Beauty and the Beast

Easy Love

The day I inadvertently allowed you to "make love" to me was the day I knew I was truly a lost soul, that I had given a piece of myself to the devil.
In my defense—the person I had made love to wasn't you, it was Ata Moravec—even if he had been a figment of my imagination.
It had been a night just like any other night—Anna brought me whatever dinner the chateau kitchen was ordered to allot to me; I ate it staring out the window at my village; at exactly a quarter past midnight you let yourself into my room. Like the conductor of an opera, you dimmed the lights, clapped your hands, and told me to "Come here."
What set tonight apart from all those other nights was that my imagination was a lot more active than usual. I could feel my mind slipping away from my body rather than stagnating away in it, grasping at memories starring people that were nothing more than distant ghosts to me. I realized with a pang of sorrow that I could no longer remember what my mother's voice sounded like; that I no longer remembered the color of my brother's eyes. I was doing exactly what you wanted me to do all along: forget those who loved me and bind myself to you, mind and body.
But on this particular night, my mind broke away from the lump of flesh that was my body like a piece of stuffing pulled out of a cotton pillow. I could hear the sound of cars and night trams clattering by; feel the worn leather of the back row of seats of a car, now sticky with sweat. If I opened my eyes, I could see...
Ata Moravec.
His face was inches from mine, the corners of his mouth hooking upward in an adorably crooked smile. Our limbs tangled and twined with each other in the deliciously cramped space we were now lying in. I was half against the car door, half on the seat, with Ata resting precariously on top of me, supporting his weight with his forearms, which were on either side of my face.
He lowered his head. Fireworks went off in the pit of my stomach as we kissed until neither of us could breathe and we had to separate for air, the suction of the kiss breaking echoing surprisingly loudly throughout the car's interior.
The only audible sound was that of our ragged, erratic breathing, and the trill of the crickets outside. Ata raised his head to look questioningly at me, his dark eyes searching my face for any signs I might be getting cold feet.
Was it that, or...was that confusion I saw written on his face, dubiousness? Disbelief? Like he thought prudish, sheltered Sophie Gabcik wasn't capable of partaking in such licentious, illicit activity?
I would show him.
This time, it was me who kissed him first, harder this time and with obvious urgency. He yielded almost immediately to my onslaught, his fingers twisting in my hair, holding clumps of it so hard my scalp throbbed and I thought to myself, Since when did he get so strong?
He dipped his head lower to kiss my neck; along my collarbone. And it was then that I looked down and realized that neither of us had any clothes on. The discovery shocked me; Ata wasn't the bold type, and I figured the first time we had sex I would need to coax him to take his shirt off, let alone anything else.
Don't ruin it for the both of you, a voice in my head said as Ata's head moved lower still. You'll kill whatever bravado he's managed to work up.
I could feel my body reacting to what he was doing, and for the moment I just tried to shut my mind down and enjoy it, but I couldn't help wondering, How does he know what he's doing? Are his fingers really this long in real life? His hands feel so rigid... like soldiers' hands.
Ata straightened up again; aligning himself with me. Everything happened so fast after that—so fast it stole the breath from my lungs and forced my mind to shut down and let my body take over. The pleasurable sensations wracking my body forced my mind into such a state of dormancy that the only thing that jarred it awake again was the word that left Ata's lips  in a hissing rush seconds before he collapsed on top of me and lay still, shuddering almost uncontrollably.
"Silke—"
Silke—?
The name washed over me like a bucket of ice water being emptied over my head. I opened my eyes to stare in furious shock at Ata, expecting to lock gazes with his chocolate brown eyes—
...and found myself staring straight into a pair of wolfish blue ones, now centimeters from my face.
The moment I looked at you, you immediately rolled off of me and pulled the sheets over yourself, giving me your back. With mounting horror, I realized I was still inside Panenske Brezany; I was nowhere next to being inside a car; Ata was nowhere to be found.
How can you possibly explain what just happened? A voice in my head shouted. You and Ata did what the two of you had always wanted to do! Pinch yourself; the German next to you is nothing but a bad dream.
No...not Ata. I hadn't been sleeping with Ata. I hadn't been reacting to the feel of Ata's hands on me. My mind might say something else, but...
The man whom I had let kiss me hadn't been Ata in real life. The man whom I had kissed with the same fervor I did Ata before all this happened hadn't been him.
I almost threw up with disgust and horror. What had I done? Why had I let my mind carry me to such a blissful place that it completely obliterated the hell I was currently living in?
"Silke is your daughter," I said, rolling over onto my side and digging my fingers into your shoulder. You flinched and twisted slightly to look at me, your expression blank.
"She's your daughter," I said. "You sick fuck, how could you—"
Your face twisted with hatred. "She's not the only Silke in my life," you said irritably. "And what I say and don't say in the heat of the moment shouldn't concern you, Czech."
You heaved yourself to a sitting position. "You should watch your mouth around me. Czechs like you drop dead like flies in the jail cells." You threw the sheets off of yourself and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm gone from here now."
"Wait!" I grabbed your arm, my grip slightly shaky out of fear that you would backhand me or something.
You turned to face me fully, your expression still neutral, although I could see the shock and confusion evident in your eyes.
What was going through your head at that moment, Reinhard? Could you have been thinking, She's supposed to hate me; she's not supposed to want me to stay...
"Can you...stay here?" I asked. I didn't  even know why I was asking you to stay. I told myself that if I could at least use you to springboard my dreams of Ata Moravec, it was worth it.
"And why would I do that?" Your lips curled in a mocking smirk. "Since when have you ever given me a reason to stay?"
"Please?" If my subconscious was a person, it would be running around in circles screaming at me to shut up. You're supposed to hate him! Why are you asking him to stay longer than he wants to? Let him go!
You sniffed disdainfully, but slowly, ever so slowly, you unfurled yourself, lying flat on your back on the mattress, staring up at the canopy of the bed.
After a while, you rolled onto your side, giving me your back.
"Good night," you said.
I heard myself replying.
Minutes passed, and I heard you start to snore gently, your shoulder rising and falling with the rhythmic cadence of your breathing. I lay there in the dark, wide awake, suddenly not feeling as alone as I usually did.
There's this Slovak girl named Sophie Gabcik. Or rather, there was. She was kidnapped by Reinhard Heydrich, the Deputy Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. She hated him for raping her and for abusing her. She wants nothing more than to see him dead. Because of him, she's young but a thousand years old. She is whole and yet her soul is in tatters.
That girl is gone now. I don't see her anymore. Now all I see is another Slovak Sophie Gabcik who was also kidnapped by Reinhard Heydrich. But this one sympathizes with Reinhard Heydrich, feels sorry for him, and willingly lets him have his way with her. She effortlessly puts all of what he's done to her, all the pain and shame and hardship he's caused her on the back burner, and chooses instead to focus on the few fleeting moments where he slips and behaves with some semblance of kindness to her.
I wonder where that first Sophie Gabcik went. I wonder what she's doing now. I wonder how old she is now. I could be her mother; her sister. Or maybe not, because she is me. Or was me. I don't know.
I miss her sometimes. And I'm sure that when you were in one of your sadistic moods and you wanted to hurt someone who so virulently hates you, you missed her too.