Stains of Blue

Awww thank you all so much, these were so kind reviews. Sorry for the delay I visited my family over easter :)
But here we go - semi last update.


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The softest cooling breath caressed my skin, when I awoke in a deserted bed. I kept my eyes closed realizing that I was alone, the windows had been opened and the morning breeze had taken the scent of sex and sweat away. The white silk sheets next to me lay tidily placed and the curtains of the same fabric swayed gently in front of the opened window. I could hear the birds sing and twitter in the broad backyard and the warm shades of the rising sun shone veiled soft through the curtains.
The scene was perfect, so pure, so innocent, as if sprung from a dream, but I could not appreciate it. My heart ached painfully when I realized what I had gotten myself into. The hazy beauty, the ecstasy of yesterday lay now, in the harsh light of day uncovered of its mystery for what it had been: A one night stand. I had lost my virginity in a one night stand, the empty bed proved it, the perfect cliché.
For some reason I had, in the afterglow of the nights passion, expected to wake up in his arms, the sheets crinkled, only half covering his bare chest, the smell of sex still in the air and I had watched him, as he slept calmly, before he would wake up and we would make love again.
But it was cold and I was alone. I shivered and quickly got up, wrapping the sheet around my naked form and stepped to the window, drawing the curtains away. The sun had risen quite high over the fruit tree tops and bathed the whole garden in warm, golden light. My heart beat faster when I saw Viggo standing in a pavilion in a far end, in front of a broad sheet of canvas. He wore jeans but his chest was still bare like his feet, his hair ruffled, and with powerful, then soft strokes he coloured the canvas. For the spark of a moment I remembered how I had felt when I had woken up, before knowing that he had left, before feeling the chill of morning. A shiver ran down my spine and my sex started tingling again, I had felt better then ever before in my life – satisfied, and in a state of calm bliss.
But not anymore. Now all I could feel was disappointment and anger about my own illusions. I had known it would end this way, he had told me, and it was clear all the time, why did I have to mistake the signs, why did I have to start hoping for more, because all these unfulfilled dreams now spoiled what had been the most wonderful night of my life.

I tore myself away from the view and bit away a tear that formed in the corner of my eye. This reverie wouldn’t bring me anywhere and all I longed for now was getting out of this situation as soon as possible. I didn’t want to hear him say goodbye, didn’t want to see that pitiful glance knowing that I felt more for him then he could return. I left the room searching for the bath, if I had to face him I would do it my way. I won’t still have his scent on me, I won’t have still his seed sticking to my thighs, I won’t have any sign on me that reminded of last night – and I would tell him that he was right. That neither I was able to feel more for him, that we’d had a wonderful night but that there would never be more between us.
But in the shower, while the hot drops cascaded on my skin, the sound of the stream muffled my sobs and tears flowed into the water.


A smile wrinkled my lips when I returned to bedroom and after a frantic moment, searching my clothes, I found them all tidily placed on a chair. But the smile didn’t linger, he obviously wanted me out of his life as soon as possible, he was a loner, a poet. A painter. There was nothing I could offer him to make me stay – obviously. I already had given him all I have had, more then anyone has ever gotten from me, he had seen me, the deepest core of my existence, he had held it in his gentle hands – for one night.

I found him in the kitchen my hair in a damp ponytail but apart from that perfectly calm, perfectly styled - nothing reminded of the intimacy we had shared and even had I managed to recover my eyes, in order not to let them appear too puffy and rimmed. Perfectly stable, perfect countenance and ready to say bye.bye.

“Good morning, my love!” he cooed hoarsely when he heard me and turned around. His smile was honest and disarming and when he approached me I almost backed off as he tried to embrace me in a good morning kiss. He looked down at me concerned, I could tell, when I ended up in wincing to my core, and slowly he ran his hand down my arm. A shiver ran down spine and I barely could hold back the tears that were desperately welling up in my eyes. This was not what I had expected, it was not what I had built up courage and strength for, and as beautiful as it was, I felt more vulnerable then ever before in my life - I had torn this thin hair-line of hope apart long ago – I would not allow me to weave a new one, to be hurt once more and even worse.
“I made breakfast,” he whispered gently, his brows arched in the sweetest complexion of insecure question inquiry for my worry – “I hope you like fruit salad, but I also made wafers in case… sweetheart, what’s the matter?”
Tears ran openly down my cheeks now, how could he be so sweet, so gentle when he would ask me to leave any minute now – he would not love me today, that’s the only thing he was sure of - he loved me yesterday, today he was over with me. I had known it, I had accepted it, I even was willing to go through with it, my head proudly lifted – and now?! What was now?


.:*:.

I stared at Viggo disbelievingly. He seemed so honest, so open-hearted and earnest as if oblivious about our arrangement, about the conditions he had made me agree to. As if I was more then just a random lover in his house. His worried eyes still lingered upon my tears, that I now brushed away roughly.
“No thank you!” I mumbled in a last attempt to regain my pride, “I’d better be going, there is no need to prolong this any longer – I understand…”
My stomach churned and trachea knotted when I saw his expression – he looked as if I had slapped him, no worse. It was so unlike of what I had expected (what had I expected anyway?!).
I saw hurt in flashing over his beautiful eyes and hesitantly he drew back the hand, he had placed on my arm. He swallowed slowly, avoided my eyes, and coughed hoarsely when he cleared his dry throat.
“Stay!” he whispered finally, edging closer to me again, when he had finally regained his composure, “Please stay, just a bit longer – sit down, have breakfast, there is no hurry – let’s talk!”
I tasted the coppery taste of blood on my tongue, and realized that my teeth had clenched my lower lips tightly, I tried to make them let go, and managed after a while, not without some more tears having welled up behind my lids.
His gaze was warm, worried, deeply concerned and… and – no! And nothing! I was beginning to fall into the exact trap I had in the previous night and I would not let that happen. He didn’t love me, hell of course not, he was no naïve teenager anymore who believed in love after one night, he couldn’t love me – what was there in me for him to love?! He didn’t even care about me in that way you do before you know you are falling in love. He was polite. Too polite to just kick me out first thing in the morning without another word, maybe he was even worried I might not take it well, but he didn’t love me, so I should just keep that little voice quiet that kept telling me teasingly sadistic the opposite.

Finally I shrugged, and keeping eyes cast to the floor I sat down on the chair he held out for me.
“Thanks.” I muttered, shooting him a scarcely honest smile, and watched him taking a seat against me. His brows raised expectantly he started pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into a glass, and offered it to me in silence but with softly raised brows.
I took it gratefully, just like the following fruit salad and wafers – it was a long time since I had been spoiled way, if ever. He did not once mention anything of importance, or he did, but nothing that mattered for me in that specific moment. He talked about the morning sun and of the birds’ song at dawn, he talked of the fruits in the salad and of the painting he had started to work on, of the colours he used and his favourite spot in the garden. I listened intensely, and though I hoped for nothing more then a clearing word about us, about the state we were in and what would happen after I had find myd my meal, I could not deny how much I enjoyed listening. His voice once again lulled me in a world of dreams and fantasy, a world of utter contentment and blissful peace of heart.
I ate slowly, even more so that morning, fearing our time together would end the moment I finished. But eventually I had to face that it was an inevitable moment to come, and mentally preparing my defences I took the last bite of his wafers, savouring its taste, like I had savoured every moment of our time together, every part of his skin, his lips, tongue, like I had savoured his voice and every world of his – and put the fork down.

I was determined to say something. Anything. Anything that would clthe the situation and told me where I stood, what I had to expect and what not. But before I could utter a world Viggo raised from his seat and smiled at softly.
“Why don’t you get comfortable in the living room, I need to shower but... but don’t leave!”
His voice seemed so soaked in emotion, that I started shivering, but I had not built up my defences in vain, and bravely I cocked my head up and faced his stare, trying not to melt in an instant.
“Viggo…” I breathed, “For how long this time?”

Again that expression, as if I tortured him, spoiled the beautiful silence we had shared. But could I hurt him, how could this mean enough for him to look at me like that?
“I’m sorry!” I whispered then, “I just,… I thought you wanted me to go, I need… I need clarity, Viggo!”

He nodded softly, and then every so gently stroke my cheek, his finger idly caressing my skin, and my whole body started trembling again. There was no way to deny that: I wanted him again, I needed him – every moment, every heartbeat I needed that man. But I knew I had already gotten more then I could have hoped for.

“Iris…” he breathed, and his eyes seemed to soak in emotion, “I… I told you I can’t give you promises, just… just stay please… I need you to…”
“But you can’t promise me tomorrow!” I cut him off, and couldn’t avoid a frustrated sarcastic tone to it. How could he do that to me, look at me like that and expect me to put all thoughts of my wellbeing behind because the longer we would linger, the worse the pain would be.
His eyes were still locked with mine when he breathed “I’m sorry, that’s all I can offer – I never said I’m a good match!” but I didn’t want him to apologise. I nodded and he pecked my cheek, one last time I inhaled his unique scent, one last time felt his facial hair scraping over my skin, one last time heard his breath in my ear – because I had made a decision.

“You are a really special girl, Iris, do you know that? You deserve so much more then an old, screwed man hurting you…” again our eyes locked, one last outburst of inner turmoil that he stirred, but my decision could not welter.
“You are not old…” I breathed, smiling softly, “And… and it’s not about what I deserve, I don’t care what I deserve, Viggo…” It’s about what I can take without loosing my sanity. But I could not make myself utter that aloud.

Viggo brushed his thumb over my lip and smiled again. “I’ll be back soon, make yourself comfortable…” He turned and walked up the stairs, leaving me alone. That was the moment I couldn’t hold my tears any longer and they spilled freely down my cheeks. But I had made my decision, the only one possible, without breaking my heart forever and quickly I scribbled a note onto a small sheet and clutching my handbag I ran out of the house, leaving the luxurious front yard far behind me before I even thought of slowing down…