Half his Heart

Friday, 6:38 p.m.

TV’s on. Ravioli fresh out of the can. Hand in shorts. Lying on the sofa. Room warm. Rest of daylight through almost closed curtains. Waiting for the scene.

There he comes. Black tuxedo. Hair perfect. Looking like a model. Audience clapping. Stomping. Loud. It’s him. Aleksander Marquardt. A star. Turning up the volume. Taking in every piece. Three steps. Turn around. Wave. Reporter blushing. Sander smiling. Like right out of a toothpaste commercial. Fake. But delicate. Not like with me.

Met him few weeks ago. A Friday as well. Sitting at the bar. Alone. What else to do? Drowned in thoughts. Arms by my sides. Glass half empty of Gin Tonic. Ice clinking. People talking. Full house not quite. Sander was a later. Been busy maybe. Alone. Entering the bar. Not that I saw. Many free places. Takes the one next to me. Espresso Martini. Sweet choice. Sweet voice. Soft as fabric. Diesel smell. Not recognize him.

Wants to know who I am. Me too. Watch seems expensive. Polo shirt greyish. Smile like a diamond. What I do alone in a bar. Not alone anymore. Hand rests on my tight. Big and heavy. Heat shooting upward. Hastily drinking. Almost spilling. Latte art. His vendetta. Never heard. Talking with such a spark. Must be into it. Really. Smiles. Takes me to his car.

Tuesday, 11:45 p.m.

Random hotel. Out the city. Wrinkled bedsheets. Coffee-brown eyes staring me down. Has been busy. Sweat on forehead.

Saw you, I say. Unbuckling my belt. Nods. Everybody’s seen him. Known man. Yoked man. No one knows what he’s doing here. Better enjoy. Bed only for one. I understand. Lie down. Home by night. Savoury taste lingers.

Thursday, 2:12 p.m.

Coffee for waking up. No milk left. Make it black. Movie in the background. Voices down. Still hear him. Lead role. What else? Breakfast no option. Indulging. Vampire role. Fits him well enough. Watching with eyes half open. Murky light. No need to rush. Stay in bed.

Friday, 8:20 p.m.

A chat. Messaged me earlier. No fan of calling. Sure thing. Come over. Not washed. No rush. Close the curtains. Turn off movie. Car’s in the driveway. Uber. Of course. Stairs. Waiting. Opening his shirt. Tracing. Cinnamon hair. Buttery smell. Touch my yielding skin. Exploring.

Monday, 7:32 p.m.

Press conference. People gleaming. Laughter. Shoes pitch black. Clean and polished. Like his car. Lady wearing red. Pretty. Guess. Heart-shaped face. Like a cherry. Suits too well. It’s perfect. Kisses. Turning off the TV.

Friday, 10:07 p.m.

Double-room this time. Bigger. Waited in the lobby. Eternity. Heard car door. Curtains closed. Hands in my pants. Beard tickling. Late night. She’s busy. Wedding ring cold against my groin. No mention. Keep still. Enjoy. Gooseflesh.

Saturday, 6:54 a.m.

Illegal. Body sweating. Sheets damp. Sander under the shower. Checking his phone. Missed her calls. Course he did. Dripping on the floor. Towel around him. Snuggling next to him. Body heat. Glistening skin.

Monday, 4:33 p.m.

Smiles. Photos. Red carpet. Got a ticket. Even wearing a tie. Baseball cap in my eyes. Not being noticed. Feels good. Stages. Interviews. Cherry lady nodding. Clasping his arm. Suit shining in camera light. Always lead role for him. King and queen. Every king needs a fool. As long as not public. Fine this thing.

Friday, 6:21 p.m.

Leathery seats. Elderflower smell. Roses and something tender. Wood. Aniseed. Every Friday sitting in the bar. Waiting for him. Touching in Mercedes. Cherry lady knowing nothing. Smile. Me this time.

Phone in hand. Scrolling. Updating. New chat empty. Silence. How to spend a night.

Bar. Not thirsty. Never was. Espresso Martini. Not even half empty. Just one sip. Tastes like him. Tastes like loneliness.

Sunday, 9:45 p.m.

In my area. Hear his car. Remarkable sound. Doors opening. Bright enough. Open curtains. Peeking out. No sight of him. No tuxedo. No smile. Small figure. Petite dress. Pretty. Like a fox. Cigarette smoke. Looking up. Arched eyebrows.

Cherry face. High heels. Looking around. No need to be here. Except him. Must suspect something.

Monday, 01:36 a.m.

Can’t sleep. Roll over. Sweat sticking. Not his. No sign of Sander. Cherry been here. Curtains closed. Lights off. No suspicion. Just an ordinary guy. Unremarkable. Phone in hand. Scrolling endlessly.

Craving his hand. Deep brown eyes. Getting lost. Danger. Writing again. Three times in a row. No answer. Not read. Call. Call again. Nervous. Lingering. Thinking of his creamy skin.

Answer’s at noon. Tonight. Not my place. Not his. Course.

Hotel’s the grandest yet. Somebody wanting to keep me. Dunno. No wedding ring this time. Opening his polo shirt. Stormy grey. Heartbeat so high. Breathing hastily. Kissing him. Chalky lips. Body tensing. Buzz in my centre. His commanding grip. Missed me. Phone display lightening up. Don’t look. Too late.

Brooding. Calming down. Accepts the call. Saying he’s still at work. Stressful today. Been busy. Busy with a guy. He doesn’t say. Does he need to? Guilty. Glassy eyes. Cat-like. Looking for his prey. Yearning. Stiff bedsheets. Used to it. Surrender under him.

Wednesday, 8:43 p.m.

Cherry picking. Other street side. On her phone. Calling. Suspicious. Quickening my pace. So does she. Running home. Fame. World’s famous actor couple. No one messes with them. Don’t want their spotlight.

Friday, 11:59 p.m.

Alone in bed. Straining fabric. Thinking of his cinnamon hair. Desolate. Lights off. Like in a wardrobe. Punishment for children. Used to it. No answer. Pondering. Not ready to got to bed. Keeping windows closed.

Sunday, 5:17 p.m.

Puddles on the way. Quickening my pace. Fast. My second round. Almost got a kilometre. Learn harder to outrun her.

At home. Close door. Lock twice. No sign of her. Better be. Neither of him. Better not be. Taste of him still on my tongue. Eerie silence. Put on some music. Soundtrack of his films. Tremor on my body.

Friday, 10:07 p.m.

Neon lights at bar. Been a week. Is he still alive? Sitting tight. Second espresso martini. Gives me something to do. Distant traffic. World is alive. Storm grey polo shirt. Not his. But car. Doors open. Camera clatter. Stiff posture. There she is. Tracked him? Asked him? Dunno. Act pure. No need to worry. Heart thumping. People recognize her. Photos. Screams. Lovely. She is. Smile warm. But woman smiling can still hurt their children. Taking photos. Hiding behind the bar. Pondering. Cherry vanished.

Sunday, 3:08 a.m.

Body heat. Awake. Head buzzing. Alone. At home. Curtains closed. Let no light in. Let no one see. Secret. Not anymore. Waiting for death. She knows. Read the news. Rumour has it. Rich girl. Whatever she can buy. All her dreams. Everything she needs to get rid of. Imagining headlines. Dead man in single apartment. Of course. No ties to a Marquardt. Had I ever?

Who was I? Adventurous sidekick for main character`s life? Metallic taste lingering. Just wanna sleep. Over and out.

Cut the ties. Forget it. Deleting his number. Sad. Just what Cherry lady wants. Press the button. Silence. End.

Felt nice having half his heart.