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?