“No, Renata, it’s not that.” Petr shook his head vigorously. “This has nothing to do with…” He made a vague gesture in the direction of my lower abdomen. “The reason is that with you, I always had this sense of being just a step in your plan. I ignored the feeling at first because you are so damn beautiful and I wanted the same kind of life anyway. But then, once we couldn’t make that happen, it felt like there was nothing left between us. Do you know what I mean?”
I did know only too well. How many times had I said, ‘I love you,’ doubting that I meant it? How much time had I spent bored and unstimulated, thinking fondly of the sensible futureI was building as minutes ticked slowly by? How often had I fantasised about having something like the passionate romance of the books I translated?
“With Andrea, all we care about is being with each other. Living any life available to us as long as we’re together.”
Petr looked at me imploringly, his eyes begging me for understanding and forgiveness. How could I not grant it?
I nodded, patting his thigh lightly.
“I’m glad you have found her,” I told him honestly. “I mean it. I hope you can get back to her soon.”
With nothing left to say, I departed from the room, closing the whitewashed door carefully behind me with a click.
As soon as I did, memories flooded my mind with the roaring onrush of a broken dam. Blowing out eighteen twinkling candles on a red velvet cake. A bottle of champagne from the gentleman at the bar. Yes, the tall one in the crisp, chrome-coloured suit. A hand on the small of my back, the steely gaze of grey eyes. A sharp, lined face leaning closer to mine. Hair like iced butter. Fingers handing me a card with the glint of a wedding ring. And then, countless hotel rooms, bland and uniform. Forgettable. And a passion that was anything but. Ruby red blindfolds and the coolness of handcuffs against my slender wrists. The leather tip of a crop tracing the depression of my spine, the loving bite of it against my tender, young skin. Every breath a sigh, every look an unspoken understanding, every touch a forbidden ecstasy. No prospects for the future, none, only reckless insanity and heartbreak at the inevitably bitter end.
Reeling with shame and misery after the last words were spoken, it was then that I made the resolute decision to take all the right steps towards a nice, safe, ordinary life. Unexciting perhaps, but secure. Higher education and a steady income. A sensible and age-appropriate boyfriend. A mortgage and ahouse. Attempting parenthood young, precisely to avoid issues with fertility later. All sacrifices I never should have made.
And now that all prospects for the future were undeniably, irretrievably lost, could I not feel my heart beat once again with madness?
A fall can be as exhilarating as flying after years of being suspended in limbo.
The television broadcast stopped all of a sudden. One morning, we were met with nothing but static on the screen. We lost electricity and mobile reception just a few days later. We gradually turned to board games, books, and conversation in the common room as a means of passing time, but time had become sluggish, slowed down by our collective restless anxiety.
Once television ceased to be our window into the world beyond the shut doors, we fixed our sights on the real windows once more and watched with mounting dismay as the number of soldiers patrolling the streets declined daily.
About two weeks after the broadcast ceased, they were all gone. Instead, the infected appeared at last, roaming freely in small packs. Their approach was customarily announced by anguished growls, their movements ferociously fast and jerky.
After a few days, we had to accept that there was nobody left on the outside to bring us food supplies anymore.
“Could you kindly get out?! You’ve been in there forever, you know.” Petr pounded on the bathroom door just as I began to wash the soaked cloth, water and blood flowing over my hands, red droplets messy against the whiteness of the sink.
Quite at odds with the tenseness of the overall situation, gentle evening sunlight flooded the little vintage bathroom. It was hard to believe that only five weeks ago, we would have run outside to take photos of the gorgeous sunset, feeling safe in our world, if not exactly carefree. Everything looked serenely peaceful in the deceitful light that shone down so indifferently on what may well have been the last days of our lives.
“Just give me a minute,” I called out to Petr.
“For fuck’s sake,” he swore uncharacteristically.
“There, I’m done.”
I laid the washed T-shirt to dry on the edge of the freestanding bath with copper faucets shaped like blossoms.
I opened the door, coming face to face with Petr, who then promptly retreated towards a window.
“Are you not going in?”
“No.”
He stared resolutely outside, the soft glow of the evening illuminating him like a halo.
“Then why did it bother you that I was in there?” I inquired in a tone that I hoped would not be conducive to a quarrel.
Unfortunately, in those days, almost anything was an incentive for a row with Petr. He turned swiftly around, glaring daggers at me. His square chin was flushed with colour.
“Because who needs an hour in the bathroom?!” he spat out.
“What does it matter?”
It was an innocent enough question, but one I knew would irk him to no end because he would not be able to come up with a reasonable answer. Which is why I tried to avoid a further outburst from him by grasping clumsily at another topic, any other topic ...
