Caffeine

A short story about love and infidelity.

Your smell in June was noticeably different from the way your perspiration hit my nostrils in March. Summer got you all heated up before the harsh, hot weather even came. I attributed it to the blooming of hagberries and the fact that their flowers had paved the road on which we first kissed. Your sweat smelled so strong, intoxicating, even when you showered three times every day, and you always used my shower gel, which somehow accentuated the way your scent was different from other people. Musk, of course, but also something spicy and strange, almost like cinnamon �" mixed with aeons of salt water. The last note was funny. You had only been in touch with the ocean once. Nevertheless, I couldn't imagine a better sensation to wake up to, at least, until my phone buzzed.
I sat on our bed, though it was mostly my bed. You were so small when you were asleep. Almost like you didn't want to bother me at all. A single tear ran down my cheek, but I knew I had to check my messages. You, sleeping, unaware of the evil I was doing. I had to push you from my mind.

I went to the kitchen for some instant coffee and the moment you were out of sight I checked my phone.
Ann.
I often wondered what I saw in Ann, as she was nothing like you, she was a little box-brained, a little too rational, dry and academic. Compared to you, she was non-fiction whereas you were a thriller. Maybe that was what I saw in her. Your moods changed with the tide. You changed your hairstyle every week �" every day brought new goals, new disasters and I had to admit I grew weary at times. You were the open sea. Ann was a pond in the middle of the woods, with clear water and perhaps a spring in the very bottom. She was adorned with watery flowers. I could never bring flowers to you. You didn't care for them. I imagined kissing Ann to be like kissing my own reflection, like kissing my own rosy lips, I had to imagine, since I had never had these monstrous desires before.
In short, I craved a certain sense of stability that you weren't able to provide. That was a mere excuse. I had, for the first time in my life, developed an urge to cheat on the woman I loved. I did everything within my power to rationalize it. Alas, I was, ironically, too rational for that.
I was just being a very bad man.

Even as your strange, strong scent still lingered in my nose, I felt a current of fear rise from the depths of my mind. For six long years I had not known peace. I wasn't afraid that you'd cheat on me, you were far too good for that. It was more about the fact that there was always this possibility of you quitting your job without notice or moving to Alaska without asking me if I'd follow. I'd go with you, of course, for my heart was beating in your chest and it would always be so. I feared for my identity. I feared for my integrity.
Ann said she didn't want to be a homewrecker. She said that she knew I had been feeling restless. She said she had a place for us, it was a summer Sunday and we wouldn't be missed. How such a stable person could help me cheat, it escaped me, and I was already making my own escape, writing down a lie for you, utterly disgusted with myself. The time of rationalizing had passed. There was only this feeling and the memory of her long hair flowing in the wind. She smelled like cherry flowers, like the way sad indie pop smelled, and she was such a wholesome creation, a painting with internal consistency and meaning, and you were a Jackson Pollock imitation. I feared the chaos behind my back, I feared you, the woman who sweated like a man and brought upon me thousands of storms when my waves had finally calmed, but I did not fear Ann or her perfectly matching skirts. I had gone for a cup of coffee with her in the name of work-related things, and she had dressed herself so fine, it made me doubt if beige was a neutral at all. I couldn't do that with you, for the sake of all known heavens, when you put on a skirt, you never crossed your legs, you'd wear purple and mustard yellow and look like a psychiatric patient.
These feeble, hypocritical thoughts I brushed away as I was planning my way towards the space between Ann's legs.
”I know what you're going to do.”
Your voice was sleepy. There was no adrenaline. No fear. Just the statement: you knew what I was up to.
I froze.
”You will not be able to do her any good if you haven't had your coffee yet,” you said with a perfectly calm and loving voice that put the fear of God into my spine.
You took the cup of instant coffee I had forgotten about.
”Of course you could drink her cold brew, but you only really like this brand of coffee. Made insanely strong. You haven't even taken your blood pressure medication yet. Do you really want to carry her into her bed with your hands shaking?”
You gave me my bottle of pills. You were right, of course, I could never impress her if my hands were shaking.
Ann was a mortal woman, and that fascinated me, no doubt. About your mortality I had my doubts.
You were a goddess, an oceanic goddess with curls so wild a sailor could’ve drowned in them. Was it any wonder I was afraid you could destroy my life with some well placed words?
”I could say I am sorry,” I finally dared to say. ”You, however, don't seem hurt.”
”Hurt is but a feeling,” you whispered into my ear. Sea wind, salty air, your morning breath. ”Can you say you've seen me act out my emotions? I act on inspiration, oh, my man, my lover, and if that displeases you, you are free to go. Is it my tone that scares you? Or something within yourself?”
I thought of Ann. Her light blue eyes compared to your dark wells of eternity. The way she spoke, every word igniting my ambition, awakening my belief in my abilities. She was worldly, but you were a religion. Ambition, nice suits, self-help books, none of those mattered with you. You wanted to tear down the idols of money and status and replace them with odes to primeval needs, played on harps and flutes made of bone, played through the night.
She wanted me to do whatever it took, whatever it took to get me ahead, I could have built a stable and sane life with Ann, instead of uncertainty, jaywalking and bonfires.
I looked deep into your lips. It was better to look at your lips, for your eyes were a portal to somewhere else.
I took my phone and dropped it. It was not a good phone. I crushed it under my heel.
”I do not deserve you,” I whispered into your messy hair.
”Nobody deserves anything,” you replied and kissed my forehead like a saint.
I took my medication and drank my coffee. I didn't want to offend the goddess with half-hearted displays of affection.
When that was done, I fell back into your arms, as dangerous they were, I found my way back into the place I wanted to die in. You were enlightened, I was but a novice. I would fail you so many times. You slithered your way across my body and reminded me of the way your sweat smelled like sailors. I couldn't bear the thought of betraying you again.

Author's Note

Any comments are welcome.