My treasure

She puts the novel down on the table and looks at the clock. Soon, he'll stand at the door, smelling of Dior, smile, say hi, kiss her lightly on the chin and go into her apartment. Then, he'll sit down, ask if they should order something or find somewhere to eat. He'll expect that she'll know what she wants and that she'll ring for something or be ready to leave the apartment soon after. He's not the type who likes to wait. She takes a scruffy note up from the trash can and twists it between her fingers. She's in doubt about whether she should show it to him or not. More of them have arrived in the last few days, but she hasn't saved them. She can remember what was written on most of them. There was no reason to make him worried. She isn't even worried herself. Maybe she should try to show him the last one. She hurries to the bathroom.

She finds the newest pair of pantyhose and carefully allows her foot to glide down into the foot of the stockings, pulls them up, and repeats with the other leg. She shudders at the thought of her nails, which are pretty long and neatly trimmed, ripping a hole in the pantyhose. She can't be bothered starting all over again, and the other stockings she has aren't nearly as lovely. She finds a classic black skirt and a white T-shirt to wear, and to finish off, puts on her black pumps, which makes her taller, but not taller than his 185 cm. She finds the mirror and puts on a bit of make-up. She's not one for wearing too much make-up, and even though he'd like to see her wear more, she has decided not to let him be in control of it. He doesn't say anything about it anymore, but she can sense it when he occasionally studies particular types of women. Sophisticated women with loads of hairspray and lots of make-up. Those you don't really know how look underneath the layer of foundation and mascara. She goes out into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and takes out a bottle of rosé. He's mostly into white wine, and she doesn't know why she hasn't bought the one he likes best. The one she usually buys. She just hasn't today. She expects that he'll be there in a few minutes, and sure enough, after about two minutes, the doorbell rings. She listens to the way he rings the bell. Firstly, a long ring, and then three short. Usually, she would hurry and open up. But not today, as something makes her stay still. The doorbell shrieks again. Now the long ring has gone; now there are only short insistent rings. She wakes up and calmly walks out, and opens the door.

"Where were you?" He wants to know.

"Here," she says and smiles.

He smells strongly of Dior in his dark blue suit with a T-shirt underneath. It doesn't look like one that has been used before, and she wonders if he just throws them out after he has used them once. He kisses her on the cheek, goes in, and sits himself down on the chair. She finds a glass and shows him the bottle.

" Rosé?" she asks.

"Have you nothing else?" His voice sounds surprised, irritated maybe.

"No, not today." He sighs and glances at his phone.

"I'll pass then. Shall we get something to eat?" She stands for a bit and ponders over what he would do if she said no, but remains silent.

"Sarah?" He looks at her with a furrowed brow.

"Yes?"

"Shall we get something to eat?" The question sounds a bit sharper now.

"I don't know. What do you think?" She looks at him and puts her glass up to her mouth. She can feel the cold rosé send warmth to her cheeks.

"We could also fuck, right here on the living room floor?" Her own voice sounds different. She stands still and waits. He says nothing. Just looks at her.

"I'm calling the restaurant. Sarah, have you had more than one glass?" She shakes her head and pours another glass.

"No, but now I'm going to." He types on the phone and reserves a table at one of their hang-outs. He has turned away from her. Meanwhile, she hurries up and drinks the rest of the wine. Finally, he turns around and looks at her.

"Is something wrong?"

He is already on his way out into the hallway. She puts the glass on the kitchen island, finds the scruffy note, throws a short blazer over her shoulder, and clutches the letter in her hand when she goes out to him.

"No, why?" she asks, but he is already out the door.

She locks the place up and sees him get into a shiny car. It's clear that no children have ever been in it. It is spotless, everything is gleaming, and he knows it. She sits next to him, and he kisses her again on the cheek.

"Have you checked your shoes?" She nods, even though it's a lie. They can't have got dirt on them in such a short time.

When they reach the car park, she quickly gets out. The fresh wind takes her hair, and it feels good. She turns her face towards the other side of the street and thinks that someone is watching her.

'You're in every window, in every dream, in every mirror I look in. You're on every corner, in every nook and cranny of my mind. You are the greatest and the least: the right and the wrong. You are, you are ...' She squeezes the note she has in her hand and puts it into her other hand. Shortly, he'll take her hand and lead her to the restaurant. He'll open the door, pull out her chair, and order. She'll nod to the waiter as he's serving, and he'll make sure that it's the correct wine. He will sniff the glass, swirl the wine around and sniff again, and she'll be irritated by the little swallowing noise he makes that bellows in her head. She follows when he takes her hand. She sits down when he pulls out her chair, and she nods when the waiter comes with the wine. He sits opposite her. The wine swirls in the glass, and he takes small slurps that bellow in her head. She still clutches the note in her hand and looks out the window.

'You are sun, you are fire, I am wind and air. You are the first and the last. I go where you go; I stand where you stand. I am behind you, in front of you, and by your side. If you want, my treasure.'

She looks at him, and he smiles. He smiles at those who pass by as well. The wine is placed on the table, so the label faces towards the audience. The audience he consistently performs for. The other guests, those who work there, all of them, also herself.

"I have started to get notes," she says.

He frowns but doesn't say anything. The waiter comes with the food, which she didn't order herself.

"Notes?" He doesn't look at her when he answers. She pushes the shabby note over to the other side of the table. He takes it, and she can see that he is revolted by how tatty and worn t is. He reads the words.

" And?" He looks at her.

She senses anger growing in her head, but she keeps her cool.

"They get pasted on my mailbox down at the entrance." He looks away and winks at the waiter.

"Probably just a randy Postman Pat type." His excessive disregard irritated her.

"Or someone who has seen me and finds me special!" Her voice isn't convincing. She knows it.

"You are magnificent. But don't kid yourself. Throw them out. Why haven't you thrown them out?" He crumples the note and throws it on the plate, and snaps his fingers again at the waiter, who comes staggering with a pile of dishes in his hands. She stares at the note that is floating between the salmon and the hollandaise sauce.

'I SEE you. ONLY you. I want you. ONLY you. With the feeling of your skin on mine, even without names and words, I know who you are. I know that you are – My treasure.' She remembers the words, and the hairs on her arms start to stick up.

"Can I get the check?" he says authoritatively." I'd like to pay."

He takes her hand as they leave the restaurant and let's go again when they get outside. She follows behind him. Someone is following her. She feels it when they reach the car. She can sense the eyes that are watching her. On her. Through her. In the apartment, he distinctively gazes at her. She hadn't expected it to be like this, but she recognizes his look. They go into the bedroom, and he undresses. He folds his clothes neatly and puts them on the chair in front of the window. He lies down in bed. She pulls her pantyhose off and rips a hole in them in the process. He notices it and shakes his head slightly. She doesn't take her bra and panties off. There has He has to do a bit of work. She lies on her back and stares up at the ceiling. In a moment, he will move closer, take hold of her crotch and her breasts. He will fondle her a bit too hard, here, there, and everywhere, and she will groan. Not from pleasure, but merely to create the right mood. He will turn her around, raise her up on her knees, and move her panties to the side. She'll be happy that she didn't have to look him in his eyes.

'I will lose myself in your eyes, look at you and in you. I will taste your words, your sentences, your lines. I will discover you, know you, rediscover you, again and again.'

He moves closer, fondles her breasts and crotch, turns her around, and raises her op on her knees. He shoves her panties to the side as he stands behind her. She can't feel him any longer. She is in her head, not in the bed.

"I need to go home. I have to go to work in less than six hours." She hasn't noticed that he's finished and is in the middle of putting his clothes on. She just nods in the dark.

"Are you afraid of him, the one with the notes?" he laughs and kisses her gently on the cheek. She looks at him but doesn't answer. He doesn't wait for an answer but walks out of the bedroom.

"See you soon then," he shouts from the hallway.

She doesn't hear him. She closes her eyes. He's there. He looks at her. She looks at him. They are both present. My treasure, he whispers. She clearly hears him, and she replies out into the dark.

"yes."