The next time my eyes open, it’s due to the sunlight streaming in the window. Although still early, its rays flood our entire bedroom. Alex is already up and out of bed, and I feel aggrieved for a moment until I hear the shower running. I get up quickly and go into the second bathroom (mine, it seems) to brush my teeth. While there, I wonder whether to put on something sexier, but the sound of the water suddenly being shut off makes me jump back into bed without changing.
As I curse myself for not having thought about sexy underwear the night before (this is all so new to me still!), Alex comes out of the shower dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist, and, without looking at me, gathers up his things: smartphone, tablet, preselected clothes and underwear. It takes a while, but he finally notices me watching him.
Or rather, he feels it.
‘I thought you were asleep. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘You didn’t, the sun woke me. What time is it?’
He looks at his phone.
‘It’s only seven. You probably need to acclimate. There’s still lots of time before noon for more sleep.’
‘Are you leaving already?’ I ask.
‘I hold a staff meeting in the office at ten, every day.’ He sighs. ‘Then, I have a few other meetings, but I’ll try and be free by lunchtime. If I can.’
‘Is your whole life on a schedule?’
‘It’s back to how it was.’
‘Do you always work so much?’
‘I have to. There’s no one else to do it for me.’
Alex sits down on the bed to get dressed and I get a better look at his new tattoo: geometric shapes made up of fine, unfamiliar symbols that look like plants, all flowing into each other. The whole composition, arranged asymmetrically and almost diagonally, is vaguely reminiscent of a wing. It’s not a wing, however, but rather a maze, similar in style to the wide bracelet encircling his bicep. It almost certainly contains a special meaning of some kind, but Alex never reveals the secrets of his tattoos to anyone.
I reach out and touch the place on his spine where the scar from the surgery should be and it’s still there, just not visible – my fingers can feel the ridge on his skin.
*** ‘Devil Side’ by Foxes ***
Alex winces, then closes his eyes and his breath quickens. He hesitates for a while, then slowly turns around and lies down next to me, close, very close. A moment later, his warm hand is on my waist, and this is exactly what I wanted: how much torture can I take? Only he could call me his wife and not touch me once!
I don’t move or even breath because I’m both intrigued and terrified by what he will do. It has been more than five years since we last made love and we are both different people now, not just in our heads but also physically – our younger selves are a thing of the past. I have put on a little weight, my figure is far from perfect, and my ears are already ringing in anticipation of the moment when he starts undressing me – a comparison with Hannah will sink my ship with a single shot.
But Alex does nothing. His face is so close to mine that we could kiss with our breath. His gaze wanders for a long time until it finally meets mine, and then he does what he knows how to do magnificently – he hypnotizes me. I don’t know what kind of strength it takes to endure this longing for his closeness, the torture of waiting for that first touch, and I give in. Closing my eyes, I lean in towards his not-fully-healed lips, barely touching them but expecting a lot... As much as only he can give me.
But Alex doesn’t respond. It is odd, because even with the extra weight on my thighs and stomach, my short legs and complete lack of a golden tan, I still know he wants me; I can feel it with every one of my cells currently bursting forth with a thirst for intimacy.
There is so much distance between us right now, but the bed is where couples make up. You despise one another, consumed by pain and resentment, but your feet touch under the covers and everything seems a little less hopeless. Then your leg brushes against his and you genuinely want to hold him, so, when his hand gently reaches for yours in a conciliatory gesture, you can’t help yourself – you love, you forgive, you move on. So it always has been and always will be.
Looking at his hurt face fills me with shame and misery, so I move closer and kiss his damaged lips with every ounce of tenderness that I have. I still think he’s mad at me for hitting him, for intentionally causing him pain, so my lips ask his for forgiveness.
And they forgive. They forgive ardently, passionately, fiercely. The last time we kissed like this, consuming each other, was five and a half years ago...
How long it’s been!
How long I have waited for you!
My feelings and desire for him are so boundless that I’m afraid of losing consciousness, but he doesn’t let me. Pulling off my pyjamas, he kisses me everywhere. This time, Alex doesn’t wait for me to call his name. He wastes no time, but it is still too slow for him and, lifting me up, he switches our positions so that the starring role is all mine.
I freeze in surprise, and Alex, looking into my eyes, which are blinded by the bright sunshine streaming in through the window, puts his hands on my hips and pushes down on them, as if saying that, this time, I will be the one to choose the speed and rhythm of our movement. It is far from my favorite position because I am completely exposed. Alex is lying back on the bed, his weight on his elbows, and silently inviting me to do whatever I want. And I want to kiss him, his eyes, his lips; I want to stroke his wet hair and breathe in the smell of his skin. I move how I want to, and he watches and watches, never looking away, as I lose my mind at the nearness of him.
It is nothing like what we used to do in bed before, what HE used to do to me, and he did so many different things that, in my head, I used to call him ‘the god of my pleasure’.
Not this time, though. Today, Alex is doing NOTHING, absolutely nothing. I’m so hungry for him that, despite his passivity, I am panting in gratification and continue losing my mind...
In all honesty, I am surprised; I never expected anything like this of myself.
He knows how irresistible he is, and he clearly also knows what it does to me. He did not love me that morning, but he allowed me to love him as he has allowed so many others, and there was something to it. We’re turning over a new leaf; everything will be different now, I remember thinking to myself.
But I will soon realize that our first taste of intimacy in a long time was far from an act of mutual love. Alex was simply giving me his once again perfect body to satisfy my own need for love, sex, affection. This is exactly what was in his expression; his eyes seemed to be screaming at me: ‘Is this what you need? How badly do you need it? Then take it! Take it, I’m a generous man, I give it to everyone. Satiate your thirst, but don’t expect anything more from me.’
That morning, I had no idea that I had joined the legions of women whom I subsequently despised so much. Later on, I learned that the initiative for sex should only come from Alex, otherwise it triggers a hidden pathological mechanism in his brain.