Désolé

I got sick of the acting, the effort of imitating an already fake scenario. Then one night I tried to be spontaneous. We got in back home after a rather tiresome leaving do of one her work colleagues. I had been somewhat desolate all evening, sat at my corner of the table in the restaurant, sipping my one glass of wine slowly, listening idly to the babble surrounding me. Every so often honing in on particular pockets of gossip and blather that were garnering interest. I just wasn’t in the mood to drink myself stupid. There was one instance where she turned round to look at me. Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt the coolness of their ice-blue hue flood my mind and awaken me. She smiled an understanding smile that seemed to say, “I know, me neither”, and rubbed her hand gently on mine. I sensed some long forgotten something take flight from the depths of my soul, all the way up my spine trying to reach the surface. Maybe there was more to us than I first thought. I kissed her hand softly and she turned back to the high spirited cackle of her friends. After that though our understanding dissolved slowly slowly with every freshly topped up glass of wine she drank.

By the time we got home she had quietened down again, seemingly in a state of subdued euphoria. I sensed the slight heaviness of her body as she treaded up the stairs, making our way to the bedroom. In silence she undressed, her back towards me while I sat on the bed taking off my shoes. Looking up I took in the warm amber lamplight highlighting the curvature of her back, the shadows accentuating her hips and thighs. I could see the strap markings pressed in her skin as she unfastened her bra. I had seen her body countless times, and yet I had never taken it in. There was a sudden urge within me, a desire to re-capture that tiny instance in the restaurant. For a few fleeting seconds we had understood each other. I had caught a glimpse of how great we could be together. Desperately I pulled her round towards me and stood up. This time we were going to do this however it was meant to be done. I ran my hands through her hair. Smiling lazily, she sat down on the bed. I knelt down in front of her, and pulled her gently towards me to kiss her. I wanted to experience her lips for the first time. I kissed her deeply, with all the passion I could muster, my mind trying to let go and lose itself in a wave of ecstasy, but all I could taste was the synthetic matt paste of her lipstick. She slipped her tongue in my mouth, the dry bitter taste of red wine was still strong in her mouth. Determined to make this work I carried on regardless, stroking her hair, kissing her cheek tasting the powdery make up foundation, I ran my hands down her back, kissing her neck, tasting the sickly alcoholic perfume lingering there. More and more desperate, I clung on to the hope of the real, cupping her breasts, tenderly kissing her shoulders and arms, my nose flooded with the pungent odour of her deodorant. My fingers dug deep in her hips and my eyes welled up with tears and all the forced fervour rapidly receded from the tips of my fingers and the back of my neck back down deep somewhere in my core. Kneeling with my head drooped between her legs, my arms hung loosely, I breathed in deeply, trying to stop my eyes from flooding.