Chapter 1 Altitude and solitude
I've traveled around the world and my feet have barely touched the ground.
I stared down at my journal, trying to remember having written that. I must have dozed off for a minute. I had a taste of Paris air this morning before I was shuffled between the subway, the airport and its tunnels, and then the plane for most of the day. Then it was only a few seconds between the Uber and the steps up to the apartment I share with my oldest friend.
"I'm heading to bed." Vincent said, leaving me in front of the TV that I wasn't watching anyway. He always went to bed exactly at 11; nothing had changed in the year I was gone for my exchange program in France. He paused at the door to his room. "You're staying up? You look exhausted, Jonah."
"Yeah, it's all part of my plan to avoid jet lag..." I lied carelessly. The truth was I couldn't be bothered to move from where I was wedged between some couch cushions.
Vincent shrugged. On queue, he reminded me not to leave the TV on all night, as he disappeared behind his bedroom door. I slouched, alternating my gaze between two screens, constantly failing to stop myself from checking Marina's online profiles, and asking myself why I was doing this to myself. Marina lounging on the beach in the radiant sunshine, Marina on a dimly lit street wearing white, Marina and I coming into focus in a crowded bar. Marina... I exited her profile and was briefly rewarded by a flurry of images of people I was following but barely knew. Before long, one of her friends had posted a photo of her. This time she was standing with a group of four people, but I only recognized two of them. Who were they? I could barely resist the urge to click their names, as if this would be the way to make sense of everything.
This had to stop. So, I paced the apartment, trying to be quiet. I stepped onto the balcony, wondering if it was too cold for a walk to clear my head. The apartment was 30 floors up and the city was distant but more alive than anything observed from cruising altitude. Still, I needed to walk, feel connected to the earth, the city, anything but her. I gripped the ledge, suddenly dizzy from my thoughts and a brand new fear of heights.
Up here, you could die from the altitude alone.
I scribbled onto a page, ripped it out, and the wind took it from my hand. It faltered, then descended. Inside the apartment, I flicked the TV off, and resolved to go for a walk. But as soon as I entered my room to find a jacket, I lost to the temptation to sit on my bed and refresh Instagram again. I lay down and closed my eyes, just for a minute, and then....
Hours later, I woke up suddenly, shocked by what I recalled. Mostly I remembered the sense of comfort and peace, nothing like the feelings that had been following me since I said goodbye to Marina. In my dream, I had my head on someone's shoulder, but it wasn't her, I could tell even without looking. The energy was different. An arm around me and a hand trailing over my hair. His other hand resting on my leg. Strong, but gentle. I only briefly saw his face, because we were in a dimly lit room and anyway I was mostly studying his hand as I took it in mine.
My journal was open on his lap to the page I had ripped out, but this time the journal was whole, and there was a new line. As I ascended to alertness, I heard him clearly reading, "Down here, I try to face the solitude I've known." I kept my eyes closed, trying to hold onto the dream's sensations for as long as I could, but the stranger was already a ghost.
Chapter 2: Sleep doesn't fix this
Now more fully awake, unwanted mental images of Marina came back. I promised myself I'd do a factory reset on my phone and only re-download absolutely essential apps. No more Instagram.
But I knew I didn't need to see the photos to remember her. She was burned into my mind like staring at the sun. One of the photos I had seen a few hours ago (and lived just days before) took over my thoughts. Our last night together. I had taken the picture just before the sun rose behind her, so the tips of her red hair were crowned in gold. She was propped up on one elbow, laughing at something I'd said. I told her how beautiful she was, and without warning picked her up and I carried her with me until I was waist deep in the ocean. It was still pretty dark, but the water wasn't cold. This part of the beach was secluded, and anyway, it's not like we could help ourselves. I took a few more steps into the dark and shimmering currents to where I could stand with the water up to my shoulders, but Marina had to either float or tip-toe to stay above water.
I looked around at the dark cottages in the distance of the French countryside, to the rocky beach where we had left our things, and the dark blue sky that slowly lightened. Marina had slipped her navy blue bathing suit straps off her shoulders and looked up at me in a way I could never resist. Her heavy, cream coloured breasts were floating slightly in the water, straining against the thin material. Her body enticed something else to defy gravity underwater.... I spun Marina around, holding her tight against my body. My cock pressed against the warm curve of her lower back. I held her so her head and neck remained above water. Marina instinctively tried to swim, but she relaxed into my grip, wondering what I'd do next. I dropped a kiss on the back of her head and let her hold onto my arm as I traced over all her curves with my other hand...down her sides, up her thighs, across her lower belly.
Marina quivered with need. She was moving her hips, which fueled my desire, but did nothing for her. Her frustration grew as she tried to find a way to both stay afloat and also spare a hand for her own pleasure. The waves guided us to a collection of large rocks rising from the ocean, blue-grey in the evanescent dawn. She sat on the edge of an underwater rock so she could wrap her legs around my waist. She leaned into me then, and we kissed like time would stop.
In reality, my pulse was increasing at the memory. I kicked off the jeans and T shirt I had accidentally fallen asleep in, which were increasingly uncomfortable with my growing erection. Now free of the restrictive material, my shaft was resisting the material of my boxers. I impatiently slid them off as well and kicked them aside, then sat up against the pillows. I closed my eyes again and decided to make up for how I had played with Marina's desires. I rubbed a hand down my hard stomach, up my smooth inner thigh... but I couldn't take much more. I found a comfortable hold and felt the friction disappear as precum covered my palm. I returned to the memory. Marina gazing into my eyes in the now-saturated sunlight, clinging to me, kissing me. Then, her eyes locked on mine, my hands on her hips...pushing into her.
Then I caught the reflection of myself in the mirror and grimaced, immediately losing interest, and instead becoming deeply aware of how pathetic I was. Instead of finishing, I flicked the lamp on and scribbled down the words that that day had composed through me. I hadn't had a chance to write them down until now.
White noise when the wave dies
Your hair wet, your long strides
White sheets, and the sun dries
Your worn-out form
By my side
But she wasn't. And when I'd whispered the poem into Marina's wet hair later that morning, after our second round of lovemaking, she had shrugged me off. "Jonah, you'll be happier when you realize life isn't poetic like that." I had forgiven her instantly for this, telling myself she couldn't look at me because she was too sad that I needed to return home to New York. That was our last day in the cozy bed and breakfast together before she would take me to the airport.
Now, in the middle of the night, I was less generous. All I wanted was more sleep...mostly to avoid memories of her. I fumbled in my desk for the sleeping pills I hadn't needed all year. It's only once, I rationalized. I only slept a few hours tonight. If I was honest, I wanted to sleep for as long as possible.
Chapter 3: An Unfulfilled Kiss
The next morning was a mess. More accurately, I was a mess. I slept until around 10am but the pills wouldn't wear off, and I couldn't get up, even when Vincent knocked to ask me something. I mumbled something in the affirmative, and let the blankets pull me into oblivion where there was only blackness, and no... what was her name again?
But where Marina wasn't, that stranger was. This time there was no mysterious dialogue or wholesome touches. This time, I could remember more of his features, especially his dark eyes that tilted up mischievously at the edges, and were shadowed beneath his brow. When he looked at me, I felt it in my pelvic muscles, contracting, impulsively pulling me closer to him. He was within reach, and my fingertips pressed against his severe cheekbone, then his short beard. His hand rested securely on the back of my neck. He was smiling as my magnetized body inched closer. But before I could kiss him, I whispered "Who are you anyway? What do you want from me?" He looked confused for a minute and then...
Here I was in my bed, my frustration doubled from last night. I was really awake now but I wasn't thinking as I rhythmically got myself off. My right hand worked up and down until I could barely prolong the inevitable. The fingertips of my left hand absently pressed against my lips, recalling an unfulfilled kiss. I rolled onto my side, and pressed my knuckles against my lips to remind me not to moan out loud. I breathed curses as my thumb accidentally brushed over my sensitive tip, and then I started to come. I rolled my hips slowly and thrusted against my hand for as long as I could bear, trying to be quiet, and of course hoping my uncontrollable moans and the slick rubbing and thumping sounds were as close enough to silence to be inaudible.
I shivered and as soon as I recovered, I forced myself to get out of bed to shower. After the shower, I still looked disheveled. Pale, and my hair was a lost cause. At least I could stay in today, right? But when I opened my bedroom door, Vincent and our friends Lila and Calvin were waiting for me in the living room.
