Until then, I let the wave transport me. Languid, it carried my body around with its swirl, guided my actions. I knew them all by heart though they were nothing but sweet uncharted territories before that day. Of course, I more or less knew what it would be like but it was very hazy, like a shadow dancing far away from me.
It felt like I was watching a movie and I were the main character. I knew it was my body, my voice. Even if I knew, I couldn't fully realize.
I was doing all this and now it was time for me to let my conscience grasp on the moment. I couldn't remain a viewer of my own life. So, I opened up my eyes. Darkness wrapped itself around my it. I had no light I could hang on to.
All I knew about that, clearly, was that the setting wasn't ideal. It looked in no way like flowery dreams of young girls. Alcohol smell floated around and there was very neat traces of it against my pillow. My bed was narrow, the mattress hard behind my back. The wooden slats were creaking at each movement. I could hear the heater slightly snoring beside me.
Yet I wasn't feeling tricked by destiny. I had no care about flowery dreams, and had in mind that they often were deceiving. I didn't care about the narrow bed, the wooden creaks, the heater's buzz. Only one thing mattered. I was with him and he was with me. We were now as one, as close as possible.
I couldn't remember what happened to the wig, his bag, my cello. I only knew one thing. Though the pain was sharp, it was worth it. It felt like a minutious and precise cut, each time at the same spot. Regularly, Soarin whispered meaningless sounds in my ears.
His face, right above mine, was focused on me. The depth of his green eyes were staring at me with the same intensity and it felt a bit awkward, yet so good. My arms around his hips were following their undulating moves. Didn't he cover us with the blanket earlier? I could feel the wool scratching my ankles.
His rockings slowed down gradually and eventually stopped. I could feel his chest against mine, rising and falling wildly, like a metronome on the blink.
"Something's wrong?" he asked in a whisper. "Does that hurt too much? Do you want me to stop?"
I haven't even realized silent tears had started to roll along my cheeks. Yet I shook my head no, smiling at him tenderly. My hands ran through his hair and stroked the temps, damp from a thin layer of sweat.
"No. I'm fine. Keep it going, please..."
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Indeed, I was waken up by the pain. My flesh felt like dug skinless. I had managed to forget it and fell in a deep sleep but it called back on me quicker than I thought. My body, rolled on the side, was on the edge of the mattress and the blanket had fallen off my back. All I could hear was the wind outside and Soarin's breath behind me.
I stretched my hand and by feel, I looked for my phone on the bedside table. My fingers got in touch with the plastic. On the screen I could read it was one past twenty-eight in the morning. I was cold.
I turned around in the skimpy bed, trying my best not to fall. Soarin was sleeping, I could only see his back and yet. He was the one covered with the blanket. It looked like this blanket wanted to mock me, to tell me she was the one making the most of the natural warmth of his skin. How silly I felt, jealous of a piece of cloth!
The truth was that each time he was away, I couldn't help thinking about all the girls around him, actresses and female singers, easier to reach and lovelier too. By waiting for too long, I was scared he would grow tired and decide to succumb to the charms of another one.
I never had found the courage to tell him. I never was the kind of persons to say these kind of things easily. I liked actions better than words. I neither was the kind of person to get bored of something I liked very quickly. When I love, I love forever. And I loved him. Very much. Yet words still couldn't come out of my mouth.
I slipped myself under the blanket with him and pulled him against me, carefully, not to wake him up. Immediately, his shoulders started to move. One second later, he was lying on his back, smiling at me.
"I didn't want to wake you up," I whispered.
"You haven't," he answered the same way.
I didn't know why we felt the need to whisper. Maybe because, actually, he wasn't a resident of the hostel anymore and guests were forbidden. But he knew this place by heart and that felt to me like he was finally going back home.
I put one hand against his cheek. A few rough patches scratched. Soarin took my palm, frowned in the dark. A small cut was visible, and the dried blood formed some kind of crimson crust, looking like small marbles.
"How did you do that?"
"With a bottle. I'm fine..."
"You haven't even cleaned it. Your hands are your main working tools, you have to take good care of them."
"Yes, Sir!"
His fingers closed on mine and I realized how cold he still was. Some chill went through his spine, that he couldn't repress. Soarin stroked the hair on my forehead and I brought him closer, chest against chest, our legs meddling.
"Don't get cold. If I send you back to Filthy Rich with a voice loss, he's going to kick my butt."
Filthy Rich. The ghost floating above our heads. I had forgotten his existence and Soarin's obligations towards him. Saying his name out loud brought me back to reality. My boyfriend wasn't free. His whole life was planned by someone else. I had been able to cherry-pick a tiny portion of his time but I knew it wouldn't last.
It would be easy for me to set him free, to stop it all right here and right now. Yet back then, I refused to do such thing although it surely was selfish. It was something to be parted but to know that, sometimes, when the agent was lenient, we could see each other again, though we had to be much patient. It was something else to break up. Now I could see clearly. Well... Yet again, it was only the beginning. I didn't know all the things that would happen afterwards.