The longing

The shadow of the leaves, cast upon the road, swung gently to the autumn breeze. I leaned over the window and looked up at the tree with its golden leaves preparing for the fall. As I watched, the wind gushed for a moment, and the first leaf of the season’s fall snapped from the tree and hurled, guided by the breeze, towards the window, hit the windowpane, slid down it and settled on the sill. It was the lustrous crimson colored red-oak leaf with its curved edges culminating in jagged pointed tips. I gently blew over the leaf and watched it swing and fall, twisting, twirling, and finally settling on the sidewalk. 

It was 11 AM and it was time for him to come out of his house. I was lucky to get this house across the street from his. This house feels cold and damp, and nobody lived here for a long time before I came in. But I couldn’t care less. This house has the vantage point, this window, from where I can watch him daily without being noticed. I feel sorry that it is only this far that I could ever venture to getting close to him again, after that one night. Maybe I will muster enough courage someday to stand in front of him again and look him in the eye. 

I remember watching him last fall from this very place. That was when I moved into this house. His routine has not changed since. He comes out at 11 A.M every morning, except on the weekends, drives out and returns late in the night. Coming to think of it, I find it funny that my routine has not changed much either. I stand here, by the window, from early in the morning, waiting for him to come out of his house and then watch him leave. After he leaves, I abandon myself to the house, my abode - damp, cold and reeking of mold. I examine every nook, every corner, and even the cracks on the walls. They speak to me sometimes, in hushed tones, telling me the secrets of the horrors they saw in the depths of the hearts of the people who lived here before. Their stories depress me, but the thought of being able to see him again in the night revives me and keeps me going.  

‘Ah, here he comes!’ 

Those gullible eyes, the innocent looks, and that gorgeous body! He makes me go weak on my knees. I soften when I look at him. I long to hold him in an embrace and press him and subsume him into me till he belongs to me and to me alone. I wonder how, in all these days, his car never broke down. I had fantasized so many times that his car broke down and he came across, knocked on the door, and sought help. The fantasies run wild from there, each time taking a new turn as to what we’d do to each other and how. But here he drives away, again, without a knock.  

I know that I am obsessed with him, and just can’t seem to get over him. But the truth is that I do not know the reason why I feel so. Though he is handsome, he is not the most handsome man that I had been with. After that one night with him, something changed in me that keeps pulling me towards him, irresistibly and incessantly. 

It has been one year since that night, an anniversary of sorts, and I am still where I was one year ago. That thought makes me feel even more miserable. I long for a companion. For now, in this damp hole, these walls are my only refuge. I spread my arms and embrace the wall, with my legs, chest and cheeks pressing against it feeling for the sensation of a touch. I caress the wall, feeling it and tracing my finger along the crack. As I traced my fingers upwards along the edge of the crack, I felt my fingers stretch and diffuse into the wall through the crack. I pulled my fingers out in a shock. It felt so real. The walls seemed to take me in. Loneliness can do such things to the mind. 

 Every day, after he leaves, the wait for the night, till I see him again, seems like a wait for eternity. It is only a road separating us. I could get there anytime and meet him. But I want to know what I feel about him. Something does not feel right about this longing. I am not a psychotic, nor someone in the teens to have these intense pangs of longing. But, a dark secret within the depths of my heart, that I cannot contend with, haunts me. I am a normal person, but I wonder why I have such deep dark desire to devour him, literally, and entirely, till he is completely inside me. I feel sick of such thoughts, but nothing else seems to sate me. I want to know what is happening to me before I go across and meet him. But I hope it happens soon. I fear that these walls will take me in otherwise. 

I waited by the window the whole day, fighting the torments of my thoughts and fear of the walls. It was after mid night that he finally came. To my surprise, he got down and looked towards where I was. There was no light in this room. So, I was sure that I would not be visible, but I instinctively turned away from the window. The curtain might have moved a bit, but I don’t think he could have discerned it. I peeped again and saw that he brought a girl with him. My heart sank. I was not jealous, but I could not allow it to happen. He let the girl in, looked back, scanned the surroundings, and closed the door. 

I rushed down to the door and stopped for a moment before going out. It was the first time in one year that I would be stepping out of the house. But the thinking part of me was not in control then. It was one of those episodes when I got overpowered by my uncontrollable instincts. In those moments, there were neither equipoised thoughts nor restrained actions. I rushed out. 

It was colder outside. The breeze was too strong for my frail being and it almost carried me across. I knew that I could not enter from the front door. I walked around the house when I saw the beautiful rose bushes in a corner. I remembered seeing that corner before, when we spent the night last year. There were no plants at that time though. These memories that were deeply buried were returning to me. I went through the back door. Nothing had changed. The dining table was where it was before. We had kissed there as we entered. He was passionate. I could still feel his kiss on my lips. 

We had climbed the stairs at the corner of the living room, still kissing. I took off my t shirt and threw it there, on the couch. I looked at the couch, walking up the steps. There was a crop-top there instead. I heard the laughter of the girl. He was fun. He had made me laugh too. The door was open. I stood there at the door watching them. He was lying on top of her facing the other side. So, he could not see me, neither could she. There were drinks on the side table. I remembered having drinks in the bed too, but after that everything was hazy. I saw him kissing her, holding her face with his right hand, and slowly extending his left hand towards the side table, feeling for the glass. He then dropped a small pill into it. 

It all came back to me. I got up, finished the drink and passed out. I should not be knowing what happened next, but I know now. He pressed the pillow on my face till I choked. And died? He checked my pulse to make sure that I was dead. A strange smile came over his face. He seemed aroused. He took off my jeans, ripped my panties and raped my corpse twice that night before burying me in the corner where the rose bushes now bloomed. I felt no anger, nor bitterness. I was only glad I got my answers. 

I don’t know if I moved, or reeled, but the girl screamed looking at me. He looked back and I looked at him, in the eye, with a smile. How I longed for this moment! My deep dark desire rose within me like a tempest. The girl ran away. And it was those episodes when there were no equipoised thoughts nor restrained actions.