erotic thriller

part two

Her lover finds her again in the square. Twelve minutes have passed since she left him in the cafe. She is sitting on a bench staring into a dry fountain. He is panting, wild-eyed, cradling four loose king cans of Greek lager against his chest. He lifts his elbow and tips himself to one side as he jogs toward her, cradling the cans like a clumsy new father in a sitcom soothing a colicky baby. He sinks down on the bench beside her, water stains streaking his shirt, the cans clatter to the ground but he ignores them.

Thank god, he says, thank god, thank fuck. She watches the cans as he watches her. They ping off each other like bumper cars then roll to a stop between his trainers. He is clutching her bare wrists now, saying her name over and over again as if she isn’t right there in front of him blinking and smiling. 

Oh you, she says in a tone that is meant to be playful but doesn’t quite land. 

Where were you? I was beside myself. I looked everywhere.

You did?

Yes, it was awful, I was frantic, running in circles.

Sorry.

I felt like my dog on bonfire night. I couldn’t find you anywhere, I was scared, you scared me so badly, where did you go?

She laughs silently, rubs her face with her hands, then pulls him in close and presses her mouth to the tender place under his ear, feels his shoulders soften under her hands. 

I did it, she says.

Did what? 

A little furrow appears in the space above his brows. She watches with pleasure as the perplexity drains from his face and is replaced by an understanding that causes him to wince. He looks down then turns suddenly and presses his forehead hard against hers like a Siamese twin. 

You didn’t.

Oh but I did. 

Really? 

Yes really.

You wanted me to, didn't you? We talked about it so much.

Yes but I didn’t think you would.

Well I did.