Breathe

by Ani San

  ‘Excuse me, I just need to get the first aid kit.’ I said, and waited for him to move.

  ‘You cut yourself?’ he asked, taking a step closer to me.

  ‘Yes.’ I felt stupid. ‘It’s just a small cut, but I need to clean and patch it up before I continue making our lunch.’

  He reached for the hand, and unwrapped it carefully. I got embarrass as he studied the cut with a frown on his face. I pulled my arm back. ‘It’s nothing, really. I just didn’t want to get blood on the food.’ I started to walk passed him, but he backed up into the bathroom ahead of me. When I found the first aid kit, he took it from me and found the antiseptic. Then he started to clean my cut with gentle movements, and when all the blood was gone, he patched it up. He kissed my forehead afterwards, making me feel like a little schoolgirl. I felt my tears well up, I hadn’t had anyone taken care of me for a very long time. He looked worried.

  ‘Does it hurt? It didn’t look like it needed stitches,’ he said.

  ‘No, its not that. It’s just... Never mind.’ I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want him to think of me as a pathetic lonely girl. I was supposed to be an adult. He didn’t push me. We went back to the kitchen. I found a new knife and cutting board and grabbed another tomato.

  ‘Maybe I should do that.’ He took the knife from my hand. ‘I wouldn’t want you to loose all your fingers.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I said. ‘I got distracted.’ I knew I shouldn’t have said it the second the words left my mouth.

  ‘Distracted with what?’ He had stopped cutting, and turned around to look at me. Naturally I blush. I tried to turn away, grabbing plates and cups, and pouring some soda. When I turned back, he was still grinning.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur. We ate and talked, and I even painted a portrait of him. Painting a natural picture weren’t my usual style, but I manage. And it was the perfect pastime. I could openly gawk at him for an hour, trace every line of his face. And I got to have a souvenir of him when he left. Alice had called while I was painting, wondering what happened last night. I got evasive and asked if she hooked up with Kiro. I didn’t want to tell her anything while Christopher was listening. I didn’t even know what I could tell her. She was my best friend, but I didn’t know if I could trust her with this. She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. I was surprised to hear that she went home with Kiro, and were meeting him later tonight for a movie. I wished her a good time, and asked her to call me tomorrow to tell me how it went. Christopher looked uncomfortable when I hung up, and had asked if we told each other everything. I told him I might hold back a few details.

  We made Saltimbocca with veal for dinner, and oven baked vegetables. Anna had even bought a red win to go with the veal. Christopher didn’t let me cut anything, ‘in case I got distracted,’ so mainly I sat on the counter sipping wine.

  We ate at a small dining table in the kitchen. The lights were off, and two candlelights gave the dinner a romantic atmosphere. I started imagining that this was a real date. We were almost done eating when he commented a picture on the wall above the table. It contained only majestic mountains that came up from the ocean, but more realistic than the one he bought. It even had a shore and a small yellow house in the lower end. It wasn’t in my usual style, and he wondered if I had painted it.

  ‘I did this one right before I came here. It’s the only one I brought with me. It’s from where I grew up.’

  ‘Yes, I recognise the mountains. Is that the house you grew up in?’

  ‘Yes, with my mom.’

  I didn’t know how much I wanted to share. It was still too painful.

  ‘I’ve been there once. In the capitol. Oslo, is it?’ I nodded to his question.

  ‘Have you ever been there?’ he continued.

  ‘Once.’ That was especially something I didn’t want to talk about. I tried to block out that memory as much as possible.

  ‘Do you have much family back there?’ His voice was casual, and he shoved his plate away and leaned backwards. After our previous conversation about my father, I was a little surprised that he would bring it up. I guess this was a common topic when people started to get to know each other. I didn’t care for it much. I shook my head, refusing to answer more on the matter. I tried to wiggle my mind to come up with a topic changer, but it was to busy blocking the memories of my trip to Oslo.

  He was about to say something more, when his phone rang again. He looked at the number and then excused him self as he walked towards the living room. I was fidgeting with the remains on my plate, trying not to listen to his conversation. Instead my thoughts drifted back to the things I didn’t want to talk about. To the day my mother died, and the letter I found a week later. How I found out that I had a father somewhere. Until that day I believed my father was dead. He might as well be dead. I thought about the lawyer, Alfred, coming to help me with the funeral. He hadn’t told me about him, but he did explain about the money. My money. A part of it was given to my mother to help raise me, but she’d never touched it. The other part was money being transferred every month until I was eighteen. Alfred had refused to tell me whom the money came from. He never mentioned that he worked for my father, not then. I didn’t read the letter until he left. It was hidden in my mother’s nightstand, and had my name on it. I still remember every word of it. It was dated two month before she died. That would be the same time the doctors told us there weren’t any more they could do. I had stayed with her the last few weeks at the hospital, refusing to let her go. She didn’t tell me about the letter. She knew I would find it.

  Chapter 6

  «Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or

  burn down your house, you can never tell.»

  - Joan Crawford

  ‘My dearest little girl’, she started. ‘I don’t want to leave you, but it seems I don’t have any choice. We all live life on borrowed time, and now my time is up. Don’t be sad for me. I have lived a good life. And you are the best part. I never regretted my choices, and I never regretted meeting your father. He gave me you. Every day since the doctor told us that the time was up, I have debating myself if I should tell you. You have a right to know, even if the truth doesn’t do you any good. I have told you that your father died. That isn’t exactly true. For me he was dead before you were born, but in reality he is very much alive. You would have found out anyway, because the money he has entrusted in you, are yours to spend as you like the day you turn 21. I have been keeping in touch with Alfred, his lawyer, you will probably meet him when I am gone. He is a good man, and you can trust him. But never forget who he works for’.

  ‘Your father and I signed a contract after you were born. He would make sure you were ok financially, if I never contacted him direct or name him as the father. I never wanted to, either. I was angry with him for years. But I did love him, once. I met your father when I was backpacking with some friends. We were traveling through Italy, and he was there on holiday. He was a couple of years older than me, and quite charming. I let my friends travel on without me. We spent two weeks together, just him and me. I didn’t know he had a fiancée back home, but he told me he came from a conservative family. For him, this trip was a final youth spring, and he took it out on me. He told me everything the last night though. We cried together, and I really believed he would miss me. After two months back home, I realized I was pregnant. I need you to know that I never considered not having you. I went to Oslo and told your father, I am not going to tell you about that conversation. It didn’t go well. I got a letter some time later, with a contract. As soon as the paternity test was ready, he would send money to support you. I never spent that money. I wanted to prove I could do it all myself. Maybe I regret that now. Maybe I should have used some of it to show you the world. I should have used it instead of wasting so much time on work. I didn’t know our time together was going to be this short’.

  ‘Your father got married two weeks before you were born. He has h
is own family now, and they don’t know about you. His family is in the media quite often, and he is terrified of a scandal. And if the media find out about you, they will never leave you alone. So I beg you, please don’t contact him. He has bought himself free, and he will never be a father to you’.

  ‘I love you so much, my baby, and I know you will do ok in life. Just remember to enjoy every second of it. Love, mom’.

  There was a news clip attached to the letter. A picture of a politician I had seen before. He was standing with his family. The sub text below was as following: The former tycoon Andreas Wiik Petterson is re-nominated as chairman for the Conservatives. With him in the picture is his wife Hilde, and daughters Sofie Alexandra and Mille Marie. The son, Andreas jr. was attending the Cowers Creek regatta, and was therefore not present at yesterdays press conference.

  I read about the son some time later. He was in a car accident, and had been charged with reckless driving under the influence. The case was dropped due to insufficient evidence. I remember it well, cause it was in the media for days. The opposition were talking about corruption. Nothing was proved, though.

  My mother never wrote my fathers name, but the news clip left no doubt. I even saw a resemblance to my own in the daughters faces. In the beginning, I was so overwhelmed by grief and anger, that I didn’t care who he was. I didn’t want anything to do with him or his money. I burned the picture, and blocked him out of my mind. I shut the world out. Erik, my boyfriend, took control over my life, and I let him. My anorexia came back, after being subdued for two years. And my panic attacks came at random moments. Well, actually not that random, they usually were connected with Eriks’ anger, which I usually provoked in some way or the other. It wasn’t a good time to be me. Somehow, I thought maybe my father would come and save me. He never did, and finally I went to see him. That wasn’t a good time for me either.

  I was clearing the table and doing the dishes when Christopher came back. We finished it together in silence. I tried to block my memories, to concentrate on the here and now. The past is past, and you could only change the future. I loved having Christopher here, doing trivial things and enjoying each other’s company. I knew having him here was wrong, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t wasting my time with him on regret, I would save that for later. We were just about finished when he broke the silence.

  ‘I’m sorry about before. I know you lost your mother, I was just wondering if you had any siblings or other relatives. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘You didn’t. I just don’t like talking about it, that’s all?’

  ‘Why? No, I’m sorry, none of my business.’ He held up both his hands as surrender. Then he put them around my waste, pulling me close. ‘It’s just that I’m trying to get to know you. You are so straightforward and open on some things, and entirely closed on something else.’

  He was so close. His body felt comforting, and gave my mind something other to think about. I needed that. So instead of answering him, I reached my hand around his head and pulled him closer. Our lips met, and I kissed him gently. He lifted my body onto the counter and moved his lips to my neck. I pulled on his hair, trying to get him closer. I could feel his body between my legs. I crossed them behind him, held him around the neck and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Bedroom.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He stopped the kissing and looked into my eyes. I took a firmer grip around his neck and pulled him back towards me.

  ‘Yes!’ I gasped as his lips touched my neck again. It never left my skin as he carried me through the living room and into the bedroom. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I flung of the tank top and started unbuttoning my pants while he removed his own shirt. My fingers stopped as my eyes locked on his naked chest. I never got tired of looking at that chest. His fingers grabbed the lining on my pants and pulled me closer. Then he unbuttoned them him self, and pushed me onto the bed so he could drag them of. I tried unlocking my bra while lying on my back. He sat on me and pulled me up so he could do it himself. As soon as the fabric was off, his mouth found my breast. I gasped and fell back down, and his body followed, thrusting me to the bed. His mouth only left my body to ask about protection. In between my ragged breathing, I managed to tell him I was covered. There was no doubt in my mind, no hesitation, as I let my hands discover his body. I wanted him now. I didn’t care about anything else.

  It was almost nine o’clock when we emerge, exhausted physically and mentally. I lay on my stomach while he stroked my back. The sensation made me both aroused and sleepy. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to relish every minute of him. He was lying on his side, and I could see a soft scar above his left nipple. My finger traced it lightly, it was about 3 inches and much lighter than his tan skin.

  ‘How did you get this?’ I ask, murmuring as a response to his fingernails reaching the low part of my back.

  ‘I drove a motorcycle of a cliff.’ He said it casually, like it was no big deal.

  ‘You drove of a cliff?’

  ‘It was a small cliff, and it was suppose to be completely safe?’

  ‘When is driving of a cliff ever safe?’

  ‘When you have a safety line, a mattress, and a security team working on a set.’

  ‘Oh, you where working on a movie.’ Apparently, sex had slowed my mind to turtle speed. He laughed at my response.

  ‘Yes, it happened when we where shooting Charlie Tango. I ran my bike of the mark, and landed in the wrong place. To top it all, my security line was too loose.’

  ‘But don’t you have stunt doubles to do those sorts of things?’

  ‘Yes, but I do it myself every chance I get. After that accident, most directors hold me on a tight leech. I broke my shoulder bone too, and they had to postpone most of my scenes for tree weeks. My agent wanted to kill me. Luckily, I didn’t play any lead character, so they were able to continue with other scenes.’

  ‘But why do you take the risk when you don’t have to?’ I didn’t want to imagine him doing dangerous stunts and harming himself.

  ‘It’s exciting. As an actor, you get a script, and you are left to interpret the character in the direction the director wants. Usually, it doesn’t leave much to improvisation or excitement. But the stunts are different. You get to test yourself, and do things your not familiar with. You get to push your limits, and see what you’re made of. I didn’t get to do that jump right, but I did try. And the feeling I had when I was in the air, it was worth it.’ He was on his back now, staring into the ceiling.

  ‘One time, on another movie, I got to climb on top of a moving train. I had straps on, and it didn’t move that fast, but standing on the top, feeling the wind make my legs shaky, that was kind of cool.’

  ‘And you didn’t hurt your self that time?’

  ‘No, as I said, it’s mostly safe. If there is any uncertainty, they use doubles that are trained to do it. It doesn’t matter how much I want to do it myself.’ He was back on his side and stroking me again.

  ‘So the bike accident is the only time you got hurt on set?’

  ‘I did crack a few ribs in a fight scene a few years back. And last year I got a concussion after a prop fell down. It cost someone his job.’

  ‘Alice just finished her Scenography degree. She’s thinking of working for one of the London companies.’

  ‘Alice? That’s the girl with the spiky hair, right?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  ‘Has she been in contact with them? Does she need someone to introduce her?’

  ‘You would do that for her?’

  ‘Sure, why not. She’s a friend of you, isn’t she?’

  ‘My best friend, actually. I think she already has an offer from that company, and she’s thinking about it. But it’s nice of you to offer, though.’ I was wondering how that might work, how I could explain to her that Christopher wanted to introduce her to the industry, without telling her why he’d offer. I couldn’t tell her I had sex with him. She would chastise me. Actually, I should c
hastise me first. But not now. I would treasure this moment, and reprimand myself when he left. Perhaps the pain of him leaving would be punishment enough.

  ‘So what about you? What are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, I haven’t decided yet. I will probably continue painting.’

  ‘But you could do that all over the world.’

  ‘Yes, and I would love to travel for a while.’

  ‘But you’re not leaving London yet, are you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good.’

  We lay there for a while, talking and stroking and watching each other. I must have drifted of to sleep, cause the next thing I remembered was waking up alone in bed. It was still dark behind the curtains. The alarm clock showed an hour before midnight. My heart panicked a second and I could feel my breath escalate, before I heard his voice. He hadn’t left me. He was in the living room, talking on his phone again. The door was closed, but I could still make out his words, he was talking loud.

  ‘No, that’s not possible.’ His voice was annoyed. ‘No, you can tell her that I can’t. … I don’t care. Let me speak to her.’ Then his words became muffled. I felt a little embarrassed by my eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help myself. He was obviously angry about something. Instead of laying there pondering why, I got up and headed for the shower. I was still tired, but I didn’t want to miss any more time sleeping if he was leaving soon. The water felt good against my sore muscles, and I focused on the soothing sound it made, trying to relax my mind. I didn’t hear him come into the bathroom, before the shower door opened and he stepped in behind me. The tight space felt crowded, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t need to turn around to know his intension, I could feel it hard against my back. His arms reached around me, grabbed the soap out of my hand, and began the process of washing every bit of my body. Afterwards we went back to bed, and talked and touched and enjoyed each other’s closeness.