06.

Josephine can’t remember how she made it back home, into her bed. Waking up by the first rays of daylight her mind begins to work in slow motion. Still wearing her black jeans and t-shirt she’s sprawled over the creased sheets, the duvet lying on the carpet next to the mattress. Her eyes are still burning, reminding her there must have been something awful happening last night. One after the other the painful memory comes back – mingling with the bizarre images that kept torturing her while tossing and turning under a nightmare. Looking at her wrists she expects to find marks there, impressions of the rope that immobilized her earlier on a white sheet. It was HIM! She was under his spell – she could not defend herself against his will power.

„Gosh, I’m going mad!“
With an angry jump she’s off the bed and rips the window open, inhaling the fresh, cool morning air. Fresh...in a big city! She wouldn’t have wondered to find a view over mild slopes of green and the near shoreline. Her life turns more and more into a weird, confusing dream. All that stares back at her are brick walls or concrete – numerous, uniform windows following one another like beads on a string. Living in a box, just enough space to breathe.

The weekend passes by in the usual unspectacular way. She edits the photos and images for the clients the agency sends her on a regular basis. Swirling her graphic pen till the outlines of the layouts blur in front of her eyes. A phone call here, a little chat online there. She’s not around long enough to have found aquaintances to meet for a coffee, etc.. Three months now. Three long months trying to keep afloat. Far away from her roots, from her home country. Not far enough.

***

Monday starts with heavy rain. Josie covers herself as good as she can and enters the lobby of the arts college. Besides the job in the museum this is something to look forward to. She sighs. Low paid as well and only three days per week for sorted workshops and seminars. She doesn’t envy the university professors buzzing around at lunch time. Though she’s got some high profile graduations she never saw herself in that sort of career. Every now and then it crosses her mind she might have wasted some of her talents. Hasn’t she wasted her life anyway?

The college atelier is already busy with students. The place looks more like the warehouse of a construction site. Blocks of wood, gypsum, clay, soapstone, to name just a few. Apparently this is a sculpting class. Josephine greets the group of people and quickly makes it to her locker to fetch the grey overall she wears for work. Fixing her hair in a soft bun she returns to the main room.

When everybody is updated and busy with their projects she finds a bit of time to work on an idea. Grabbing a reasonable amount of clay her long, skilled fingers start to form the mass. It’s like giving birth to a new creation. Taking from the earth, burn it in the fire and probably return it as ashes.
And again I’m dealing with the dead. Dead clay that sucks in my creative energy to change into another form. A piece of me inside, but it is never alive. I’m dealing with human forms, ideal bodies and try to forget I’m a living creature. Oh, brilliant! Creature like in ‚beast’ or ‚animal’!

She’s got no time to dive deeper into her selfdestructive thoughts as the class is over before she can even blink.

***
When Wednesday has passed she’s starting to feel that certain tingling again. She tried with all might not to let him slip into her thoughts the past days. What sense would it make? He’s a... married man with an adorable daughter. She skips the ‚happily’ as she suspects his sadness might be linked to his relationship...perhaps. It’s too late. Now he’s all over again, filling the last recess of her conscience. What did he say? „Innocent like a child...like a lost child. Like my daughter.“
Crawlies make it down her spine and she shivers. What the frigg were you trying to tell me, David?!

She’s far too early, she knows it. The room cleaners still hustle and bustle through the etablissement while she occupies a seat in front of a vanity in the dressing room. Mustering her pale face, framed by her beautiful, long, dark hair, she wonders if other people might see the same she does at the moment. It’s not healthy, Josie! Stop it! Applying some foundation she smoothes over her skin, covering all the little imperfections that never escape her observing eyes. When she reaches over for some eye shadow she nearly chokes on her own saliva. The reflection in the mirror shows him standing in the door frame, all in black leather and already wearing his mask. Paralyzed she waits for his further reaction.

He silently shuts the door and comes closer, taking the next stool and sits down to her right. It’s too late to hide her face. It’s sort of stupid anyway as they have seen each other before. This is the club though – another dimension – the darkness. At the moment some cold neon light floods the room, just like to prove the opposite. She feels naked and vulnerable. Avoiding eye contact she lowers her head. They are not on the same level any longer, she feels it and it scares the shit out off her. No idea, why.

„Don’t hide.“ He gently takes her by the chin and moves her face into his direction. His voice is so smooth her heart skips a beat. „Don’t be afraid.“ He angles for a cotton pad and wets it with some make-up remover that’s standing on the dressing table. Stroke for stroke he cleans her face from the beige substance. When he’s ready he lifts up her leather mask and carefully adjusts it to her eyes. Taking her hand he drags her from her seat and she follows him still puzzled and confused.

They pass the zone, don’t stop there though there’s still space. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing. When they take the spiral staircase up it dawns her he must have booked one of the private rooms. Gina once told her about the ‚budoirs’ or ‚séparées’. They are not covered by the monthly membership fee. Josie never have been up there before.

Inserting his platinum-black club card the next, black door with a silvery 6-letter opens and they enter the room. She’s surprised to say the least. A huge bed with black satin sheets and covers, a massive, brushed steel frame and headboard. Hearing the door fall into the frame she can’t concentrate on all the other interior any longer. Only one impression sticks to her mind. It doesn’t look cheap and shady. It’s stylish and slick, perhaps hiding some naughty additions. Recognizing her complete reflection in the full size mirror opposite the foot of the king size mattress she immediately becomes self aware again. What’s going on here? What’s on his mind? Why did he have to take me out off my usual environment? Nobody can see us. I’m on my own.

Súgó Még nincs hozzászólás.

Új hozzászólás Frissítés