20
I feel that Nadine showing up here has unleashed something. Maybe for Joanna as well, but definitely for me in any case. Within me.
That special warmth I used to feel when Joanna was close to me, when we looked at each other, when we talked … I couldn’t feel any of it yesterday. I was searching for it, hoping it was still there. The fear that it might have vanished forever—that was probably what was making me despair the most.
But now the warmth is back. I can feel it quite clearly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and they’re not just empty words, I really am. “Calling Nadine was a stupid mistake. I was just…”
“It’s OK.” Her voice, her gaze. How could I think, even for just a second, of giving this woman up? Whatever happened to her, it’s not her fault. At this difficult time, she needs me more than ever.
Was I really going to abandon her?
“She’s still in love with you.” There’s no accusation, no anger in her voice. It’s an observation.
No. I don’t want to talk about Nadine now. She’s a nuisance, especially at this moment, when all these feelings have come back.
“That’s not important. She’s not important and hasn’t been for some time. She never meant to me what you do, Jo. No woman ever has. And none ever could. I only wish you wouldn’t just believe me, but that you’d know it again for yourself. Just like you did only a few days ago.”
“Yes, I wish that, too.” She takes a couple of steps toward me. She hasn’t done that even once these past few days. Every movement had always been away from me. Our eyes are fixed on each other, joined as if by some invisible bridge, over which this wonderful warmth seems to be flowing from her body into mine.
“I believe you, Erik. I still can’t remember any of the things you told me about us. But I believe you. There’s this sense of familiarity. Maybe that’s the beginning of a memory.”
“That would be nice.”
Another step. Only a couple of feet are separating us now.
“I’m frightened. You understand that, don’t you?”
I think about the situation she’s in. She doesn’t know whether she’s being completely deceived or whether she’s simply losing her mind. Or has already lost it, perhaps.
“Yes, I understand very well, Jo.”
“I believe you, but I’m still terribly frightened of getting involved with you. If I do that and it turns out you’re…”
I can feel her looking for the words to describe what she means without hurting me.
“That I’m lying to you?”
“That you’re pulling the wool over my eyes, for whatever reason. I wouldn’t be able to deal with that. It’s hard enough as it is. The uncertainty, the doubts. The fear that I’m going insane.”
Just one step between us now, and I’m the one who takes it. As my hands search for hers, they brush her thigh. She doesn’t shy away. Our fingers meet, become entwined. My heart is beating so quickly Joanna can probably see the artery in my neck pulsating. How often have we stood like this before, looking at each other, touching each other? And yet it’s completely different this time.
There’s that sense of excitement that comes at the first touch, that sense of anxiety about whether this tentative attempt to get closer will be reciprocated. But also, the certainty of knowing how it will feel when the hands you’re holding are stroking your skin, all over your body. It’s a paradox, a crazy mixture, a state of being I’ve never experienced before.
My heart is set to burst out of my chest when her face, suddenly, is only mere inches away from mine. Not only can I feel her breath, I suck it in, almost as soon as it’s left her slightly parted lips. It soothes me, numbing the glaring emotional pain I had felt just moments before.
Something pulls me in even closer to her, a vortex I can’t resist, don’t want to resist. Across the now almost nonexistent distance between us, her eyes look ever so big. Like misty blue oceans, and I let myself fall into them.
Our lips touch, tentatively at first, almost shyly. We breathe into each other’s mouths, slowing time down to a mere fraction of its normal pace. It no longer meanders along in seconds, but by the same rhythm to which we breathe, taking each other in. Her hand pulls away from mine; two heartbeats later I feel it at the nape of my neck. The tip of her tongue playfully traces over the contours of my mouth, but immediately withdraws like a timid animal when I try to respond. It’s back the next second, as if she were trying to tease me.
Everything within me is pushing me toward Joanna, wanting to get as close to her as possible, with an intensity I’ve never known before. And yet I willingly surrender myself to the gentle play of her lips and tongue. A tentative exploration, the way it would usually be on the first kiss.
The events of the past days, the pain, the despair, the anger, they all become meaningless for that one moment. I don’t know if we’ve been standing here like this for minutes or seconds when she finally lets the tips of our tongues touch. Time becomes insignificant. Everything around us completely loses all meaning as our timid game turns into an intimate kiss and we succumb to each other.
My hands move around her waist, stray to her back, and pull her closer toward me. I feel her body next to mine, hear her breath getting quicker. We kiss with increasing passion; our hands glide over each other’s bodies. Caressing, feeling, exploring. My lower abdomen is pushing against hers; there’s nothing I can do to stop the grinding of my hips, and I don’t want to either. I feel her adjusting to my rhythm, letting me lead her like we were dancing. Not only do I hear her moaning, I can feel it on my lips. It fires me on; our kiss becomes ever more intense, ever more expectant.
Then, all of a sudden, it’s over.
Joanna’s lips jerk away from mine. Her hands drop to my chest and push me away from her.
“Jo,” I rasp, reluctant to loosen my arms, which are still around her waist.
She shakes her head and exhales heavily.
“That was wonderful. But…”
I don’t finish her sentence this time, but wait until she’s found the words she’s looking for. I’m still so worked up I can’t even guess at what might be going on inside her head.
Maybe the kiss stirred up a memory? Maybe she thinks it was a mistake? I don’t know.
“I’m so confused. And afraid.”
“Of me? Still?”
“No, Erik, not you, I’m afraid of myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
She looks at the floor and briefly touches her temple, the blueish bruise. “I don’t either. I get moments where I’m as much a stranger to myself as you are.”
“Still no memories? Not one?”
She shakes her head. “But now I can imagine having fallen in love with you.”
At least she isn’t rejecting me anymore. Maybe she can feel there’s something connecting us, that … All of a sudden she’s close to me again, and I feel her lips on mine. Not shy and playful this time, but the way we always kissed. Tender and passionate.
She’s smiling when she draws her head back again.