Prologue
S was always awed at her perfect imperfection. He knew she felt insecure with her out-of-fashion beauty, he could tell by how she tried to hide her almost translucid skin and slender but curvy body under those loose clothes, how she would hunch to avoid the spotlight, concious of her model like height. And yet she would forget those things when entranced and multitudes would hold their breath just to not to pollude her silvery voice when she talked, sang or laughed, ensnared by the light her eyes emmited. Eyes that could devour your soul with their everchanging irises, green when the sun was up and shinny, grey when winter came or the moon hit the sky.
S watched her enter one of those timeless cafes- full of ageless regulars, worn out leather sofas and limping tables- she loves so much despite his inhability to comprehend why. 'Yet', S remembered himself, 'he would know everything on due time'. His glare turned a dangerous slit for a moment when a group of fellow male students reconized her and nodded in aknowledgement, but it was gone as fast as it came when she sat alone next to the window. Oblivious to the reaction, akin to a gravitational pull, her presence had on everyone else she took out a book of her ragged backpack and started reading while waiting for the waiter. S sighted, he didn't need his binoculars to know that the waiter would have to call her multiple times before she answered back and ordered for black tea with a cloud of milk with a faraway look, almost in tears. She was immersing herself on "Beware of pity" by S. Zweig, like a moth to a flame, enjoying in a perverse way the pain she brought to herself and she wouldn't mind her expression.
S, knowing she wouldn't go anywhere for a while, let his mind wander...
wondering...
how would her ash blond hair feel silkish when caressing it and how her seemingly soft skin would be covered on goose bumps under his strokes. S dreamt of bitting her cherry lips while her eyelashes batted irregularly. His whole body tense when her misty eyes would look at him...
S came back from his dreamland to realise he was rubbing himself hard, he increased the rhythm of his hand while picturing her and with a groan he let his sperm out, messing his hand and jeans. S cleaned himself whilst calming his heavy breathing down.
With a distracted glance he saw that she was already paying at the counter. S started the van's engine when she went to the nearest underground entrance and he changed lanes to go home. Usually he would wait for her outside her house until she went to bed, but today he was feeling restless and decided to go to his own house on the outskirts.
He pushed the fence gate leading to a neglected garden, full of shrubs, and he arrived in front of an old wooden door which had peeled white paint and a cracked glass. Entering his house, he didn't bother with the erratic light and engulfed with darkness he walked to the furthest room.
With a click the light bulb was turned on and a full wall collage was visible. S walked leisurely and with his right hand caressed the main photo in the middle of the wall, surrounded with countless other similar pictures, and names and connecting red lines. S's finger lingered on the virtual cheeks, jaw, neck, collarbones... to finally stop. With an almost inaudible sigh S lowered his hand, and closed his eyes to finally kiss those green irises full of dreams, secrets and hope.
