Monogamy Book One. Lover: This is one love for life and beyond time

by Victoria Sobolev

  I know that, moments before, Alex was using his lips and tongue to clean the melted ice-cream off my thigh and wrist and inadvertently treating me to the most ecstatic experience of my life. My body and mind are adrift in a sea of bliss, the sounds of the park suddenly fade away, and the world and everyone in it cease to exist. All I can see is a blindingly bright light and all I can feel are a man’s moist lips touching mine. Alex’s hot, passionate mouth is kissing me greedily as if there is finally enough air; as if he had been suffocating, but now he can breathe.

  I know that a kiss like this is neither flirting nor dating and can sense with every fibre of my being that it was a sudden impulse, unplanned and impetuous.

  When Alex comes to his senses and realises what he has done, I am already staring meaningfully into his eyes. He pulls away slowly and starts to apologise, but I assure him there is no need, just not to do it again. He replies that he won’t, but his eyes say otherwise: he looks as overwhelmed as I feel.

  The clock of my life is ticking and I desperately don’t want to miss out on what matters most. Could this be a justification for adultery? And if I did decide to introduce a little fun into my life, then it wouldn’t be with just anyone, but with someone I considered worthy enough, and something is telling me that this disturbingly attractive man would bring me quite a lot of pleasure...

  The question is, why is he interested in me? I’m hardly what you would call beautiful, but can make myself attractive and even pull off glamorous if really needed. In a nutshell, I am of average height, but still carrying a little baby weight; eyes not as big as I’d like; nose anything but perfect; and eyebrows too thin. My hair colour changes often, but right now it is almost naturally blond and I wear it long. Objectively speaking, there is absolutely nothing remarkable about my appearance. Except for my figure, perhaps, and, more specifically, my hips. And I do have beautiful lips. But that’s it. Determination and perseverance are my biggest strengths, while intelligence is my trump card, and a few particularly astute people have been able to see this extraordinary intelligence in my blue eyes.

  A few days later, Alex suddenly suggests we go back to the karaoke club and Timothy and I agree. It is a weekday and the club isn’t that busy, so we get the chance to sing more than once. Like last time, Alex cannot take his eyes off me, then declares that I have the most beautiful voice he has ever heard.

  Yet the biggest surprise of the evening is his suggestion that we sing a duet together.

  ‘You’re not afraid of embarrassing yourself?’ I ask, feeling bold enough to be playful.

  ‘Well, I’ll give it a go,’ he replies, with a wisp of a smile.

  ‘Which song?’

  ‘Rihanna’s duet with Mikky Ekko, “Stay”. It’s not my favourite song or anything, but I heard it in the car yesterday and I liked it. Will you sing it with me?’

  ‘I’d love to, it’s a beautiful song. It’s tricky, the tune is carried almost completely by the voice, but we can give it a try. Let me guess: that’s the reason we’re here today, isn’t it? To sing this song?’

  ‘You got it in one,’ he says, staring at me so intently that I start to feel a little self-conscious. Alex is smiling as always, but his smile this time seems more secretive somehow.

  We walk up onto the stage and, for the very first time, I see the effect that this man clearly has on women. I am far from the only one who likes him; they all do. And they don’t just like him; they are magnetised by his striking beauty, his grace, and the way his slight smile leaves a trail of mystery, of tantalising sexuality, and an unexplored taste that demands to be savoured. Every single woman in the club, regardless of age, nationality and preferences, is enchanted by him. It is clear from the expressions on their faces, from the provocative and flirtatious way they take their seats, from their body language, and from their eyes, which not only reflect their incredible interest, but also their passionate desire and attraction.

  Stunned by the effect that Alex has unwittingly had on the women in the club, I find myself also staring at him. He is once again dressed almost completely in white: stylish white trousers with a thin, black patent leather belt around his slender hips that further emphasises the elegance of his body; and a white shirt with long, slightly gathered sleeves. The collar is only open a little, as required by etiquette, but it is enough to show a glimpse of tanned skin covered with short dark hairs that leave an unbelievably sexual aftertaste. Not only do they whet the appetite, but they evoke wild, lascivious, almost animalistic fantasies. Alex is incredibly attractive and seems well aware of it.

  He takes a seat at the piano – the only instrument in the song he has chosen – and I am surprised that he is planning on playing it himself. I move a little closer and lean on the piano lid, the lyrics in my hand. The spotlight is on us, leaving the rest of the world in complete darkness, and the illusion of solitude lends a particular allure and sense of tension to what we are about to do.

  I am enthralled as I watch Alex’s fingers caress the keys, coaxing exquisite, impeccable music out of the piano as if he has been doing it his whole life.

  *** ‘Stay’ by Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko ***

  We start the song and I sing first.

  From the very first words, it’s clear that the song is about love; a love so strong that it’s like a fever. Singing them, I ask him to show it to me and he replies that he will, but only if I dare move closer.

  I raise my eyes from the lyrics, look at Alex, and know that my guess really is correct: the words contain a special meaning just for the two of us.

  Realising that the song is a declaration of love turns my mind upside down. My legs go weak, my stomach tightens, and there are a thousand butterflies fluttering in my chest. I can feel the sweet pleasure of the situation burning me, my willpower, my integrity, my principles.

  How much closer does he want me to be? So close that, when skin to skin, not even a micron of space remains between us, two virtual strangers?

  Singing the chorus in two voices, we do not take our eyes from each other. We spend those minutes locked in our own world, a world only big enough for two people inexorably reaching out to each other.

  Meanwhile it is Alex’s turn, and he looks into my eyes so tenderly as he sings that it is like he is trying to penetrate my very soul. He sings that he knows – has seen and understood – there is nothing enviable about my life. And it’s nothing to do with money or who I’m married to, but how I’m living it: there is a frozen wasteland between me and the man I should love. What difference does it make how you spend your day if it doesn’t start with what’s most important – the warmth of a man who loves you? A warmth that is missing during the day, but even more so at night. Coldness, nothing but coldness. Is such a life worth living? Or is it just a slow but inevitable decline? A kind of suffocation without ever finding out what it is to breathe deeply?

  His voice is heavenly, just like the rest of him. Strong and masculine, it moves easily between low and velvety and high and exquisite. It does not float in a gentle wave like mine does, but rips apart the hearts of everyone in the club, fires their imaginations and leaves them shaken. Everyone is lost in his voice along with me. They are spellbound and bewitched by it. And I realise that Alex never shows off or overplays his strengths, he is like a closed puzzle box and this excites me even more.

  The full meaning of the words that come next will only really hit me years later, when their depth and foreknowledge rip my heart to shreds. We sing them at the same time and this wins over the room completely. Our voices merge together into a sensuous spiral, matching and complementing each other perfectly. Hands go up and some people stand.

  I draw out the final line and Alex smiles as he looks at me. Seeing that I have understood his message enchants him even more, because I could have been an idiot who missed every one of his hints. Or, at the very least, didn’t know English.

  Skipping ahead, this habit of his to communicate in hints, force people to read between the lines an
d do the same himself will cause a great deal of damage to us both.

  CHAPTER 4. OUR FIRST DATE

  *** ‘Divenire (Live à Fip)’ by Ludovico Einaudi ***

  I won’t hide that I am drawn to falling in love, but my life as a real adult began far too early. I don’t mean just living away from my parents, but having a newborn baby with a complex range of diagnoses, complete and forced independence regarding how to look after it, finishing my second year of study long distance, and also the headache of how to pay the rent and where to find the money for nappies.

  Fortunately, I have always been far too sensible and the fifteen hundred dollars I earned here and there during my school years saved the day (and I mean saved). I managed to make it last until I was able to leave my son for a couple of hours a day to earn more. So, at nineteen years of age, I had to look after a child, study and work, and all with absolutely no support whatsoever, not even moral. Because if you make a wrong choice and find yourself knocked up despite all the warnings and admonitions, you’re left to deal with it by yourself. I can see why, but if my son were ever to get someone pregnant and the time wasn’t right, then I would at least help financially. It’s life, and we all know how complicated it can get sometimes.

  So, despite the steel rod forged by life’s problems, I am a woman and there is still a tenderness within me. The chance to love is pulling me in, especially as it is surely impossible to resist such a concentration of gentleness and affection, of universal beauty and charm, of success and masculinity.

  Thanks to the close friendship between my mind and my heart, I can safely boast that it is easy for me to control my feelings. An internal dialogue immediately starts up, the gist of which is: ‘he’s out of your league’.

  And that’s the subject of love over and done with.

  Now, the subject of sex worries me big time. I have experienced many things in the twenty-three years I have been alive, but I have no idea what it is. Well, I have a general idea, of course – I mean, I’ve given birth to a child – but I seriously suspect that I haven’t been shown everything, that much has been withheld from me and much – much – more has been kept secret. It is an easy guess, if only because I haven’t even found out what is hiding behind the terrifying word ‘orgasm’ yet.

  Well, and the fact that I find it unbelievably difficult to control my hormones when Alex is next to me; it’s like I’m being pulled in. The pull is not just strong, it is overwhelmingly powerful and so unbearable that it feels as if the decision has already been made – the sooner the better – and to hell with pride and good manners; to hell with all of it.

  Looking at Alex, it is impossible to think of anything but sex. The desire to press myself close to him and greedily breathe in his smell is mercilessly reducing my willpower to ashes, twisting my insides. I gradually learn to cope with it, however, by being cool and aloof. The colder I am emotionally, the less harmful the consequences – and I intend to stay that way for a long time to come.

  We continue to meet up and it is always the three of us – Alex, Daniel and I – but we know perfectly well that we’re both actors in a production of ‘The Illusion of Friendship’. We go to the cinema, watch full-length animations from America and laugh, and when Alex’s hand accidentally brushes against mine, we both feel a shock of electricity. We walk in the park and I furtively drink in his beauty, my daydreams running wild with thoughts of touching him. The desire to be closer to him is squeezing me like a vice and I invent reasons to reduce the acceptable distance between us, genuinely surprised at my ingenuity. More and more I want to revel in just how unusually sweet Alex smells with his expensive aftershave. I dream of touching his body, of feeling him close to me and sharing his life.

  It is the ordered motion of space bodies on a given trajectory, a single movement along intersecting paths. And waiting for the imminent collision already obvious to us both is the sweetest anticipation in the world. My conservative self is huddled in the darkest and farthest corner of my soul, trying to make itself as minuscule as possible and covering itself with a clock of invisibility as it waits in the wings.

  Alex’s motion timer stops first and it happens on a rainy, overcast day. We are sitting outside in his Porsche, neither of us wanting to leave, and watching the rain drops zigzagging their way monotonously down the windscreen.

  After a while, Alex says gently, ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Well, that depends what it is!’ I reply, mockingly.

  ‘Could we have some time just the two of us?’

  ‘Are you asking me to leave my son with someone so that we can meet up without him? Why?’

  Alex turns away with a slight smile. He probably thinks I’m an idiot, but despite feeling intoxicated from his proximity, my brain, my upbringing and my good sense are all flashing two big red capital letters in my head – ‘N.O.’.

  But who could possibly listen to reason under such circumstances?

  *** ‘Then the Quiet Explosion’ (Oblivions Hymns) by Hammock ***

  We enter the gloom of a large room with glass walls. It is already getting dark and the space is barely lit by the last rays of the rapidly setting sun. I can hear subtle, unfamiliar, but incredibly beautiful music and unconsciously search out its source. Glancing into a room on the right, I see a table covered in monitors and tablets that Alex obviously uses to create his projects. The bars of an equalizer are rising and falling on one of the monitors, but the uniform sound of the music in all the rooms suggests that the stereo system is wired throughout the apartment. There are also professional tablets on the floor alongside unfurled blueprints.

  His apartment is not only beautiful, it is unusual. Some pieces of high-tech furniture are arranged in each room with very few decorative items, but the backlit glass panels covered in intricate patterns of trapped air bubbles create the illusion of movement and provide a sense of comfort. These panels – all completely different, but each beautiful in their own way – serve as internal walls that divide up a huge space into separate rooms.

  The otherworldly music, quiet and barely perceptible, suits this ‘apartment of the future’ perfectly, the relaxing background sounds adding the finishing touch. The external walls are all floor-to-ceiling windows covered in a translucent white cloth so delicate that the slightest breeze lifts them like sails, revealing an enormous terrace with a pool surrounded by plants. My nose picks up the subtle aroma of either citrus fruits or vanilla – probably also some super-advanced system to ensure a consistent fragrance.

  I glance behind a frosted partition on the left-hand side of the apartment and that’s when I see it – the bedroom. Right in the middle of the room, not touching any of the walls, is a huge bed with crisp white sheets, just like in a honeymoon suite.

  The thought flits through my mind that dozens of women have probably been here before me, but it is countered by another: ‘I drink from the same glasses as everyone else when I’m in a restaurant and eat from the same plates using the same forks, so what the hell is the difference?’ Especially as restaurants are very careful about cleanliness and these snow-white and perfectly ironed sheets exude the kind of freshness that even newborn babies would envy. They had clearly been changed earlier today, and chances are that it wasn’t Alex who changed them.

  The room is about the size of my house, but, besides the bed and a cream carpet that looks as fluffy as a cloud, there is absolutely nothing else in it. One of the glass wall panels is pushed open, revealing a way out onto the terrace. There is a fresh breeze blowing in carrying the scent of rain that has passed over nearby. It wanders through the labyrinthine space of the apartment, fluttering the white curtains and filling this refuge for the people of the future with life.

  When I go out onto the terrace, my breath catches in my chest. Laid out before me is a stunningly beautiful view over the city, a forest, and a lake. Then there is the terrace itself with its small, illuminated, azure pool, its wicker loungers and its ball chairs on marble floor tiles.
/>
  Suddenly, lights come on around the perimeter of the terrace, making the whole picture even more mesmerising, resembling a landing strip for alien intergalactic ships.

  *** ‘Beach House’ by Space Song ***

  ‘It looks nicer this way,’ I hear him say, quietly.

  ‘I’ll say...’ I agree. ‘You live at the very heart of beauty.’

  ‘Thank you! The design for the building was my diploma project years ago and, with some huge improvements and a few changes – not for the better, unfortunately – I finally managed to turn it into a reality.’

  And I think to myself: ‘What a bloody idiot I am; I should have guessed straight away! This is much better: he designed the building and so was given one of the apartments. It doesn’t make him Rockefeller, just a good architect.’ I feel relieved and say: ‘You have excellent taste! So what was actually removed from your design?’

  ‘The same as always: the most beautiful and the most modern. What would you like to drink?’ Alex smiles and gives me such a look that I can feel my head start to spin.

  ‘What’s more beautiful than this?!’ I exclaim in genuine surprise. ‘So, what do you have to drink?’

  ‘Well, let’s go and see. I could make you a mojito... probably any cocktail, actually. I’ve got some fruit in the kitchen. Or I could go downstairs and order you something from the bar.’

  ‘There’s no need to go down to the bar. A mojito would be perfect.’

  We move into the kitchen. It is as spacious as all the other rooms in this unusual apartment, but its interior is much cooler. Alex looks through drawers and cupboards that open independently with a mere touch of his hand using fancy mechanisms. Everything turns on, lights up, obligingly slides out and back in again at his slightest whim. He does everything quickly and skilfully and it feels like I’m looking at him through the eyes of a Neanderthal: the beauty and innovativeness, science and usability, magnificent spaciousness yet cosy simplicity of his home impress me greatly.