if she let the words come out from her lips it would mean stopping and thinking. Most of all, it would mean voicing things out loud, and she didn’t want that. She had the impression that, if she talked about it, she wouldn’t be able to take it, that she would wither and crumble down in ashes. By not talking about it, the flame would light up and scorch, but not consume her, and that was what she wanted. Yulia was still looking at her expectantly and puzzled, perhaps not wanting to say too much. That’s right, that’s what I want, Lena thought, diving into Yulia’s lips again and almost smiling at the pure “goodness” of what her body felt.

Yulia received her avidly, running her hands down her back and along her sides, slowly lifting the edge of her shirt and finding burning skin. Yeah, that’s right, she muttered inwardly, gladly receiving Yulia’s mouth on her neck and shoulder while her hands roamed downwards. Yeah. She grasped one of Yulia’s hands and placed it over her breast and, when the small hand massaged it, all that escaped from her lips was a small gasp, even if she was twisting and turning like crazy inside.

Inside, she was screaming at the discovery of desire, at the rightness of the touch she was receiving. And, in the short moments in which she opened her eyes and locked them with Yulia’s, it was as if the brunette knew. Scared, but not stiff, Lena went on.