Nightmarish Sacrifice (Cardew) (37 page)

             
Until that moment...

             
I involuntarily held my breath when Cardew stepped in the middle of the stage, his gaze roaming somewhere around the dark ceiling. All stares were fixed on him with almost painful intensity, but he wasn’t feeling them at all, and his expression was so dreamy and absent-minded that I saw even Mr Shelton shift uneasily as he was wondering if not only the character but as well the actor himself was lost in reflection up to the point that he had forgotten what he was to say.

             
However, I just smiled confidently – even if Cardew didn’t know the exact words by heart, he would manage to make something impressive out of the idea behind them, as it couldn’t but be familiar to him; besides, no nervousness or embarrassment could ever block his abilities and fail the performance, as he was impassively calm on the inside, no matter what hurricanes were raving around him, and as well, he was enjoying the limelight as much as I was.

             
Cardew took a breath and every single human in the audience did it at the same time; his presence on stage was obsessive, mesmeric, so unavoidably entrancing that everyone was staring at him without thinking, breathing or trying to clarify the effect he was having on them – just staring...

             
It didn’t take me long to realize that I was doing the same, and only the recollection of his smile saved my pride from furious self-criticism.

             
The gesture with which Cardew tossed his head backwards with a blissful smile was heavy and imposing but somehow refined, as if he really wasn’t an earthly creature, and when he started speaking, I felt as though the rhythm of the words his almost whispering voice was pronouncing was defining the uneven excited rush of the blood in my veins.

             
“I can’t say anything about her, I can’t even think –” he uttered so silently and mightily at the same time that I felt my skin shiver with the thrill he was sending deeply inside me. “I have never dared to imagine perfection, but she is far more perfect than any fantasy my imagination could dream of –”

             
My nails fixed into the dark curtains and I finally exhaled not to drown into the air; Cardew had effortlessly absorbed all the attention haunting the atmosphere, his every breath leaving a deep mark in my memory, the way in which he was pronouncing the words, his melodious intonation, the feeling in his voice itself making me shudder, the depths of my soul trembling from the powerful emotions he was filling me with.

             
His words themselves didn’t matter so much, as the way in which they were flowing was so enchanting nobody could pay attention to them in particular – like a skilful evil magician, Cardew was playing with everyone’s feelings to inspire in them whatever he wanted, so subtly but lastingly that – had he had the hidden cruel plans to – he could have easily hypnotized everyone with a single blink of his.

             
The task his monologue had was tough – he had to explain his own feelings to himself and the whole audience at the same time, but he was doing it so seemingly easily that it was true unique art. Almost whispering like he was making a confession, the young man was pouring his character’s feelings out freely and in such a personal way, as if he was speaking not to the crowd as a mass but to each person there alone – and with a single being one could share far more than with a hall full of people.

             
“If I stop thinking about her, my mind will go completely empty, and breathing will make no sense –” Cardew’s melodic whisper was intoxicating me so headily that I felt as though the air I was breathing was purely made of his perfume only.

             
‘Say it!’ I desperately begged in my mind, the yearning blazing so brightly inside me that its heat was almost enough to make me faint. ‘Say it, please, do it for me! I need to hear it from you – at least once in my life –’

             
“I –” Cardew’s voice was so perceptibly excited that I was ready to believe he was sharing completely sincerely his character’s true genuine feelings towards the goddess I was playing...

             
And – maybe it was an illusion, but in the moment before departing his lips again, he cast a glance behind his shoulder to look for me...

             
No – it had been real, I could swear it had! I had never seen his dark-granite-gray penetrating eyes so sincerely affectionate prior to the second he spent in gazing at me before he turned towards the audience again, and whispered with the most touching intonation possible, “I love her –”

             
The breath instantly froze on my lips – my temperature had at once risen so much that the air I had inhaled felt icy, as the inflamed fluid emotion was spreading throughout my whole body with the same speed and easiness with which my cheeks deeply blushed.

             
I would never forget the way in which he had been watching me, his tone when he pronounced the bounding phrase – oh gods, I hadn’t even imagined that hearing such a simple sentence whose truth was so obvious would make me so unbelievably happy!

             
The sad part of the story was that in fact I could hear something so open and revealing from Cardew only if we were on stage and the playwright had been merciful enough to include it in the script – when the scenic clothes were replaced by the casual ones, when the words learnt by heart didn’t matter and the limelight and make-up were gone, he was my best enemy again – a lover, but not a friend.

             
Why, I asked myself, why, when I was ready to be his most faithful and honest friend?

             
Why wouldn’t he trust me, when I painfully desired to throw away the restrictive mask of his fake rival, to shield his secrets more passionately than my own, and to start supporting him whenever he needed me? I had already seen how invincibly strong he could be and I would always admire him for this, but my theory was that on the inside everyone was equally weak – and just the way they were thinking of it and what they were showing was making the difference.

             
Why wasn’t Cardew letting me closer to his heart?...

             
‘I have to speak with him,’ I secretly decided for myself, and that made me feel more secure. ‘He may not need any friends indeed, but perhaps he at least wants one –’

             
A noise from behind made me cast a wary glimpse in that direction, and I saw Claire’s envious eyes trying to burn me from the darkness near my shoulder.

             
“He will never be mine,” she hissed through her lips pressed to each other, and gazed wistfully at Cardew before she gave me a short but accusing glare. “But he won’t be yours for long either!”

             
My brows knitted to indicate the lack of understanding I wanted to display for her. “Why not?”

             
The girl’s eyes were glittering with quite realistic insanity, and as I knew that she wasn’t particularly gifted at drama, I got worried about her mental state.

             
“Because he does not belong to this world!” she exclaimed below her breath, and turned her hopelessly adoring eyes towards my boy again. “Look at him, Freya, just look at him – he may not be a real god but he’s definitely not human!”

             
I held my breath again, unable to exhale: Cardew’s movements were bewitching me so completely, in such a supernatural way, so temptingly...

             
‘He’s just a boy!’ my mind coldly tried to convince me. ‘Not a monster –’

             
‘True,’ the heated heart pulsating in my chest agreed. ‘Not a monster – just a deity –’

             
An evil deity.

                                          The applause that followed Cardew’s monologue was literally deafening, as if the whole play was already over and all the actors had bowed at once together – but in fact, if there was anything really stunning about the performance at all, it was his presence there – and the rest could only enjoy a share of the cheering he had earned by himself.

             
I was still so fascinated that when it was my turn to go on stage again, I walked forward like in a dream – absent-minded but at the same time thrilled with the sweet anticipation of what would follow our talk...

             
“Oh –” I turned, having heard Cardew’s steps behind me; my joy to see him was absolutely sincere as I exclaimed, “I was missing you, my love –”

             
I could almost feel Mr Shelton’s smile at the intonation with which I had pronounced the last two words – lately I was sounding suspiciously natural while saying them.

             
Cardew smiled genuinely, too, and darted towards me to grab me in a hug – the scene before the kiss we had rehearsed so much was one of those we both loved the most.

             
Although he was taller than me even when I was wearing high heels, without them I felt suddenly shorter and that was making me perceive myself a bit intimidated, but as well, I couldn’t help admitting that when Cardew’s embrace locked around me, the sensation of total security was greater, too.

             
“My day just became so lovely –” he whispered the password, and I hurried to surrender to my own desire.

             
When my partner’s fervency blazed wildly under my skin as his mouth clung to mine, it reminded me that our lips hadn’t been touching since the beginning of the play, and I immediately knew that our stage kiss wouldn’t be reserved and decent like we had promised to Mr Shelton.

             
It was true that the kiss in question was the only thing about our performance which the producer wasn’t completely approving of – he had even offered us to remove it altogether, as the way in which we were doing it was either too violent, or too scandalous – or, in most cases, both – but then Cardew and I had made great effort to be as modest as possible on the more recent rehearsals, so our favourite moment would remain in – and we had obviously had success, just that all the well-played modesty melted away under the heated rays of the spotlights.

             
As eager as me but even more impatiently fiery, Cardew seemed to have forgotten that we were being watched closely, or he simply wasn’t concerned about this at all, as – making use of the fact that nobody would stop the play no matter what we did – he was tranquilly taking his time to indulge our common thirst for more of those unforgettable moments of pure expressed affection, its display unrestricted by the boundaries real life was binding us with.

             
Was it because Cardew’s touch was sharpening my sensitivity or for some other hidden reasons which I wasn’t in the mood to explore, but I was sensing his vigorous kiss not only physically but on all levels, especially emotionally, as there it was so powerful that I could effortlessly drown in it if he wasn’t making me adore life so much.

             
And – maybe under the great alluring influence he had upon me – I was perceiving that he was completely sincere with me while his lips were caressing mine, as if he could express his affection only without words, and in these precious moments he was too concentrated on me to reason whether my pleasure was his weakness.

             
It seemed that only the farthest part of my consciousness wasn’t entirely occupied with Cardew, as it managed to inform me I had heard many people in the audience gasp. When I finally pulled my lips aside from my partner’s, we were both perfectly aware that later we would most probably be criticised on this detail of our play, but the unique sensation of it had definitely been worth the risk of such a punishment.

             
“Adorable –” my voice sounded shallow but I was grateful I could utter a sound at all; imaginary embarrassment flooded my face with blood, and I felt really proud that I was able to live through fake emotions so deeply. “You are the supreme god and I... I am nobody! Oh, I am so ashamed! –”