While I'm Gone

Chapter 13 - The iceberg theory

Matthew had his arms wrapped around me and our legs were intertwined. I can't deny how pleasurable the full body contact was, the shared warmth, the feeling of connection and, as strange as it may sound, of security.

I turned around, and rested my head on his shoulder, my hand wandering over his naked chest. He kissed me on the temple and began to brush his fingertips over my arm. Goosebumps rose on my skin and a slight quiver ran through my body.

"So I guess today is our story number three, isn't it? Why don't you tell me about it now?"

I let out a giggle; I just had to. "That would be El avión de la bella durmiente, the airplane of the sleeping beauty. Apparently, García Márquez fell in love with a perfect stranger. At first sight."

"Why the sarcastic smile? Oh, wait, I can figure it out: you don't believe in love at first sight, right?"

I think I gave him a look of disbelief and shook my head. "No... in hormones, maybe?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to comment on that."

"Oh, c'mon, you know that better than me... Anyway, he wrote that she was a breathtaking lady: she had almond-shaped green eyes and straight dark hair that reached her shoulders."

"Like you!"

"He saw her for the first time at an airport gate when he was waiting for his flight to depart from Paris to New York."

"See? There you are, what an interesting fella! And what happened to them?"

I shrugged and quickly explained it in a dry and ironic tone. "Nothing. She took a pill and slept during the entire eight-hour flight."

"What?"

"She was seated right next to him and all he could do was wonder how life would be like if he actually approached her."

"And that's it?"

"Yes, then they landed, and she disappeared into the crowd. End of story." I propped myself on one arm and looked at him. "Don't you have to go?"

He pulled my head back to his shoulder and emitted a sibilant sound that denied any such intention. "No, I'm not going anywhere tonight. And neither are you – at least, I hope you don't want to."

No, I didn't want to leave either. I moved closer to him and remained silent, with my eyes closed, feeling relaxed and unworried for the first time during that entire week.

"And you, what's your story?" I asked suddenly, interrupting our quiet moment.

"What story?"

"We all have a story; you must also have one. What's her name?"

"Whose name?"

"The woman who broke your heart."

"Why should I tell you my story, if you won't tell me yours?"

"Is that open to negotiation?"

"Maybe, what are you willing to compromise? That mark you have on your finger, why you were crying at the airport or the Dumfries creepy secret?"

"One of those. But you start."

Matthew narrowed his eyes at me. "How do I know you aren't going to throw me a curveball?"

"I won't. Trust me."

He cast another suspicious gaze on me first, but eventually opened up. "Mary. Her name is Mary."

"And?"

"And we signed the divorce papers over a year ago."

Frankly, a year is not a week! My inner voice screamed in panic and shame. He's much more of a decent person than you are. You should be grieving or outlining a strategy to save your marriage, but instead, what are you doing? Stroking the chest of a stranger! Why goddammit? Why?