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It was going to be fun that night. Kara and her friends had planned on going to the cinema, then going back to her place to get drunk and laugh. They had been planning it for weeks, and the day was finally there.
She showered and got dressed, decided on a black top with blue jeans, a silver belt and a black jacket. Her hair was blonde, and shoulder length with high lights, which glinted in the autumn sun. She decided to put a purple ribbon round her neck, hanging from which was a silver heart. Her hair she left loose, her lips she made red, her eyes she made dark. She looked almost gothic, but sexy, alluring. She knew deep down why she was dressing to impress, but she would never admit it, not even to herself. He was going, the person she'd met four months before through a friend. He was going to be there tonight, and she wanted to look her best. Unbeknownst to her she had been unconsciously flirting with him the past few months, not even realizing that she felt for him. But he knew. He knew but said nothing, she knew but said nothing, and it was the way it had been for months. Deep inside her mind she was getting sick of this, sick of the waiting, sick of the feeling that she could never have him because he had a girlfriend, sick of the way he looked and felt so good when she hugged him hello and goodbye. But tonight it would be different, she felt it.
The film was fantastic, she had sat next to him in the cinema, his arm against hers, her skin tingling with every lift of his arm, every brush as he lifted salted popcorn to his mouth. Her cheeks had blushed every time he had whispered something funny in her ear; the corners of her mouth had lifted every time he looked at her, spoke to her, offered her popcorn.
The walk home was refreshing, the night was cool, her high heeled boots made clattering noises on the pavement as she walked, giving the illusion she was more mature than she felt inside. At eighteen, she still felt sixteen, she felt like a teenager on a first date. She felt upset and excited all at once. And her best friend Sarah felt the same. She must have done, Kara realised that now. She knew that she liked him too; she knew how she felt, yet what happened that night happened regardless. She did what she did because she wanted to, a show of selfishness perhaps, or maybe just an aching need for him. It didn't matter though, no excuse really masked the fact that that night she was going to sleep with the one man that she wanted more than anyone else in the world, the one man she could never have, and the one man her best friend, the girl she loved, wanted.
When they got home the night panned out as planned. They drunk, but Sarah fell asleep, as far as Kara knew. When Kara blew out the candles and returned to the bed, his arms were round her, his mouth was on hers and he was inside her. The feeling of complete and utter joy at fusing with him, abandon, her worries tossed to the wind as Sarah slept peacefully beside them. All night they lay there, caressing each other, making love, kissing, whispering. But it could never be enough.
The next morning, he slipped out of bed, he got dressed, he kissed her goodbye, that one last kiss, and left. Two years later, the tension between them was still there, but the circumstances had changed.
* * * * *
"Love? I don't believe in love," Kara laughed as she sat with a group of her friends. Alex was staring her with his deep, dark, intense eyes, yet his brow was furrowed.
"You don't believe in love?" She laughed again and shook her head, "Maybe I was in love once, but what is love? A collection of lustful feelings and a bit of jealousy perhaps? An emotion that you can't control but can quickly fade away?"
She had many of her friend's attention by now. Alex was staring at her incredulously,
"Love isn't something you can choose to believe or not believe in. Love is all around, there are people in love everywhere, you love your friends, your friends love you, you love your parents and there are men out there that you will fall in love with."
"Yes, there are people who love each other. But I'm talking about the kind of love that makes you crazy, makes you giddy, outrageous, makes you do stupid things not just until you have them, not just for a few years, but for the rest of your life. Can a love really be maintained for that long?"
"Yes it can. It's rare, but it can. Usually you are in love for a while and a gentle love takes its place, love cannot go on at that kind of intensity forever, it has to change and become something else, something even deeper than that crazy stage." Kara sipped her coffee. She looked doubtful, and maybe she had good reason to look doubtful.
"Yes, it has to change you say, but why? Why does a love so powerful have to change like that, surely if it was love, if you were completely devoted to the other person and to making them happy, then the love would go on forever regardless of how long you spent with that person. That every time you saw them you would get butterflies in your stomach and your head would go light and you'd kiss passionately. Love isn't like that." She stared at him, one of the long stares they had come to share over the past two years. She had changed since she was eighteen. At eighteen, the world was her oyster, she could be whomever she wanted to be, do whatever she wanted to do, and her high hopes and fanciful dreams of love had come and gone. She doubted now that love would ever be what she had dreamed it would be, racy and passionate and ever lasting. But she had told herself repeatedly that it would never happen, that it would never be that way, and finally she had come to believe it. In front of her was the man that she had fallen in love with as a boy, that man she could never have. She loved him, but that love had changed. No longer did she want to spend every waking hour with him, every minute kissing him and whispering her love in the darkness. At twenty years old, she was in University, she was studying to be a journalist and these cups of coffee with her friends at the campus coffee shop seemed everlasting. But she knew they wouldn't be, she maintained that nothing ever lasts. Swallowing the dregs of her coffee, she banged her mug down on the table.
"You're wrong, real love, true love, it doesn't exist." She picked up her bag and stood up, suddenly upset. Why, she didn't know, but she knew that she had to get out of there, away from her friends and think. Sometimes Alex did this to her, made her think about things she would rather not think about. Their conversations were intense, and they made her uncomfortable, like now. Walking off, she stood outside the coffee shop, her hair blowing in the soft summer wind, tears in her eyes. She grew angry with herself, she felt so pathetic, so helpless, and so worthless. No one had ever truly loved her, and she felt that she herself was to blame for that. She had had many chances at love, and blown them all. Still, she reasoned, perhaps it was for the best. Surely there was someone out there she could love and who would love her back, but it would never be the kind of love she needed, the kind of love she had to have to feel alive.
"Hey, what's up?" Alex had followed her out. His hand was resting lightly on her shoulder, pulling her round to face him. He saw that she had tears in her eyes, stroked her cheek, and pulled her close. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I'm always doing this, making you upset." She pulled away, wiping the tears from her cheek.
"It's not you, Al, it's me. I just get a little emotional sometimes, you know me." He smiled, he did. He knew her soul, her heart, he knew what she wanted from life and he knew she would get it. He knew how ambitious she was and how she could get anything she wanted if she bent her will to get it. He knew that when she didn't, and he knew why she was crying now.
"Yeah, I know you. Listen, why don't you come and sit back down? Everyone's wondering where you've gone!" She smiled slightly,
"Apologise to them for me. I have to go and do some work, got an essay to write. I need to be alone." He nodded, squeezing her hand, and headed back into the shop. She set off back to her room, her shoes encased in trainers; no hint of the eighteen year old's high-heeled boots. No, Kara had changed in many ways, and Kara wasn't about to change back.
Ever since that night, Alex had felt guilty. He had never told her how he truly felt about her because at that point he had a girlfriend. His girlfriend was prettier than Kara was, and at that age, it was all her cared about. And she was a catholic, he was a man on a mission, he would have her before she was married. He recognized how stupid he was now, and he knew how much he had hurt Kara. Ever since there had been a string of nervousness whenever she saw him, something that let him know she wasn't alright. And he had hurt her so badly, but he couldn't say he was sorry, it wouldn't be enough.
Things had changed. He split up with his girlfriend after he had taken her virginity, a few months after; things weren't working out between them. He had started to see that you needed a spark, conversation and love in a relationship for it to work. He had turned his attention to Kara, and there he had seen the pain that he had caused reflected in her eyes. He was shocked to begin with, he had been too obsessed with his girlfriend to consider the possibility that Kara wanted more from him, that that night had meant more to her than just sex, but when he realised, he also realised he could do nothing about it. Hardened and reserved she had become, no longer was she the flyaway girl he had first known. Her smiles were rare, her affection thinly spread, but she was vulnerable. He could see that. It had taken him three years to regain her trust, her affection, her love.
And even now, she was reserved, she would think before saying anything to him, she would tell him nothing about her life with men, yet there were stares between them that assured him that she cared for him deeply. Her physical appearance had changed too, she had become willowy, the perfect figure. Her eyes had changed from blue to a startling green; her hair had grown past her shoulder and become curled. She was the duckling turned to a swan, and at eighteen, he had been too stupid to realise that she was beautiful. But now he did, oh god did he realise. The way she looked at him sometimes, when she smiled at him, her tinkling laugh, and the way she held herself up high, proudly, above everyone else. She was more intelligent than anyone he had ever known, she worked herself hard, setting high expectation not only for herself but also for her friends. She was polite to most people, but friendly only with those she admired, respected and loved, the ones she could learn something from. Alex knew who she was through and through, and yet she still remained an enigma to him. He wished sometimes that he could ask her what she felt for him, but he never did.
He would never tell her how he felt about her, never tell her that for the past year he had been in love with her, falling in love first with the vulnerability in her eyes. She would never know how much he cared about her, what he would do for her. He remembered a day, seven months ago as they sat cross-legged opposite each other next to a lake, running grass through their hands. He remembered how she had asked him a question that he had never heard from anyone else. Usually a woman would ask him if he would die for them, and the answer was always no. He wouldn't die for any woman, least of all the women he had been with. But Kara wouldn't ask such a normal question, oh no, she asked him if he would kill for her. There was a look of dark malice in her eyes as she said it, he remembered being almost scared of her and he had spluttered out his answer. Yes, he would kill for her. She had smiled, looked back down at the lake. He had gone on staring at her for some time afterwards, gone on looking at the wistful look in her eyes, knowing she would never understand what he would do for her. He would die for her, he would kill for her, kill everyone he knew and loved, everyone in the world for her. And now, seven months later, he realised with a suddenness that surprised him, that words were forming in his mind that she had said to him two years before...she had become the girl that he could never have.
* * * * *
Hands running over silky skin, eyes that penetrated, bodies pressed together so hard, the sweat pooling between them. Something was pushing her higher and higher, something inside her. A quick flick of a finger, touching her, drawing her, stroking her very essence. Someone was moaning in the distance. Someone's mouth on her skin, all over her skin, her skin was on fire. She was burning, soft licks of fire raced over the body, charcoal black. She peered through the darkness, a wave hitting her, her body tensing, pulsating. She could hear the beats of his heart. They were louder and louder, they started banging against her chest. She couldn't breathe, she panicked. Bang, bang. Oh God, help me, her mind was in overdrive. Help me...she started falling, deeper and deeper...
Kara woke up with a start. Someone was knocking on the door, insistently, loudly. Sighing, she drew back the sodden covers of her bed and dragged herself out. Taking a cursory glance at her naked body in the mirror, she pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door.
Alex was standing there, worry all over his face.
"Are you alright?" he asked. There was urgency in his voice, he was tense, she felt that.
"Yes, I'm fine. What are you doing here? What's the time?" She was confused; the dream had taken hold of her, the same dream that had plagued her every night for two years.
"It's only eleven. I thought you'd be working, wanted to talk to you about that essay. You mentioned you were going to work on it." Had I? She thought. She couldn't remember. She was tired, her eyes were aching. She looked a mess.
"Come in. I didn't do anything, but you can look at my notes." He looked at her, confused.
"I just thought you would want to read it to me, you usually do. I'm not studying English, Kara." Oh yes, he wasn't. Shaking her head violently, she struggled to maintain reality. Every night she was taken back two years, when he would turn up at her door asking for her notes, borrowing, stealing, copying her work to gain himself the grades he needed to be here, standing right there. But her dreams took her back then. She turned round and headed back into her room; he followed her, worried about her, looking at her in her blue silk dressing gown, her head all over the place, looking at though she had been with a man. "Are you sure you're ok? I heard you moaning from outside the door. You sounded really scared."
"It was just a dream," she said it too quickly. She almost snapped. He knew to stop.
"Listen, if you want to go back to sleep...?" She shook her head, no she didn't, she never wanted to sleep. How strange, he thought, they had been at the University for months now and yet he had never been into her room. Something told him she didn't want him there, but he couldn't leave. Her room was her, in every way; it was tidy, organized, with a degree of sensuality he could sometimes see in her. She had a large double bed in the corner, her desk opposite it, the books aligned in size order along the shelf above it. There was a large, Victorian wardrobe on the other side of the room and a small chest of drawers beside it, on top of which was her makeup and necklaces. The bed was messy; she had been sleeping, tossing and turning. Her face was white, a nightmare, he supposed. But he didn't know what about, he could never know what about. She felt safe in that thought.
She sat down on the side of the bed,
"I'm sorry; I'm a bit spaced out. I never wake up well these days." She smiled wryly.
"That's ok, I'm sorry I disturbed you, if I'd known you were sleeping..." Yes, if I'd known, he thought, I would have come in here and watched you all night long; I would have stroked your cheek and told you what I felt.
"I know, you wouldn't have come."
He was wearing a short leather jacket over a navy blue t-shirt, baggy jeans and rough trainers. His dark hair was spiked up in its usual fashion, he looked gorgeous. She shivered. She hated being caught like this, messed up in her dressing gown. She liked to look good, always well dressed, always clean, always reserved. She couldn't bear this intrusion. She didn't like him in her room, it said too much about her. She felt scared that he was going to look around, but he didn't. He leaned against the chest of drawers and stared at her. This was uncomfortable enough.
"Look, I should really go back to bed. And you should go...study, whatever it is you do at this time of night." She felt angry; she wanted him to go away. He didn't. He walked towards her, slowly, purposefully, took her hand, watched as the blush rose from between her breasts to her face. Her skin was pale, smooth, tantalizing. He wanted to rub it until it burned red, he wanted to take her. He leaned in towards her, waiting for her reaction. He laughed inwardly, she knew she wouldn't move. His lips almost touched hers and still she stood upright, rigid, proud. He pulled away from her, letting her hand drop.
"Fine, I'll see you tomorrow." He walked towards the door, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling with anger. Reaching for the door he stopped, behind him he heard a noise. A small sob? A whimper? A moan? He turned round. She had sat down on the bed; her hands covered her face, her hair cascading over them, hiding her from view. She was crying. Trying not to, but crying all the same. At first, he felt he would go, let her get on with it, but there was true emotion in her that he hadn't seen before.
He let his caught breath go, taking small steps towards her. Then what? Put his arms around her? Tell her it was ok, that she could talk to him? He knew she wouldn't, that it wasn't ok, and that putting his arms around her was the last thing he should do. No, instead he bent down at her feet, staring up at her. She took her hands away from her face slowly, looking at him through the inch of hair that she could peer through. He pulled it up and away from her face. She caught his hand, pulled him to his feet. She lowered herself backwards until she was lying on the bed, her chest heaving, the tears wettening her cheeks. She looked directly at him, and very slowly, pulled him down with her....
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