Those Days of Summer

A throbbing headache woke me up the morning after. It must have been the first time I carried it too far with the alcohol. My mouth was dry as hell, and my whole body felt stiff. I sat down slowly, and regretted it immediately. The world spinned around, flashing before my eyes. My hand instinctively reached for the water bottle standing nearby. Only when I quenched my thirst, I noticed the room didn't look the way it had looked the previous morning.

I found myself alone on the mattress in the middle of the bedroom, with Marcel's place just a few centimeters away. Only  the empty skeletons of our bed frames by the wall were reminding me about the usual order of things. How did it end up this way? I had no recollection of whatever happened after our night trip to the lake.

I felt my stomach squeeze in terror. Panic took over my brain in an instant. Had I done something stupid, I would remember, right? What kind of moron was I to drink so much? I cursed the recklessness of mine under my breath, and quickly changed into clean clothes. Led by a sudden need to escape, I grabbed the water and left the room.

When passing by the bathroom door, the sound of the shower reached my ears. It must have been Marcel. Good, I thought. I wasn't able to face him just yet. How could I look him in the eye after such a night? What could I tell him? It all felt so surreal. I wasn't even sure my memories were true. Maybe it was just my brain tricking me into believing I finally wasn't alone. I needed to think, and I needed to calm down. Somewhere else. On my own.

„Where are you going?" Mom was just finishing her breakfast on the porch when I ran right in front of her.

„The dam," I replied quickly, eager to leave the house as quickly as possible.

"Wait a minute, sweetheart."

I stopped by the table, and leaned on the backseat of the chair, trying to look chill and casual. Pretending everything was in place didn't come easy that morning. Mom fixed me with a glare and sighed. I wasn't in trouble, was I? Had I woken her up when I was getting back to my room at night?

„You should eat something," she pointed out, continuing to drink her coffee. „Are you alright? Did you even sleep?"

I rolled my eyes. So she was just worried.

"I'm fine. Not hungry."

„If you say so." The porcelain clang when she put her cup back on the plate. „How was the party? Did you two have fun?"

„I guess so..."  I hesitated before going on, remembering what I promised to ask for. „I heard Marcel's moving out tomorrow."

She nodded with her eyes locked on my face, staying silent for a longer while. As if she was giving me a chance to add something. My palms started to sweat. Suddenly all the courage disappeared.

Asking her to let him stay was admitting I liked him. And I somehow didn't want her to know. I didn't want anyone to know. It was just between the two of us. It was private. It was delicate. It was fragile, so fragile in fact, that it was balancing on the verge of non-existence. Cause where else could it be after a night like that? A night that grew us closer, but not too close. What even were we? Not yet lovers, no longer just friends. Locked in a painful state between "what ifs". What if we ruin it all by taking one step too far? Or ever worse, what if neither of us dares to?

I noticed mom's sight was unusually focused on my reactions. Could it be that she suspected we were up to something? The corner of her lips raised before she finally decided to reply.

"I know he's about to leave. Why move halfway through work though? Would be more convenient if he just stayed now. Don't you think?"

She finished off with a smile that made me realize she knew exactly what was going on. I felt my back cover with cold sweat. In spite of the panic that took over me the second she finished, I decided to play along.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right. All of his stuff is unpacked and everything..." My heart was racing.

"Exactly." She summarized our short exchange. "I'll talk to him."

And that was it. No questions, no doubts, no leading along. Why? I spent the whole week complaining about Marcel and his presence. And now I wholeheartedly agreed for him to stay a few more days. Mom had her right to try questioning me, yet she chose not to. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I understood she was doing me a favor now. She well aware I didn't want to talk about whatever was happening between me and Marcel just yet. I don't think I would have had enough guts to ask her first anyway... My heart suddenly filled with gratitude. She surely knew me better than anyone else at that time.

"I'll get going."

"Darling," she stopped me once more before I managed to leave the porch. "I'm glad you two are getting along."

I just nodded, and ran straight to the gate. How foolish was I to believe my affection could stay a secret? What betrayed me? She must have noticed... Notice what? The amount of time I was using to sketch Marcel's silhouette each day? The way I was searching for his eyes every morning at the dining table, just to look the other direction whenever he caught my stare? The longing in my gaze every time he was leaving the house alone? Did she hear my nervous steps at the terrace the evenings he was away? Did she see my fingers clamping around the pencil till my knuckles pale whenever he smiled at me?

I practically ran to the dam afterwards. I had a habit of going there whenever I needed to think something through. It wasn't Milan, where I was free to roam around the countless alleys, streets and piazzas. Vagli Sotto was a tiny village, surrounded by acres and acres of hills. The only route one could take without too much climbing was the road to Ponte Tibetano in the middle of the lake, and back, or to the dam at its end, where I was heading to.

The road had no pavement, but cars passing by were a rarity. The valley was located literally in the middle of nowhere. No wonder all of our relatives fled the village years ago, leaving the house behind. Mom was the only one crazy enough to take over the modest legacy after her grandparents, and keep the property intact. She was visiting the place whenever her busy life gave her a chance to.

I, on the other hand, was more of a city person, never fully understanding her motives. She used to say the place inspired her. Fair enough. There was an overwhelming beauty to the sunlight dancing over the tree canopies on the hills, the sounds of crickets in the evenings, the elegant surface of the lake shimmering in the starlight at night time.

But it was all getting so damn boring after a few days. There was literally nothing to do beside chilling by the water or walking back and forth around the reservoir. It wasn't the case this time around, of course. With the filming crew present almost every day, and Marcel's charm taking me over the edge of insanity, I was more occupied than ever.

I ran down the stairs leading from the road to the concrete construction of the dam, and sat on the ledge of the railing in my usual spot with a great view for the middle of the lake. The place was wonderfully quiet. I fixed my eyes on the calm surface of the water. It was hard to believe now, but once there used to be a buzzing little town down there.

The reservoir was an artificial invention dating a few decades back, created to  supply  surrounding municipalities with electricity and water. In the name of progress, hundreds of people lost their houses, their hereditary, their legacy.

Whenever I was coming to the dam, I couldn't help but imagine the day the town had sunken. How can it feel to observe your home, and everything you worked for disappear completely under liters and liters of water? What is it like to have no choice? To leave behind everything you used to be, and move on into the unknown?

I closed my eyes, letting the wind caress my cheeks, and the rays of sun slide over my face. Did I have a choice? I had always liked to think there are no blind alleys in life. That there's a solution to every problem. That going with the current, or against it is nothing more than a decision one makes. But life is more complicated than that.

The sound of footsteps interrupted my torrent of thoughts. I looked around, expecting to see a lost tourist, but instead I noticed a slim silhouette of Marcel. He ran over to me, slightly breathless, but happy.

"There you are. I wouldn't have guessed you were into such long walks. And yet you never want to jog with me." He was gazing at me with his hands on the hips and a joyful smile on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Just... thinking. Admiring Fabbriche di Careggine." I pointed at the lake.

"The sunken village? I heard a thing or two... Thought it was a legend at first. Surreal stuff, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." I nodded, going back to watching the landscape.

"How are you feeling?" He leaned on the railing beside me.

"As if a truck drove over my head. Do you mind explaining how on earth we ended up on the floor?"

"Well... You weren't in the best shape after we got home. I wanted to keep an eye on you before you fall asleep."

"Did I make a fuss? Oh God, don't tell me I was throwing up..."I hid my face in my palms.

"Nothing to be ashamed of." He patted my shoulder, and jumped on the ledge to sit by my side. "Come on, hustle your buns. Let me join you. And stop stressing out. It's not a big deal, really."

"I don't think I have ever drank this much," I mumbled. "I hope I didn't say or do anything stupid."

"Nah, you were cute and sleepy."

"Alright... Thanks then. For taking care of me."

We were sitting in silence for a longer while. Our legs swinging in the air. Our faces brushed by the warmth of the breeze. In the valley between what's long gone, and what persistently lasts.

"I told my agent I'm staying," said Marcel finally, observing the sheet of water in the distance. "We have five days left, Vic. What are we going to do with them?"

He finally looked at me. His eyes were serious, there was no spark of childish amusement he was used to displaying outside of work. Five days... I felt the weight of time on my back. Normally I would probably start to banter, pretending not to know the meaning of his words. But now, instead of joking, I searched for his palm on the warm concrete and clasped our hands.

"When our eyes met on the first day. Did you... read me? Did you know we were alike?" I asked, shying away from his sight.

"I guess so," he replied, caressing the fragile spots between my fingers. "You didn't want to show it, but you knew right away too, right?" His question was met with silence. "I could see there was something holding you back, burning you down. I mistook it for anger at first. Perhaps it was fear all along. And it doesn't seem to go away."

Fear... fear of being laughed at, fear of rejection, fear of making a fool out of myself. Fear of getting hurt... I looked him in the eyes, and saw nothing but immense sadness. It felt as if in that short moment he understood me completely.

"You know, I'm not ashamed of who I am, and I don't feel bad about it." I replied after a short while. "It's just that being with someone was merely a shy thought for such a long time. A quiet expectation I have never dared to believe would come true. And now there is you. And you're real. And it turns out you want me just as much as I do want you... And it's wonderful, it's awesome. But in a few days you'll be just a thought again." I looked at him seriously. „And I'm not sure I can take it."

"I understand."

He nodded, and tried to slip his hand away, as if he was calmly giving up on me. I grabbed his palm and squeezed it, to show I wasn't done just yet. To lose him then, was to lose him forever.

"And still I want to try. I'm afraid of what we might become, but I'm even more frightened of what we might miss out on. I just wanna see where it gets us."

One could say nothing changed, and everything changed at the same time. Lazy summer afternoons were ceaselessly running through our fingers, just the way they always had. The filmmakers, the models, the outfits we were working on, the sketches. It all stayed the same.

Longing stares leading the eyes towards a familiar silhouette of the cherished one. Palms brushing each other, feet touching under the table, supposedly by accident. Bodies getting closer during everyday activities. Subtly, so that no-one could see. It was all almost new, but somehow simple and known, as if we were doing it since forever, not even noticing.

These days I was living somewhere between reality and the trails of coal on the chalk paper of my sketchbook. I was slowly learning him by heart. I already knew the angles of his sharp cheekbones, the length of his nose, the exact amount of space between his eyes, the width and height of his plump lips.

I was tracing the rays of sun staining his cheeks. That lovely blush of his skin was driving me crazy. I was eager to know him more, drawing his figure from every possible angle. I wanted to see his chest, and armpits, his thighs and buttocks, damp soft skin under his knees, even earthy soles of his feet. As if these frames taking him apart were the only real thing that was about to be left when he finally leaves. And I was almost fine just looking, just sketching, just caressing the pages with my fingertips.

The mattresses stayed on the floor since the night of our drunken escapade. Neither of us questioned the new order of things. Our hands were reaching out at night, impatient but not naughty, as we were slowly getting acquainted with each other's arms. I could always withdraw, take some space, take a step back. I was safe sharing these midnight hours with him. We could talk till the break of day, exchanging silly anecdotes, laughing voicelessly, whispering each other's names like they were a spell. Or we could stay quiet, satisfied with the sole presence of another.

I was hoping nobody would notice our newly discovered affection. Their looks weren't revealing anything. Maybe except for Paolina… I felt her stare on the back of my head each afternoon we were spending out with her and others. The girl was smirking at me, sending meaningful glances, while enjoying her cigarettes. She kept offering me a pack of Marlboros each time she smoked, and I was rejecting it time and time again.

"I suppose you have a better drug to use these days," she summed me up one time.

She was right. No drug could touch the strings Marcel's presence was touching. Excitement and uncertainty were mixing with a sense of security, a sense of belonging. I was getting to know him, and I was wanting him more, craving his presence and touch, his words of passion and caress. It was an addiction without a doubt.

The more I clinged to him, the more I worried about what may lay ahead. Though it wasn't his intention to hurt me, I realized I would end up hurt anyway. Not with acts or words, but with the emptiness that will swallow me after he's gone.

There were times I was taking a step back, reconsidering my position. Wondering about consequences. When the moment comes, I was thinking, would I rather suffer because of the happiness I embraced and lost, or the happiness I never had the courage to reach for? It was for the taking now…

And then I was coming back to him. Snuggled in his embrace, I was begging in my thoughts - hurt me all you want. Let me explore whatever we have. I'll be fine no matter how it ends. I'll treat fondly the emptiness you'll leave me. It'll be my pain, my agony, my dearest keepsake.

I could cling to the shreds of common sense, praying not to lose sanity whenever he was getting near me. But I couldn't run away forever. It was clear one of us would break at last, cracking open the doors to desires we haven't yet reached for.

The night was hot. Dry July air was gushing through the window, blowing the curtains in. All I was able to focus on was that terrible heat, pressing at me from every direction. A tiny layer of sweat between our bodies was driving me crazy. I couldn't move, yet I wasn't able to stay still.

Marcel was sleeping, and my mind was drifting away into dangerous places. Every cell of my skin touching him was screaming with lust. I hid my face in the moisture of his neck, pressing my burning lips against his collarbone. Did he notice my groin growing hard alarmingly close to his crotch?

"You're still awake?" He rasped, stupid with sleep. My squirming must have woken him up. "Can't sleep? What are you thinking about?"

The voice in my head was tempting me to say dirty, dirty things... There was nothing to be ashamed of, right? It was just us. It was dark and hot. And I was almost drunk. Drunk with the smell of our bodies blending into one another.

"These sheets you're sleeping in," I whispered under my breath, "I humped them the other day when you were away." I finished the sentence with my heart beating so loud, I was sure he could hear it.

"Yeah?" He groaned out, moving his hand down my back. "Wanna show me how?"

I raised my head, and we were now staring into each other's eyes. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead. His breath quickened. His palm rested on my loins, pulling my hips closer. He gasped, feeling my erection pushing on his stomach. I was sensing his length shamelessly hardening next to mine.

"Can I touch you?" A warm whisper escaped my mouth before I could even think.

He uttered a quiet yes, and I reached into his pants with a trembling hand. He was warm, and so stiff I was losing my mind. His palm moved from my back to my face. His thumb was drawing circles on my cheek. I freezed with my fingers clenched around his hard-on.

"May I kiss you?" He asked, and I clinged to his lips without a single word.

It was nothing like I imagined. But what was it that I imagined to begin with? I didn't know anymore, I didn't care. There was no better feeling in this world than the moisture of his skin, the softness of his lips, the quiet moans of pleasure leaving his mouth.

"More"

"More"

"More"

"Don't you ever stop."

Before the end of the night, awakening would come on us time and time again, as if we were in a trance. Wakefulness turned to dreaming, dreams were reality. I kept opening my eyes, like I needed confirmation that the mattresses are still on the floor, that Marcel's hand is on my hip, that my cheek rests against his chest. Each time I was done checking the surroundings, I would kiss his lips to assure myself they weren't an illusion. And he would return the caress, giving me the final affirmation.