Snowdrifts

Image by solominphoto on Freepik

***

I have to leave. I know. The snow is piling up, and darkness is creeping fast around me, covering the roads, and turning the world into a white, fairy-tale painting.

I must get in the car, turn the key, and drive away.

A faint sound comes from the pocket of my jacket. A message. From him. Maybe he won’t be able to come? That would solve my dilemma. It would free me from the burden of making a decision. But I doubt I’ll be that lucky. He’s coming. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.

I have to leave. Close this chapter of my life. Go back to my monotonous existence and forget him. But I can’t. I’ll send a short message and turn off my phone.

So they can’t find me. So I can disappear from the world tonight.

"I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to come home tonight. The company car broke down, and I have to wait for it to be repaired. We’ll talk tomorrow. The signal here is weak, and I couldn’t reach you. Good night!"

Yes. Good night. But I feel heavy, restless. I want to slap myself, to kick myself—literally and figuratively! I’m such an idiot! The snowflakes are swirling around me like a white curtain. To hide me. To erase me from the world. Except for him. One last time. I have the right to say goodbye. I won’t tell him anything.

Only I know that there will be no more meetings.

I feel hot. It’s snowing, the winter wind is howling, but inside me, a volcano is boiling. Lava flows, filling my veins. Tiny bubbles burst on its surface...

I need to get back in the car and go book a room. A double room. A room for two fugitives from reality. I feel warm. I want to run through the snow. To roll in it, hoping it will cleanse me of my guilt. But it won’t. Conscience isn’t washed away that easily. It will gnaw at me forever! I want to cry, but I won’t. I won’t do that to him. I won’t shift my guilt onto him. He has none. He is pure before himself. I am the sinner. I know it, and yet I will sin again. With him.

I will touch his wavy, slightly silver-streaked light hair, kiss his cheeks, and press myself against his strong, firm body. I already feel the burning sting of desire. Impatience takes hold of me. I want him. This desire will never be extinguished. Even if we make love all night, I still want him in the morning. Maybe because he is forbidden. Because he is different. He is not mine! How many women has he loved in my absence? Countless! Beautiful, slender, curvy… all kinds!

Terrible! I’ve never been jealous before. But with him… why, why do I feel this way?

Here I am, booking the room, paying, taking the key, and texting him the number so he can come straight up. Waiting. I’m impatient. I can almost see him entering, shaking the snow from his hair and shoulders, taking off his jacket, and coming closer. His lips will be cold and wet from the snow. He will lean over me, tall and strong. His breath will caress my chin. I will look into his half-lidded eyes, framed by slightly lowered lashes. Warm, hazel eyes.

His lips will press against mine as if he is starving or dying of thirst. No one has ever kissed me like that. Fiercely. Wildly. Possessively. He will claim my mouth, then move to my ear and neck. Passion. Primal and furious. Like a tidal wave. His fingers will slip under my blouse and bra, cupping my breasts. He won’t even try to take off my clothes. Or his. No force could make me stop him. His lips will keep drinking from mine. He will push me onto the bed and…

God! My heart is about to burst. Passion and fantasy are driving me insane. Where is he? What’s taking him so long? It must be true—sex happens in the mind first. And my mind is playing tricks on me.

***

I think of our first meeting - as if it were yesterday. Imagine how crazy I must be! We’ve been chasing each other across the country for more than a year, meeting sporadically. I live for these encounters. For his passion. For the passion he taught me to feel. And now, I am ready for him. I know he is ready too. He tells me he has been thinking about it all day - how he will take me. All day, barely noticed the world around him, focused only on that future moment when we will become one. He will feel my skin as if it were his own. He will take my breath, and tangle it with his, like a magical spell. So he can survive the days until our next meeting. Whenever and wherever fate intertwines our paths again.

Image by freepic.diller on Freepik

***

It all started on a snowy night like this. The weather was terrible, snow falling in thick flakes, fog obscuring the road. I drove slowly, witch saved me, but my car ended up in a ditch. He was driving behind me and saw everything. He pulled me out almost immediately.

He spoke to me and calmed me, but all I could see were those hazel eyes and the light stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

I smiled at him, said something in thanks, and he held me close. Why wasn’t he letting me go? I leaned against him and closed my eyes. He asked if I was feeling unwell. I was fine. I looked at him and saw him licking his lips. He was so sexy. Irresistible. He called a tow truck and put me in his car.

That was our first hotel and our first night together. Even as we checked into separate rooms, I saw the feverish look in his eyes, the flushed color of his cheeks, and the slight trembling of his hands in his jacket pockets. I felt his desire. He invited me to dinner, then for a drink, and finally, to his room. I accepted every invitation. I accepted him into my life.

He was my escape from reality. And one of my wrong decisions. Because he consumed me, he took over me and turned me into a slave to these stolen hours. I lived only for them. And the rest of the time, I pretended. I pretended to be a content wife, mother, and woman. I was a fraud. An adulteress. A hollow shell hiding my true self. I was sick. My soul was sick.

But can an entire life be erased for the sake of one man, one thrill, one desire… for him?

Of course not. I couldn’t hurt so many people just for my fleshly desires.

But I know he taught me passion. Selflessly. Without asking for more than my body. Sometimes. Rarely. When fate brought us together.

I will always remember our first time. As if I had been a virgin until then, despite having given birth to two children.

***

Footsteps. I hear him running up the stairs. Should I open the door? I hold my breath. He opens it, shakes his shoulders, and runs his fingers through his damp hair, but doesn’t reach for his jacket. I offer to take it, but he shakes his head. He says my name. Longing. Softly, almost a whisper. His eyes are wet and sad. What is happening? What is he saying? A child? His child. He’s going to be a father… Of course. I knew he wanted children. He had told me so many times that he doubted he would ever have that joy. And now he was expecting one. I smile. I cry. I wish him happiness. He deserves to be happy.

We should say goodbye. He says he will always love me. What love? We don’t share love. We share our bodies, and sometimes our thoughts and longings. But he... he... why does he say that? I don’t want love. That would make things even worse, even more tragic. In our little world of escapes, there is only pure passion, no room for feelings.

He loves me but he wants a real life. He wants to see himself, his essence continued in a small being. He reaches out to me. I don’t want his hands, I don’t want his body. I’ve lost them. I want to scream for him to go, to leave, but I rest my head against his chest so I don’t fall.

Just like then. Not quite. Then I dreamed. Now I am dying.

I push him away. I grab my jacket, and my bag, and run. I run down the stairs like a madwoman. I’m cold. Freezing. My heart has stopped. My thoughts race like a herd of horses. I leave the key at the reception, step out, and open the car door. The wind blows so hard that it almost pulls it from my hands.

I’m cold.

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***

The heating is on full blast, but I can’t feel it. Oh God, is this what it’s like to be dead?!

No. This is what it’s like to be foolish, reckless, two-faced. To risk losing your life for the madness of a fleeting desire! Only now do I realize this with full force. I have what he craves. And I risk it so many times.

I see him in the rearview mirror, bent forward against the force of the wind. He waves once and disappears.

The road isn’t long, but I drive slowly. I need to think, to come to terms, and to forgive myself. For the recklessness, for the pretense. It hurts. It still hurts for him. I can’t deny that he’s somewhere, in a hidden corner of my heart, and I will always keep him there like a precious gift from fate. But that’s all. That’s enough.

The rest I have, and I need to protect it.

I see my children running toward me, I stretch my lips into a wide smile, and squeeze my eyes shut.

I thank all higher powers that I’ve finally made it home.

***

Thank you for reading.