Confessions of the past

Katerina Vyurkova
Aug 27, 2017 · 6 min read

The numbers 20:03 were displayed on her phone. She knew she had to speed up the process of preparing herself as she had to be at the place very soon. She always knew that the meeting would occur at some point, the overall picture that was painted in her rich imagination was too broad and vibrant to include minor details such as hairbrush getting stuck in the hair or lipstick going over the lips as she was hurriedly attempting to look as stunning as possible. She was in an unexplainable hurry to meet him, even if that meant sacrificing calm accuracy for a slightly chaotic temp.

As she finally zipped the black dress which she longed to wear for so long, her gaze shifted to her own reflection. Funny how after all these years she has never noticed how much she actually changed, because she never truly did. When she was with him, she would always be that adventure-loving girl who could not control her laugh, neither could she control her urges to kiss. However, these years have taught the importance of controlling emotions, and not for them to control all the consequences to face later on.

No, with those heels she was too tall.

Quickly changing into black sandals, which were tightly tied around her ankle with a thin black rope, and spraying the aroma of maturity and sexuality at the back of her neck, she knew she mastered the art of seductive details. In the end, those were the places she wanted kisses to be placed, but she knew she would never receive them from him.

Keys, phone, purse and the little bag. All ready to dash out and run to a rendezvous with her own past.

The choice of a bar for a meeting always signals lighthearted intentions of skimming over the latest experiences, discussing the bosses you so dearly hate but find strength in yourself to stand because they decide on your monthly survival and asking that question your mind always stumbles upon, no matter how prepared you are.

“So how have you been lately?”

If it wasn’t for the distracting atmosphere of jazz music in the background, strangers filling their broken hearts with endless rounds of whiskey or the bartender that has become the greatest psychologist of our time and never stopped himself from eavesdropping for personal entertainment, she would have spilt it all. She would have talked about how at times she would lose track of time and forget what it really means to her, how her memories would flash back as if they happened yesterday and leave her confused about what day it is and what year, and whether she wanted present at all. She would talk about how sometimes her mind refuses to generate new ideas because her emotions get tangled up just like Christmas lights, and how she literally needs to squeeze out the last powers to keep moving forward. She would tell him so many things, but most importantly, how many times she would go over this very situation in her own little mind.

“I’ve been doing good, everything stable, you know. What about you?”

What else would she answer. After three years of a complete cut of contact with this person she wanted to know everything, and at the same time absolutely nothing. She wasn’t even sure if she needed this meeting, but she would not stop longing for it until it finally came.

“Me too.”

That’s it. That’s all she needed to hear to understand that past belongs in the past, and that this individual right here is a complete stranger. No matter how familiar his large, green eyes were, no matter how much they welcomed her into those labyrinths of shared history, no matter the gentle curves of his light hair, which she wanted to squeeze in her arms as her moans would dissolve in the bedroom, she had to separate imagination from reality.

“I see…” those words slipped silently as she made small sips of wine, the only remedy for her anxiety of the moment. Then time slowed down, and she carefully listened to the initial notes of that song. It was her own portal from present to past, the one she would like to escape to any other time but not now, not here. It was too much to bear. As the gentle rumba rhythms started to hit the air and draw all the amateur dancers onto the dance floor, she unintentionally read his lips.

“Come dance with me.”

Without acknowledging her own actions, her heavy body from all the stressful overthinking was lifted up as he gently held her hand. She felt his palm just above her waist, which was too coldly respectful, and his broad shoulders blocked the view of anyone else in the room who would notice her not so outstanding dancing skills.

Her body froze and felt completely numb, only the heat centered in her cheeks and chest reminded of that she was still alive, and they were moving together to the beat of Latin music. The soft notes took her entire conscious mind, and she could feel that he lost his too. They gave into the music, slowly at first, as if they were scared to touch something that was made of crystal, being afraid to break it by making a mistake, but then they lost all thoughts. They were back to the time which they both wished to erase from memory, but perpetually failed at because they never stopped to realise how much those memories truly mattered to them as separated souls finally crossing each other once again.

“For three years, I always had a feeling this would happen, I don’t even know why or how…” she quickly muttered as her lips were drawing closer towards his neck and then backwards as they followed the dance moves.

“I know,” and that was all he said, all that she needed to hear. At some point she stopped, and found courage to look directly into his eyes, because the moment was playing for too long with her feelings and she couldn’t stand it anymore, no matter the years of training the correctness of her morals and control over her actions. The moment was more than that, it was more than she could ever imagine, as that what happens when the past kisses the present.

All she knew the next moment was the heat of his kisses all over lips, her neck and chest as she was pushed into the door of her apartment. Chaotically taking out the keys not to lose the satisfaction of present time, they dashed into the room. Everything flew, the shirt, the dress, the thin rope of the sandals on her ankles. The armor of fabricated appeal was now on the floor, and they could be vulnerable with each other as much as they fantasised about it all these years.

As she grabbed onto the strong muscles of his back with her nails, he controlled her like a marionette who gave up to lustful desires. They both possessed each other at that moment. They were sucking every juice out of each other after a long period of hidden hunger, they were destroying each other’s layer of protection until complete bareness with each other, not only physical. The time gave them an ability to show how much they changed but how much they didn’t towards each other, and how enjoyable this feeling was. To tell the truth, she never found a partner better than him in physical movements, and he never discovered the one that would drive him that far with intense emotions. They let out each other’s beasts, as a past of two lovers can never be angelic. There will always be darkness, the one they will both crave for within each other, and only the lessons of time will show them the light. But at that moment, peaceful acceptance was unnecessary, there was too much of it. Only moans of burning satisfaction, only once abandoned passion.

The heat of morning sunrays was strong enough to wake her up. As she turned to her left side, she saw him sleeping calmly as if it was a norm after all that happened. Feeling how her body pleasantly ached after last night, she got out of the soft covers and quietly went to the kitchen on her tiptoes, resembling a cat which she always felt like with him.

“Mhmm…good morning.” She heard him say with his rusty morning voice. When his look finally focused on her standing next to the kettle, he admired the way his shirt laid on her body, and how her messy hair hung on her back. She knew he was looking, as that was the shirt she gave him in the very beginning of it all.

“Are you making coffee? I have it…” he started.

“Two teaspoons, I remember,” she said before he could continue, as they both gently smiled to the morning which belonged to them, and only them.

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Katerina Vyurkova

Just an 18-year-old student that never stops thinking.

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