Portraits of our dreams (Hashirama x Madara)

7. Rebound (Hashirama)

I couldn't stop thinking about him. 

As soon as I got back to my loft, I lay down on my bed, hands behind my head, and looked up into the ceiling and out through the tilted windows. 

The pressure that had been present in the studio had followed me back to my apartment. It wasn't an uncomfortable pressure; it felt more like a hug, like a weight laying down on my chest and pressing me down to the mattress. What had happened? We hadn't been intimate, nor had we had any deep conversations. He had only grabbed my hands in excitement when I showed him the photos. Why was I feeling so strongly? 

I brought forth the image of the diamond glittering on his left ring finger. A band of ownership, cutting off any possibilities between us as if it were a razor-sharp knife. Who had put the ring on his finger? A man? A woman? Or had he proposed to someone, putting a ring on their finger first? Somehow, I couldn't imagine him with a woman. Somehow, I felt that the person who made Madara unavailable to me was a man, and that that man had put that ring on his finger and not the other way around. 

I checked the time. Seven pm. I wanted to see him again. How would I stand not seeing him for...

How long exactly? It suddenly struck me we hadn't booked a time for our next session. It made me happy, because it gave me a reason to contact him.

I took my phone out and called him. He answered almost immediately.

"Hello?" 

He sounded very, very worried. I frowned. 

Then, I heard a very, very faint voice. A man. That man? 

"Who is it?" 

"Let me check!" Madara screamed back.

"Hi", I said warmly. "I thought-"

But Madara cut me off.

"You can't call me!" he whispered. "Don't call me again!" Then, he seemed to turn to the man. "Just someone who called the wrong number!"

Then, he hung up.

I looked down at my phone screen, dumbfounded. What had just happened? What was going on? Did this mean he didn't want to meet me again? That that first shoot had been our first and last one?

But, more importantly, was Madara okay? 

I spent the rest of the day and the day after, a Friday, in a steady state of nervousness. I could hardly eat or sleep. I constantly had to keep my mind occupied to remain sane; editing, cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking... 

I didn't dare to phone Madara again, of course, and neither did I dare to text him. I waited patiently for him to send me a text, but he didn't. 

Then, at about three pm on Friday, my phone ringed, and I ran to it. 

But it wasn't Madara. It was...

Don't answer. You really do not have to answer.

I answered anyway, of course. I always did when he called. I just couldn't help it. Was it a way of self-harming? Yes, it was. Was I going to stop? No, I wasn't. 

"What do you want?" I said as I picked up. 

"Oh, God..." His voice cracked. "I have missed your voice so much."

My heart fluttered, for just a second. My treasonous subconscious had apparently missed his voice, too. Then, I tried to get a grip of myself, and succeeded. If a very, very loose grip also counted, that is. 

"Then why didn't you just call me?" I asked coldly. If slightly chilly counted as coldly, that is. 

"I... I thought I'd lost you. That I didn't deserve you anymore. I didn't even think you would pick up the phone just now. Please... Please, come see me after work. Let me buy you a drink."

As if a drink would be enough to have me come see you. I have money. I can buy my own drinks. 

"Fine", I sighed because I was a little slut. "Give me a place and a time."

He was as handsome as ever. How long ago was it I met up with him? Three months?

It had started when he came as a guest to one of my exhibitions. We began chatting, and afterwards, he asked me out for a drink. I accepted, and we spent two hours talking at the most amazing restaurant. We ended up going to my loft, where we spent two hours not talking, but screaming a lot, and after that, I became completely obsessed with him.

Just as he had wanted. 

He was taller than me, which was unusual, with short, wavy black hair and glasses on his strong nose. He always dressed incredibly well, and was clearly well-off.

We started meeting up on Fridays after work, and we always ended up in my place.

"I would love to see your home one day", I told him once.

He waved it away.

"Please. I love your loft. It's like a sanctuary to me. Away from luxury."

"Ouch", I said, hurt.

"Oh, God, I didn't mean it that way!" he excused himself immediately, and I laughed at the distraught look on his face. "Please, take it as a compliment."

I had put my arms around his neck and kissed him to show him I forgave him, and he lifted me up beneath my thighs and pushed me up against the wall.

It went on like that. I was blissfully happy. We would text all week, sometimes just chatting, sometimes being unbelievably dirty. We even sent photos. I started looking forwards to Mondays because then, it was only a few days left until Friday. On Thursday nights, I was so excited I could hardly sleep.

And when we met, it was blissful. He was the best man I had ever had in bed. I asked him, time and time again, if we could meet other days, but he told me no, that he was working until late every day, even on weekends. He told me he usually worked late on Fridays, too, but that he had stopped that just for me. I felt endlessly lucky.

Then came one day when I woke up on a Friday sick to the core. Nothing special, just a very, very bad flu, with a fever that went up to forty degrees. 

I called him, told him I couldn't make it. He tried to convince me, and I told him I didn't want him to see me in my current state. Then, he started to beg, telling me our Fridays together were his only release in an otherwise fucked-up life. So finally, I agreed.

"But I can't fuck", I said. "Just talk."

"Just talk", he agreed.

He forced me to sleep with him anyway. 

The day after, I was so sick I had to go to the ER, and they had to give me fluids into my bloodstream before they sent me home. 

"Did you exercise despite being sick?" the doctor asked.

"Well... I guess so", I said, blushing as I remembered how harshly he had fucked me.

When I told him what had happened, I had expected him to give up his Friday-only rule, and come take care of me despite it being a Saturday. He didn't. In fact, he stopped contacting me altogether. Apparently, he thought I was too much of a nuisance if there was a risk that I got admitted to hospital after he fucked me. 

But now, he wanted to see me. And even if my mind was full of Madara, I decided to go meet him because Madara seemed completely uninterested to meet up again, anyway. Maybe, distracting my mind with someone else could help? Seeing him once just to chat couldn't hurt? 

Could it?