part 2
It's been a whole week since dinner. I cook us dinner every night, and Eric will or will not. I'm fine with that - his frightening silence, his barely audible "thank you", and every day literally a moment of hugging afterward. Plus, I noticed that he started having nightmares less often. At least I don't wake up several times overnight, and it's definitely good for me.
But our relationship still does not suit me categorically. I want to tame Eric like other people tame wild animals. I want to make him my husband, who will not just love me like a muse, but let himself kiss me...
I can't say that the thought of his touching is very pleasing to me. Yes, I can safely say that I care about Eric, but trust him so much... When I imagine his face, I'm shaken up, and the worst part is that Eric knows it.
I don't want to hurt him.
I want to see him smile quietly and modestly. I want to hear his laughter. I want to make him happy.
I want to and I can't.
I think about him all the time, looking for ways to help him, but I don't find him.
* * *
It's for another week.
In the morning, Eric makes coffee for two, and I add the right amount of milk. At some point, Eric starts pouring me the milk himself.
I leave him all sorts of nice notes about the house. There are some warm words in them, and I know he finds them and takes them to his place.
Every night I find a bouquet of field flowers in a glass on my desk and a few melodic musical phrases are written with great care - and I know what it costs.
I secretly iron his shirts myself from Eric because I notice that trusting the girls in the laundry room is crazy.
The broken furniture in our house is rebuilding by itself, and I'm amazed at how Eric even notices things like a torn lining on a chair.
He suddenly cares.
Or is it because I've changed?
We barely see each other, but we take care of each other like children. It's really the first time I've been in the same house with him.
It's like there's a special bond between us.
What I am most afraid of is destroying it.
* * *
I'm coming back from work very late. I was detained by the director - they wanted to talk to me about the new production of "Rigoletto" and my role - slightly frivolous, kind, faithful and a little naive Julia.
The conversation lasted but ended very positively: the premiere was scheduled in six months. I will start rehearsals next week.
I am going home at dusk, which condenses very quickly. I prefer not to look at my watch, and I know that I usually have dinner with Eric at this time. He never meets me, even if it's half-past ten, as usual. And now, I think I'll be on my way home by eleven.
I have a surprise waiting for me at the stop.
A dark figure appears from the shade of the house, nervously squeezing the cane and slightly lifting my hat when I see it.
- Eric... God, you met me... I was so afraid I'd have to go alone! Thank you.
He leans down on my arm and barely touches her lips.
I feel he's embarrassed and excited. I smile with the corners of my lips.
I take his hand and Eric gets tense. I pat him on the forearm a little bit.
I need to calm my angel down somehow...
I can't. I just can't do it.
He's all tense; it feels like there's a thin string inside him. If you touch it wrong, it will burst.
Together with her, his trust in me will burst.
I am timidly pressing him: a cool summer breeze clogs up under my dress. I feel a strange weight and warmth on my shoulders, I look up at Eric, and I understand that he put his coat on my shoulders.
- Eric, what if you get cold?
- Nonsense. Eric never gets cold.
Carefully touching his icy fingers.
- You can... Can I ask you a very immodest question? - I get a strange nod and a gaze. - Why...? Why do you have such cold fingers? Always?
- Eric doesn't know... His hands are always freezing, even if he's hot. He has to work hard to keep his hands warm.
I take his hand in mine, no longer holding the teacher's hand, and start rubbing vigorously with both hands.
At first, he tries to get away rather sluggishly, and then he relaxes. I can see that he even feels good when I hold his palm to his lips and breathe warm air into a kind of "bag" from our hands.
And gradually his hands are getting warmer, though not much. But the main thing is not that... The main thing is the look of these strange golden eyes full of love and tenderness.
I do not want to let him go.
Not for a moment...
But a tasty dinner prepared by my angel is waiting for me, and I gladly hurry to the kitchen.
I feel as if I have made my way back into the ice wall a little deeper out of densely intertwined fears, illusions, unfulfilled hopes, whose splinters are made into this viscous substance of despair, like cement; through the wall that he built for so many years...
All this is very difficult.
I am aware of this.
But I am so pleased to see the street.
* * *
The night after that strange return home, the two of me dreaming about Eric.
He's playing me, we're singing a duet of Othello and Desdemona. Я... I try to tear off his mask again, I don't remember his face or the horror that will follow him, I don't remember anything but my desire to touch, to see...
He beckons me with his fucking music, his voice...
Tear off the mask.
And again, this horror comes down with a heavy wave, and again the pain, despair, and fear...
I wake up in tears.
I lay for a long time wrapped in a thin summer blanket from head to toe. The same cool breeze walks in the room, and a jasmine bush blossoms under the windows, exuding a subtle aroma.
I am not happy with all this beauty.
Eric forgave me so much...
And I didn't forgive him.
She didn't say she forgave me. I didn't let him know that many things were over, that it was just a memory, just a bad dream...
Eric shouts behind the wall, waking up from a nightmare.
I really want to help him, but I can't.
My thoughts are running out.
I must be sick with him, my teacher and my husband. He torments me even in my dreams, torments me in his own way, pulls me in and makes me let go again...
Everything is so strange... so wrong, so sweet and bitter...
Stuffy, heavy drowsiness falls asleep on me, and I fall asleep again, and in my sleep these damned golden eyes again...
to be continued.......