She’s rubbing cream on her face looking at herself in the mirror. She rubs it gently on her cheekbones, going up to her forehead and down again on her nose, chin, sliding slowly down her neck. She’s tired.
She looks at herself in the mirror and can also see him in bed. Looking at her. Eyes dark, burning. He’s waiting but he’s not impatient. Always a control freak.
She starts rubbing lotion on her body and he watches every move…
He had a party earlier. Friends gathered together. And he was so… different. All night he looked at her, he joked, he had this light in his eyes. That light vanished now that everybody is gone and he is trapped in his own mind again.
It was a perfect night. He wouldn’t do anything without involving her. They laughed a lot. She knows him and he, surprisingly, found out how much she knows of him. She knows who he is, what his actions and reactions are, she knows what he likes, she knows how to make him laugh. He asked her to dance, he’s proud she’s there and they dance and everybody looks. Because everybody feels the goddamn chemistry between them.
She remembers how, while she was seated on the sofa, he was standing next to her talking to a friend and his hand reached out and gently stroked her hair. That moment right there, froze in her mind. He has beautiful hands, manly, with beautiful nails and he always makes sure they look good. She loves this in a man. Nice hands. She always looks at this. And he does have them. She loves his hands.
If she’ll say a joke that’ll crack him up he’ll go round and repeat the joke. He looks happy and carefree. She saw him like this a few times. She saw him free. Then he’ll go back to being lost, to being amnesic… all oblivion now.
He was this free when they first went out to a club. He went to the bar to order drinks and she was on the dance floor waiting for him to come back. She kept on looking at him as he was waiting at the bar. His handsome profile, his suit… he looks damn good in a suit. He finally comes back and she makes a few steps to meet him. They’re face to face, looking at each other. She’s happy as a kid and he feels it. His hand grabs her waist pulling her closer and then they kiss. It’s perfect. Then their foreheads are united and they just savour that moment after kissing. Maybe they’re drunk, but it feels good.
They dance all night and in some moments he just keeps her close, and they kiss and dance like nobody’s around. She looks at him “I don’t know how you can make me feel so good” she says. “Really?!” he says and then he buries his face in her hair kissing her neck and her knees feel weak. She bites her lip and she prays the night will never end.
She remembers all this moments more than anything. These small treasures. But he’s such a strong-headed man. He has the self-control of an army man, the strength of a bull. He’s so damn stubborn. And insecure. All at the same time. He’s cocaine to her brain.
These are just moments, and she wonders if they’re even real now. They felt real though. A simple stroke of hair, a kiss, walking and holding his arm. The moments when they were laughing… just the two of them.
Ashes now… Fiction.
She goes and lays next to him on the bed. Being his prey again…
DISCLAIMER: The title is the name of a book of one of my favourites writers, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It is just a reference and I found it a good match for my text. Nothing to do with the original. Magic realism, has everything to do with me though.
It’s all love and late night writing shenanigans. Peace!