Juggling coke bottles.

Hereby my new story. It's not about me, but you may pretend it is. If that makes you feel good.

I wanted to experiment and try something else for a change. My usual short stories are very short, very emotional. This turned out not to be that short. Nonetheless, in my own opinion, it is still very emotional, even though I didn't want it to be in the first place. When I was writing it, however, I got dragged along by the words a bit and I decided for the persona to be as emotional as the words wanted her to be.
I'm sorry if it shocks you. I'm sorry if it offends you. I'm sorry if you think it's too long.
But it made me feel good when I wrote it. Fiction is a great tool to help you paint the walls that you've built around you. It's a great tool to paint the walls inside your head with too. Sometimes, however, it can be considered a hammer, with which those walls are being knocked down. I still have to find out what kind of fiction this is. The paint? Or the hammer?





JUGGLING COKE BOTTLES:

I saw him coming towards me from across the other side of the trottoir. I had just smoked a cigarette and to act as if I hadn’t seen him coming in my direction, I pretended to be busy with pressing the fire out. After doing so, I opened my bag and pulled out of it a bottle of coke light. Unfortunately, I had never been good at opening bottles of soda in an elegant kind of way and this was one of those situations where it couldn’t possibly have looked less elegant. I opened the bottle and half of its contents came spilling out. The jeans I had been wearing, ceased being the spotless white colour they had initially been and as I saw the brown substance soak the fabrics enclosing my legs, I cursed under my breath. Of course I couldn’t remain anonymous this way and he saw me. Before I knew it, he stood right in front of me. He had a mocking look in his eyes, as he scanned my entire being. He did not only look at my body in a shameless way, but he also seemed to look right through me, as if he knew what was going on inside of me. As if he cared.

I shook this idea out of my brain and with an apologising smile, I stated: “Yeah... I’ve never really been good at opening bottles.” I shrugged and leaned in for a kiss. My eyes closed and my lips slightly pursed, I stood there for a couple of seconds, like a fish praying for a bit of air, until I opened my eyes to see he hadn’t moved a bit. He still had that mocking look in his eyes and it seemed to grow profoundly, when he saw how offended I was. He had rejected my lips in the middle of the street, with people looking at us, scrutinising every little thing we did and did not do. For a while, we just stood there, looking at each other. He didn’t move, the only thing that changed slightly, was his mouth. I could see he was trying to hold a smile back. What do you want? I begged him with my eyes. Then he turned around and said: “It’s that way.” Slowly, he turned his upper-body in my direction and gestured me to follow him, with a faint nod of the head. I picked up my bag and followed the mysterious person in front of me.

During the walk, we hardly spoke. He walked in front of me all the time and it felt a bit weird at first. At the moment I got used to the feeling of being ignored, he turned around. I immediately stopped walking as well and looked at him, curious of what he might do next. He stepped forward, in my direction. Every step he placed on the grey pavement, was placed confidently, yet cautiously. It was as if he walked in an incredible tedious slow-motion, but within a blink, his face was merely a couple of inches away from my face. Confused and still a bit offended, although also amused if I’m really honest, I pulled my body back, so I could have a proper look at the person in front of me. He wasn’t very tall; about two inches taller than I was. He had green eyes, with spots of brown in them, and a perfect nose. He had told me once that he had broken it four times, but I couldn’t see it; it was perfect. He had dark blond, curly hair, which he would mess up with his right hand, whenever deep in thought. He had a bit of a beard, not a long one, but one of those that men have when they haven’t shaved for about 5 days. He had big lips. He was chubby. He wore a childish T-shirt with a shark on it and a hole at one of the seems of his right sleeve. Frankly enough… It didn’t bother me. It didn’t even bother me that his right shoe was almost entire ripped from its sole. I could only look at those green eyes, with those tiny brown spots in them. Depending on how good the weather was, his eyes could become more of a mixture between sea-green and gold and whenever I looked into them then, it would feel as if I lost myself and drowned in them...

I felt his lips pressing against my lips. I felt his entire body pressing against mine. I felt his desire and I tried to hide mine, but I felt lost in his grip; I felt lost in his kiss. His hands were everywhere: first, he held my body against his, he pressed our bodies together as if he wanted to melt together, right there and then. Then he held my face, very gently, as if he was making up for the roughness of how the kiss had started out. His hands moved again and he held my head from the back. I felt his fingers run through my hair and his kiss became rougher again. I felt lost, I could hardly breathe and I wanted to get away from there; from him. But there was one thing that I wanted better: staying with him. I decided to let go of the desire and to share it with him. As I decided to do so, his grip softened and he stopped kissing me. He held my head; one of his hands at the back of my head, fingers entangled in my hair, and the other one brushed some hair out of my face. He leaned forward again and whispered something in my ear. “I want to fuck you. Right here, now.” I know, I thought to myself. I looked at him, smiled vaguely and tore myself away from him. “Too bad you need at least two people for that,” I was teasing him. Even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and this would go wrong. But that was what made it interesting. And irresistible.
He grabbed my elbow and pulled me to him. The confidence he did this with, disgusted me. You were the one that rejected me, what do you want?! I turned around and started walking away. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” he shouted after me.
“I don’t care, as long as I’m not with you, you arrogant son of a bitch,” I shouted back.
Before I knew it, he stood in front of me again, holding both of my elbows this time. I felt my head spin and my knees shake. It's never good to feel things like anger, disgust and desire at the same time.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"With me? What is wrong with me?! I'll tell you what's wrong with you, you fucker. From the first time I had you in my sight, I knew that I was going to hate you. I knew you were disgusting and you weren't going to be capable of doing anything that would not make me loathe you. You are revolting and impossible to be around and I can't believe I'm here. What do you want from me?" Shit, I didn't seem to be able to stop talking anymore. Nerves...
Silence.
"What do you want?!" I threw my hands in the air and felt like a whining little child. He was the only person that could make me feel that way; I wasn't that young anymore in the eyes of some and in the eyes of others, I was too young.
He spoke. "I told you. I don't want to give you any wrong impression, it's just physical. Everything you just said, is completely mutual, I can assure you." He drew closer to me and I could feel his breath on my skin. It made me shiver. He whispered in my ear again: "I know you want to fuck me, why would you even bother denying it?" He leaned back and hid little tangles of hair behind my ears. "You know it's going to happen anyway."
"Yes, I do. But having a shown path, doesn't mean I'm following its direction," I answered. He seemed a bit confused.
"Well.. Why are you here, then?" he asked matter-of-factly.
I smiled, leaned in and bit on his lower-lip. "Let's go," I said.
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he smiled and said: "You're such a tease," and followed me.

Arrived at his one-room apartment, I didn't know what to do; it all felt new to me, regardless the fact this wasn't the first time I was alone with a man. I felt his eyes scanning me again and to focus on something else, to feel less nervous, I looked around. On several places, there were juggling balls and against the fridge, stood a couple of clubs. "You can't juggle," I said, more to myself than to him. I turned around to look at him. "Why do you have this stuff?"
He shrugged and started to laugh. "Because I don't juggle, remember?"
"Of course." I bit on my lip. Touche.
I walked around, as far as that was possible, and put down my stuff. I put my coke bottle on the kitchen table and took off my new navy-blue jacket. He reached for my jacket and without thinking about it, I gave it to him and sat down on the bed, absentmindedly. He tried to throw the jacket on one of the cupboards, but instead, it fell on the floor. My new jacket.
"Oh no, you did not just...." I exclaimed, ready to attack him with my words which would remember him of how he disgusted me and of how I really didn't want to be there. Obviously.

Instead of picking my jacket off the floor that didn't seem to have had a proper cleansing in years, he came towards me and pinned me down on the bed. He kissed me roughly and again his hands were everywhere. And on more places. After a couple of minutes of kissing underneath our breaths, he undressed me. It wasn't the romantic, slow kind of undressing, but more like the hasty 'I-want-you-but-we-only-have-10-minutes'-kind of undressing. This is too fast, I thought. He stopped kissing me, at that very moment, and took off my bra in a surprisingly slow manner, while he looked me in the eyes. Oh, fuck it. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. This time it was I, who was pressing our bodies against each other. I could feel him and didn't want to wait anymore; he didn't seem to be willing to do so either. He pinned my arms down above my head, on the pillow, and started to kiss my entire upper-body. He pressed his soft lips on my skin and before I could take the time to enjoy it, I felt a stinging pain at the place he kissed me. He was biting me.
"Ouch! What the fuck do you think you're doing, dick?!" I sat up and looked at my breast. There was a gigantic red patch on it and my eyes went from my breast to his face, back to my breast, in awe. "What the fuck man! Jesus!"
He answered me with a grin and I saw his head go down again. He laid me down on the bed once more and licked the sensitive spot where he had bitten me and I could feel him smiling against my skin. "I know something fun..." he said to my belly.
"Oh, I bet you do," I moaned. I didn't like this. I wanted to get out of there. But I loved it. What is he doing? I wondered, and I pulled up my head to see what he was doing, but it wasn't necessary. I felt it; he was biting me in the side. It tickled and stung and I didn't know if it felt good or not. I wanted him to stop and I wanted him to go on, I wanted to kick my feet around and scream and I wanted to lie still and be quiet...

I smacked him on the head. Not very hard, but hard enough for him to stop biting me. "What the..." he said, bringing his head up to see what was going on. I slapped him in the face. Again, I didn't slap him very hard; just hard enough for him to know that I didn't want him and I wasn't attracted to him. Or something like that.
"You're a pig. I hate you. Let go of me, you're hurting me."
"I'm becoming a bit insecure when you keep reminding me of the dick I really am," he shot back at me. Ouch, you need quite the confidence to be able to say you're feeling insecure. Did I want to get out of there? Yes. Did I play along and stay anyway? Yes.
"Well, someone has to tell you. Get off me."
"You don't want me to get off you."
"Yes, I do," I tried to fight what I felt. I really tried.
He slapped me in the face. I felt my entire cheek glowing and was speechless for a while. Then something inside of me snapped. It was self-control. I literally felt the self-control flow out of me and ripped off my pants. I tried throwing them on the cupboard, but just like the jacket, it fell on the ground. On the other side of the room, one of the clubs fell down.
"It's hard isn't it?" he said, smiling, under his breath.
I got on top of him and got off his jeans. His T-shirt was off already, but I couldn't remember taking it off. Who cares. I nibbled on his ear and he said: "Stop it. Fuck me."
I ignored him and continued nibbling his ear.
"I'm not kidding, just fuck me already."

When he said that, I sat up. I looked at my watch and then at him. "Hmm.. I think I'd better go."
He sat up too and switched our positions again. He pushed me against the bed and when I tried to get up, he slapped me in the face again. But this time, I liked it. I knew I deserved it; it was what I had been asking for all along, after all. Fine, I'll admit it. Damn it.

When we were done, we did it again. After that, David got up, pulled on a pair of black boxers and picked up the juggling clubs that were standing against the fridge. The one that had fallen down, had rolled away, so he picked up the next best thing he could juggle with, instead of that club. He found my coke bottle and started juggling with it.
I looked at him for a while.
"I take it back."
"Hm?" It looked cute, the way he juggled; wearing nothing but that pair of boxers, sticking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, in utter concentration.
"You're a true juggler."
I watched him again, for a little while, then he dropped one of the clubs and I had to laugh.
"Is it like, your cigarette after sex or something?!"
"Nah. It's more something to bring me back to reality.." he answered.

I stood up, took a short, steaming hot shower and put on my jacket on the way out. He didn’t hold the door for me, nor did he have the decency to stand up. Why was I so attracted to this asshole?
I walked up to him, he still sat on the edge of his bed. Juggling, of course. I waited for the right moment and when I saw he stuck his tongue out of his mouth a bit again, I snatched one of the things he was juggling with out of the air. It was my coke bottle. To be honest, I was a bit surprised I had actually caught the bottle, as my reflexes aren’t that good, usually. I took the cap off the bottle and put the little opening to my lips. It tasted… Like nothing. It made my face twist and I put the cap back on the opening. He took the bottle from me and pulled me down by my hair, gently. He kissed me. "When am I seeing you again?"

What is this? I thought to myself. He didn’t want to give me any wrong impressions, but what was he doing? Exactly, giving me wrong impressions. But were they wrong? What-is-this?!
“How about.. Never? This was a one-time mistake. I do not know what will happen if we make it again and I do not wish to find out.” I bent over him and kissed him very softly on the corner of his lips. He turned his face away, didn’t look at me. Seeming not to use any breath whatsoever, he said: “You should go then. Otherwise I’d have to make you find out.” He still didn’t look at me. Why do you enjoy hurting me so much? Why do you not care? Why?
Without saying another word, I got my bag and walked towards the door. Door-knob in my hand, I realised something. My coke bottle. I walked back and snatched the bottle from his bed. “That is mine, thank you very much,” I snapped at him. But he didn’t look at me, didn’t seem to hear me.

I stood in the elevator and just before the doors closed, I saw his face, bewildered. He was holding my navy jacket. “Wait, you left your…” But it was too late. The doors had closed before he could finish what he had begun. I loved that jacket, but I knew I would not go back up to claim it. I knew I couldn’t.

I never saw him again in private. Sometimes, when meeting up with friends, he would be there, but we would pretend nothing happened. I was happy we could pretend to be friends. I was happy no one else knew. From time to time, however, I could see him throw a glance in my direction. It made me wonder what he had done with my jacket.