Blue Glass

Manfred

Who, now, is worse than me?

I burn my fingertips beyond count from how badly my hands are shaking from rage and shame as I attempt to light my fifth cigarette. I place it between my lips and take angry drag after angry drag, as if with each puff of smoke a portion of the negative emotions bubbling and swirling inside of me would also be expelled.

It's amazing how convincing a lie can become even to the person telling it.

In that moment, as we stood there on the steps of the art gallery, I had felt deeply and personally attacked. It was as if by berating me with the truth she was accusing me of something I didn't do. It was only after I walked away that I realized she was right. I had treated her as nothing but a whore. I was the reason she was probably sitting in a flat in Berlin somewhere crying her eyes out for a man she assumed didn't love her.
If only she knew it was the opposite. Completely and totally the opposite.
I loved her with every fiber of my being, more than I had ever loved anyone all my life.
Such a powerful love was completely alien to me, and dangerous. Its intensity consumed me body and soul, enticing me to do things I previously would never have even contemplated.
I had never felt more disgusted and ashamed in my life as I made my way down the sidewalk. And I had never hated my brother Lothar more than I had in those few seconds.
It was all his fault this had happened. Yes, I had contemplated sleeping with Lea once or twice, but I would have done it in my own time, on my own terms. It would have been something special, not a means to an end.

I shifted my weight on the rotting log I was sitting on, running my hand up and down the smooth barrel of my hunting rifle. The ash from my cigarette drifted slowly down into my lap like flaky snow as I tapped it off the end.

After that conversation with Lea, I felt that a good bout of hunting was exactly what the doctor ordered. Hunting had always been more of a coping mechanism for me than anything else for as long as I could remember. While most people chose to drown their sorrows in alcohol, I preferred the roar of my gun and the merciless kick of the recoil against my shoulder as I sprayed my quarry with bullets, the acrid, salty tang of freshly spilled blood as I drew my hunting knife across its throat. The rush of masculine pride that stemmed from the sight of seeing mighty beasts like stag or moose lying prostrate at my feet was the only remedy I knew to all of life's woes.
The moist, crisp air filled my nostrils as I took a deep breath, expelling a huge puff of cigarette smoke as I did. It had been an hour to the moment I returned to my hotel room, donned my hunting gear, and drove myself to one of the many forest laden towns surrounding Berlin. Up until now I hadn't spotted a single deer anywhere.
I supposed that while I waited for my prey I should try and make sense of the whirlwind of events that had taken place over the past few days. Most confounding of all...
...that night.
I wasn't supposed to enjoy what I had done. I wasn't supposed to revel in the joy of sleeping with someone for the sake of a dare by my younger brother. I was raised as a soldier and a gentleman in tandem, and to take advantage of a girl, let alone one who was much younger than me, was absolutely dishonorable. But as much as my mind thought so, my body was another story.
I remembered the slow, gradual feeling of the rational part of my mind shutting down as my hands found hers in the dark, the half of my brain that shouted at me to make my basest dreams a reality swamping my head as my bare skin made contact with hers. I could feel my blood hissing and boiling like tar being heated over the fire. It was like someone had tied a slip knot in the pit of my lower stomach and was gradually pulling it tighter and tighter and tighter...

For a moment, I'm afraid I will yank her hair out from how hard I'm holding it.
My whole body feels like it's been shocked with a million volts of electricity. I can't move, can't even think straight. My brain is completely fried. My world has shrunk drastically in the span of a few earth shattering seconds to solely encompass the girl beneath me.
Her hands are on my shoulders, moving up to the sides of my face, gliding over my forehead, my closed eyelids, my nose, my mouth. I duck my head and kiss her so hard our front teeth collide and I feel her shoulders tense beneath me.
I've never kissed anyone this passionately before. I half expect her to slap me across the face or at least do something; say something that will mirror her disgust with me. Because what does she see in me that is so remarkable? All my life I've been told I'm nothing—I'm short, I'm stocky, I'm everything a man shouldn't be. And yet she loves me the way I never imagined any woman could.
I want to do this with her all day, every single day, for the rest of my life until I can no longer do it anymore. And although I know it's not possible, I want to marry her, and never go a day without seeing her face. I want her to be the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to sleep. And I want her to give me pale, dark haired, dark eyed sons who will grow to be everything their mother was and more.
I can't see her in the dark, but I can feel her gaze on me, watching me. I am suddenly overcome by the urge to tell her my true motive behind this and how sorry I am for doing this to her. I want to tell her that as much as the two of us might want to spend the rest of our lives in each other's company, that dream will never become reality. We live in two separate worlds that will remain parallel to each other forever, never to intersect in any way, shape or form—-