He said he loves me. He really did. I was there in his arms when he gave his heart to me and I... I love him too. Ugh, I feel like such a child, blushing here and there, and he probably sees that silly part of me but still, he loves me!! I feel protected and small, but not a bad small but a good one. Small like safe, small like taken care of. And yet so big and seen and precious, and FREE! Benny does things in me— in my mind, in my stomach with that crazy flutter, in my heart, in my body, all at once. I'm pure and transparent when I'm with him. I've never felt so myself, I've discovered the woman I am now and all thanks to him. He sees through me and helps me see myself through me. And he loves ME!
What did I do? I wonder. It all moved so fast. The night we met feels like December and January— so far yet so near. When I saw him: so secure and mysterious walking towards me, so well dressed and combed, and he spoke... my skin sensed that mouth in me, I knew his touch before he ever touched me, because now I know we were meant to happen. He is a gift. A precious man I adore and I wish, HOW I wish I could keep him forever because I'm so his, in body and soul. I'm Benny's. I became his woman that night, in the solitude of that garden while I was regretting those damn heels and feeling lonely, he saved me there and marked me. I was his there, I am his now more than ever.
Frida lifted the pen from her dairy's sheet and stared at it with a tiny, conspiratorial smile. Writing from time to time helped to take the weight off her shoulders, serving as therapy but also served as a secret keeper. It was a way of escape, conspiracy and balm. She had been keeping for herself her most recent feelings, until they became unbearable to maintain alone, so she wrote them down in her dear dairy.
Frida re-read those lines, probably the most honest of her life, with that growing flutter in her stomach. That sentiment of joy and euphoria could no longer be held in her chest. Benny loved her. If there was any chance of shout it at the seven winds, she would. Nevertheless, for now, she would hold on to his love as long it lasted in the shadow of their secret.
•••
His index finger, as grotesque as a man's finger could be, moved in circles over her sweet skin with the subtly of a paintbrush. His new vice. Her scent, her sensation, her laughter, her curves, her eyes. All of her was his new vice. So unreachable and forbidden but so his. Benny smiled down at the woman in his arms; her ethereal profile filling his vision as she laid in his chest after making a sweet love. She seemed exhausted, subtly dark circles had now grown under her eyes. Still, she was so beautiful that it made his skin bristle with enchantment.
"Don't you get tired?" He asked in a low voice.
"Of what?" Frida barely moved, she found the coziest place in his arms.
"Of being so irreparably beautiful." From his position, Benny got a glimpse of the shy smile that grew on her lips. He felt her lightly shake as she giggled.
"It's my hardest job. Believe me."
It was his turn to smile. In other occasion, she would have simply downplayed his comment, now she played around. Progress was progress. She was like a flower coming to life. Benny brought her closer and kissed her head, hiding his nose in her red hair.
They stayed in silence a long time, countless minutes in fact. Words were unnecessary when they were connected in soul by the peace one provided to the other. The last weeks had been long and slow, both faced different issues in their houses but one way or another they ended up together, mostly in his apartment. Frida had found the answer to their meetings and the big issue of being limitantes to see each other found its solution when she proposed to stop assisting to the painting classes. She would leave her house at the same hour, with her paint case in hand, pretending to assist the class when it fact she drove to his apartment. Neither of them had any qualms about giving up the classes, it was irrelevant. Seeing each other and being this way was a million times more valuable to them. One hour and half, three times a week, they hid in his place to live their growing love. But one hour and half three times a week was becoming unbearable. Time was not enough. They lowkey craved for more.
