Nightmarish Sacrifice (Cardew) (33 page)

             
“Ah,” Cardew laughed with genuine pleasure and took the comb from my hand, then approached me from behind and bowed closer, inhaling deeply the perfume of my hair before gently dividing one airy curl from the others and caressing through it rather than really focusing on the brushing. “You know, they have been right –”

             
“Are you sure you’re not going to your own lectures?” I asked again but he just smiled negligently.

             
“Lectures? No, lovely, I’m naturally talented.”

             
“Nobody doubts in that,” I didn’t miss to praise him and his brow rose with delight, while, having abandoned the comb, he went on fondling my hair and rearranging its luxurious dark ringlets, his eyes emitting content praising admiration.

             
I had to concentrate much onto the so-called reality so as to decide that I had to actually go out, after all, but the kiss I gave Cardew was promising a favourable compromise later.

             
“No lipstick?” having noticed that I had headed directly towards the door without reaching for that object, he chuckled victoriously.

             
“No point in it,” I played tragically hopeless. “Your shirt is already wet and in lather, if I get your whole face red as well –”

             
“I’ll look like a clown but I won’t care at all,” he finished with a shrug, carelessly laughed with me, and we went out together, taking care to lock the door.

             
However, I could feel him cast unnoticed glances in all directions so as to detect on time every would-be danger: his instinct of a protector was working flawlessly – this time to keep me safe.

             
‘Finally,’ I thought with a secret smile, and – already without any fears of what he would think about the following action of mine, I trustfully leant on his arm as we went on walking together.

             
Like the times before when I had suppressed it, this gesture still meant a display of tender feelings – just that I already was not afraid to indulge it.

             
Or to indulge in it...

                                          The dimmed light of the oversized screen was casting strange fast-moving pale-bluish shades in Cardew’s hair, and the whole cinema was silent in eager suspense to finally see the culmination of the movie I had more than an hour ago lost interest in.

             
I should let Cardew choose the film we were to see the next time, I thought with self-irony while suppressing a yawn in an attempt to behave, and comfortably rested my head back on his shoulder where it had spent the last some twenty minutes – but, given the tenderness with which his fingers were alluringly playing with mine, he didn’t seem to mind my closeness at all.

             
A whole pleasurable week had passed in which no strange letters appeared anywhere around me, and although all the time my best enemy unexpectedly re-qualified to be my guardian was with me – taking me literally from the door of my room in the morning and returning me there after the classes or the cafe – we were always together in both cases – nothing menacing or suspicious had happened at all.

             
If we didn’t count that my ways of expressing gratitude for his protection – and yes, my unstoppable inflaming feelings he obviously was sharing – were becoming increasingly turbulent...

             
The only consequence of the whole drama with the threatening note was the comment Mr Shelton made for our acting on the first rehearsal after it.

             
‘The initial aggression between the two of you seems to have passed,’ he had noticed too observantly, his little smile approving while he was nodding merrily. ‘But you do play great, even better than before –’

             
Then Cardew hadn’t missed to mischievously remark aloud that all kinds of energy existed especially to be made use of, and, recalling how we had all burst into laughter then, I involuntarily chuckled lightly.

             
“What is it?” my boy asked under his breath as he couldn’t but perceive my outburst of joy when I was practically almost lying onto him. “An old joke?”

             
“A memory –” I smiled with pleasure and went quiet to leave everybody interested in the movie enjoy it undisturbed by my noise, while Cardew was concentrating on kissing more and more temptingly my hand he was holding, and on intense ardent whispering only I could hear.

             
I closed my eyes and, without forcing myself to relax, managed to do so completely, making the merging colourful lights of the screen only the background for my blooming fantasies shimmering inside my imagination like a handful of lively radiant fireflies into the fragrant darkness around a midnight crimson rose-bush; a curly tuft of Cardew’s hair was coiling in charming rebellious waves and tickling the upper edge of my ear, but I didn’t move as his tender caressing words were rendering me blissfully lazy.

             
And in fact, he had recently really begun speaking more to me, just that he was somehow managing to do it without being much more open; not only when we were alone but as well in front of other people, he wasn’t shy enough to stop his constant repeating of how inexpressibly beautiful I was, but nevertheless, he was never revealing how I was making him feel, even when we were by ourselves. Ready to spend endlessly long minutes in selfless flattering of my looks, personality, or mental abilities, he couldn’t force his tongue in the simplest of sentences which turned out to be the most difficult one for him – just three words but capturing so much meaning in them...

             
However, the truth was that I – already – was as afraid to hear such a declaration from him as he was to pronounce it aloud. To me it would cause more anxiety than relief: if I heard him literally say that he loved me, I wouldn’t give myself the chance to relish the temptingly sweet sense of victory his words were supposed to render inside my heart, as I would be too occupied in wondering whether he had fallen into a deep emotional crisis I couldn’t take him out of. Merely hearing a single three-word sentence reassuring me in something I anyway believed in simply wasn’t worth all the worries it would mean for him.

             
Oh gods, why did this all have to be so disheartening?!...

             
The balance Cardew and I had managed to achieve felt too fragile for the dynamic drama our relationship represented: staying within the comfort zone of the one was hurting the other and vice versa – so we could only meet on the thin borderline between what he could allow himself to show me, and what I was not too scared to let him know – on the exact borderline between his pride and my vanity, where neither was perfectly happy.

             
Nevertheless, this was the only possible point of harmony, I was aware of that. His detachment was doubtlessly hurting me – and yet, I had accepted it as a feature of his, and had even started liking it in a way.

             
Yes, I did wish he would share his emotions with me: if only he would just relax in my presence and forget about his strength-of-personality manias, abandon his obsessions and phobias and realise that I was accepting him as he was, that I did not thirst for his goddamn perfection...

             
For his goddamn strength.

             
Yet, I could not deny that I was also admiring exactly this goddamn strength of his – despite being hurt by it – I had accepted the idea that expressing emotions was insanely difficult for him, and I would not urge him into this for the sake of my own confidence. Clearly, one of us had to make a minor sacrifice for our relationship to continue existing – and my adjusting to him would be way more painless overall than the other possible option.

             
Probably he had been right, I thought – probably I really needed to be with someone stronger than myself – and, as he was more than a demigod in my eyes even without comparing him to all other humans, nobody else could ever seem perfect enough to me.

             
After all, people's personalities are not alike, my logic had concluded philosophically – and I had accepted that Cardew was just not the type of boy who was able to demonstrate his belonging to the human kind through constant disconsolate tears, through opening up directly in front of a whole crowd, throwing down on his knees to beg and weep, or making millions of empty promises I wouldn’t even fancy seeing fulfilled – this would be just too unnatural for him.

             
Logically, since I really was in love with him – proud and reserved as he was – if I would be happy to accept him without his obsessive perfectionism, I had to be strong enough to welcome him with it as well!

             
And – maybe this was a secret I was keeping even from myself – but my pride immensely enjoyed his perfectionism, his perfection, his perfection-seeking...

             
Oh yes, I was utterly proud – and I was taking pride in that.

             
But he was as proud – and, probably for similar reasons, he was adhering to me, too – it was just that each of us had got to the conclusion that the other one was the only possible match in the world of ordinary human beings, and that was making our relationship quite stable despite its fiery dynamics.

             
The premiere of the play we were both in was just a month or so ahead, and the rehearsals for it were more or less the only classes of his own which Cardew was attending. I wasn’t really happy about that as he was probably ruining his whole year because of me, but as his marks would depend mainly on his performance in some pieces like the monologue I had once seen by chance, he was always managing to convince me that his innate talent mattered far more than all lessons he could possibly have.

             
“Now where are we going?” Cardew asked when the film was finally over and we were outside, blinking against the brisk light seeming unnaturally strong after the dusk we had spent hours in.

             
“I have to study –” I made a bored face and he giggled naughtily.

             
“I like your enthusiasm as you say it,” his smile was charmingly teasing and I couldn’t resist grinning back at him.

             
“My books are still in your house –” I reminded and Cardew chuckled almost innocently; recently his place had become a second home for me – if not the main space I was haunting – and all the possessions of mine spilled around together with his were creating the impression that more than one person was constantly living in that house.

             
“Then we can have a meal home,” he suggested with purposefully artificial naivety and I burst into laughter which made him blink with cutely-played surprise. “What? We’ll have more time to rehearse if you stay tonight –”

             
“As much as we rehearsed last night,” I was still chuckling but he resisted the temptation to giggle, too, and kept his innocent mask to make me laugh even more. “No, really, I can’t pass my exams relying only on natural talent like you. We’re having dinner at your place, but then you’re taking me straight home –”

             
“Alright, alright, lovely –” Cardew agreed on the compensation with a wink, and I tucked my hand in his pocket to protect myself from the coolness of the still early spring. “After all, we will anyway rehearse the stage where the supreme deity kisses the new goddess of fire –”

             
“Mr Shelton said we had progress in it,” I giggled cheerfully. “That the last time we didn’t look like we were trying to kill each other –”

             
“I don’t understand this,” the boy shook his head and the reddish fair-black waves spilled above his shoulders and sent a whiff of his familiar appealing scent towards me. “They all claim one has to behave naturally on stage, but the more I pretend, the more praise I get –”