Fiction: Coincidences…

It’s a cold winter night. I curse my luck for having forgotten my scarf as I hurry back to the hotel room in an effort to avoid an unexpected sharp shower. It’s almost March but this year, it looks like winter has decided to stay longer. Too bad, because I was actually looking forward to this trip and hoping for more temperate weather.

I get to the hotel and realise I’m frozen solid by the cold winds. I can hardly feel my fingers. On an impulse, I fish out my phone from the folds of my anorak and text you. You’ll probably not even read my text until the next day given time zone differences, but I’m ok with that. I put the phone back into the pocket as I fumble with the key card for the elevator. I barely manage to find it when I feel the phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignore it and continue up to my room on the 5th floor. I let myself into the room, crank up the heating and change into warm and comfortable pyjamas. By now, I’ve completely forgotten about the message waiting in my inbox.

Fifteen minutes later, I settle down on the couch with my laptop and hear an incoming message tone again. I pick up the phone hoping it isn’t someone from back home. I look at my inbox and am pleasantly surprised to see you’ve responded to my text. I smile to myself as I reply to your text. It’s been so long since we spoke. So long since I heard that teasing lilt in your voice that I so adore.

“What are you doing awake at 2.30 AM? Go get your beauty sleep di!” I’m surprised you haven’t seen my texts and emails about travelling to Europe. I tell you I’m in London and that it’s barely 10.

“Wait! You’re in London?”

You sound not surprised so much as stunned. I say yes. So? I’ve been in London one week now and staying another week. Why?

“Where in London are you? And why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to be there?”

By now, I’m confused. I remind you of all the emails I’d sent and that you’d failed to see. You tell me you never got those emails and ask where I am right now. I give you the name of my hotel and the room number.

“Ok. Stay there ok? Don’t go anywhere.”

Are you planning to call on the landline, I ask. Whatsapp works quite well, I say. You don’t reply to my text. I call, only for you to cut my call. I wonder what I’ve done to upset you so much as the restlessness builds in me. I text you again in an effort to elicit some sort of reaction from you. No response yet.

Five minutes later, I hear the door bell. I pull myself out of the bed and force myself to the door. I’m sure it’s someone who’s got the wrong room number. My mind is still with you, as I wait desperately for you to return my call. Before I can get to the door, the door bell rings again. What’s with these people? I open the door and freeze.

There you are, at my doorstep, looking like you haven’t aged a day in the three years since we last met. My face lights up like a Christmas tree. I feel like a child who’s been told Santa Claus will bring her gifts. Yet, I’m unable to move.

As if you were expecting this reaction, you step into the room, shut the door behind you and hug me. It takes me a second to get used to the unexpectedness of it all and hug you back. Three years. Three years since we last met and it feels like you never went away. You take a step back and look at me. I stare at you wondering what I did to deserve what I got today. The flecks of gold in your chocolate brown eyes. That incredibly sexy smile. The grays that seem to have made their way into your hair. The pure joy in your eyes for having seen me again. Everything tugs at my heartstrings. And then, very deliberately, you take a step towards me, pull me into your arms and kiss me deeply.

The three years, the distance, the lack of communication: everything suddenly seems irrelevant.

Fiction: Raging Storms

I park the car and get off. I look up to see a sight that takes my breath away. It’s a small but beautiful house. I walk up to the tiny wicket gate. An overgrown canopy of creepers arch over the entrance making the sight prettier than ever. I briefly wonder if I must take this risk. My mind goes back to our conversation of three hours ago.

I am in the middle of cleaning up when my phone rings. Annoyed at the interruption, I glance at it with the intention of silencing it and continuing with my work. I freeze at the name of my display. After the happenings of the last fifteen days, you are the last person I expect a call from. My tears threaten to break barriers. I thought this was over. A cold rage seizes me. What gave you the right to expect me to answer your call or speak to you when you’ve broken my trust in you?

I briefly consider ignoring the call and realise with a jolt that I’m not quite capable of that just yet. I reach over to answer the call with a calmness that belies the storm raging inside me. “Give me a chance to say sorry. Please.” These words trip over themselves in a desperation to make themselves heard. I give in.

Three hours later, here I am. In front of your house, following the directions you gave me. I consider turning around and driving back the three hours it took me to get here, to the comfort of my own home. But I also know the storm inside me will not calm until I face this.

I push past the wicket gate and under the canopy of creepers. I look around, taking in the beauty. The house feels familiar. Like you. Like home. The rains, the greens, the hills: they remind me of us. It’s somehow fitting that you asked me to come here instead of meeting me in a coffee shop in the plains.

I walk up the cobbled pathway to the verandah. I am still wondering if I should ring the bell or call your phone when I realise you’re right there, standing at the doorstep waiting patiently for me. My eyes meet yours and light up in a smile, almost involuntarily. I forget the last fortnight, the pain, the hurt. A part of me wants to fight and rage. The other part however, wants exactly the opposite. You smile back. A smile that would melt the most stubborn heart. You hold your hand out, as if asking me to put my hands in them. I sidestep. The internal struggle between rage and forgiveness is still raging inside me. You step aside to let me in.

I enter the house and freeze again. It’s exactly like I would have wanted my house to be. The furniture, the carpets, the little fireplace, the recliner next to it, the bookshelves, the décor. Everything. The struggle ends. I can no longer rage or fight. You offer your hand once again. This time, there is no hesitation. I take it in mine and come closer. I reach up and cup your face, and draw you into a deep kiss. You return my kiss with a passion that conveys every emotion you need to convey. This time, I know I can never leave you. I know that the fights, the arguments and the tears are only temporary. What’s permanent is this. This longing, this need for each other. We both know that we will never leave the other, no matter what happens.

You move your hands down my body, drawing me closer. You press yourself against me, conveying the desperate need for me. Outside, it begins to pour again. We can hear a storm raging outside the window. The heat inside however, it unbearable. I kiss you again, this time all over your face, your neck, your shoulders. I don’t want this to end. I want to offer all I have to you and make you mine. Tonight and forever. My kisses seem to trigger a very different kind of storm inside you. You become more aggressive, more demanding. My body responds to your every demand, as if anticipating it. You tug at my shirt, ripping off the buttons in one go. You guide me to the rug in front of the fireplace and lay me down gently.

My skin reflects the glow of the fireplace. You take charge and kiss me. You kiss every inch of my skin, exposing each part before giving it the love it deserves. The moistness between my legs and the swell of my breasts tell you exactly how much I want you. I raise my hips slightly offering you my body. You take it without hesitation, worshipping it in a way you’ve never done before. I melt into you, unable to offer any further resistance.

Hours later, we lie still in front of the fireplace, the dying embers still offering some warmth. You bring the quilt around us and hug me tighter. “Don’t leave me, babe. I will never be able to live with myself if you do. And forgive me for everything.” I respond to you by snuggling in closer. I know I will never leave you or push you away. No matter what happens.