diumenge, 22 de novembre del 2009

Waking

She opened her eyes and blinked as the blurred vision of the place she was in started to define. It was somewhere small and claustrophobic, the silhouette of a curtain allowing little light to flow in.
Where was she?
The sound of someone’s breathing next to her made her suddenly realize her situation as the memories of the previous night burst in her mind, changing the world around her.
She rolled on her back to face the figure resting at her side, the sleeping features of a man in his early thirties. It was a face she knew very well, she could have drawn it without looking at any model. Actually she’d drawn it many times. But she hadn’t had the opportunity to look into those big blue eyes until last night. And the experience exceeded by far her expectations, though she had to admit that she’d dreamed what she was living now more than once. But she wasn’t a pervert. He wasn’t a pervert, this is. Was he?
He was a rockstar and she was sixteen years old.
She felt she loved him and he was so far away. Closer than ever, that’s true, but still far in the distance.
And now she was so afraid to lose him. To lose the little she had gained. She was afraid of the moment he would open his eyes and look at her, say thank you (or maybe not even that) and goodbye forever, with a cold smile on his face.
She was just another groupie for him, she was sure.
But she already knew it was this way the night before, didn’t she? She knew the consequences; she knew she would feel like she was feeling now the next morning.
But she did it the same.
Had it been worth it?
Absolutely, hands down.


She rested her head on the pillow and stared at him, memorizing every little detail of the scene. The creases of the sheets that covered their bodies. His locks of hair sprawled in every direction around his head. The curve of his eyelashes. The dimple in his chin. The sound of his breathing.
Then she thought of the music he wrote. How could be bad a person who could wrote those notes and those lyrics, with such sensitivity, such background behind?
What would he do when he woke? Now that was all that mattered.
She didn’t dare to move, she was barely breathing. She was thinking what she would say, the ease that had filled her the previous night long gone.
“I don’t want you to go.” she whispered unconsciously.
He moved a little bit, tilting his head out of the pillow. She forgot to breathe for an instant. When she saw he stayed asleep she relaxed again her body, though she was breaking down with despair inside. She didn’t want him to open his eyes. At the same time, she wished the uncertainty to be over.
The seconds tickled by, slowly and fast. Minutes passed. Perhaps hours. She didn’t know how long had she been watching him sleep, but she felt more nervous every second.
In her mind, she reached to a conclusion.
She wouldn’t stand knowing that she had not been important for him. She had to do something so he would look at her as something unique. She wanted to be a turning point in his life.
But what could she do? She was so meaningless…
Then it occurred to her that if she couldn’t be a turning point, she could be the final goal.
At first this thought make she smile. You’re definitely crazy she thought by herself. But then, as she visualized it, it started to make sense. Why not? She wanted to be important for him…
She looked at him once more, that peaceful face. She realized he was under her power. She was feeling powerful. This made her took the decision.
Slowly, silently, she sat up. She took her pillow and embraced it with her naked body. She bended carefully, and gently pressed her lips against his, so gently they were barely touching. The kiss lasted for few seconds, and she put all her soul into it, even though he couldn’t notice. She smiled at the thought, because truth was it had always been this way, he had never noticed her love, and he never would. She sat up again and took a breath.
Then, with determination, she pushed the pillow on his face.
She was going to be his end.


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