Unlimited - страница 15

‘Please…’ Vic whispered, squeezing his hand, ‘Please, don’t do…’

‘Do not do what?’ Kharon smiled and kissed the girl again, ‘Do not do this? Or that?’

His hand, so hot and fond, slithered under her shirt up to her back.

‘No!’ Vic jumped up; her hand met his face in a resounding slap. ‘It’s a mistake. All of this is a mistake! Damn it!’

The girl grasped her bag and ran out of the café. Unexpected appearance of her mind brought her to life.

“Oh, dear God, what I’m doing… I’m absolutely craze. It can’t be. I’m dreaming. Could I be critically ill? Have I had an accident and fallen into an eternal coma? Some guy lets himself do things which he’s not supposed to think of. And me? I’m acting like a slutty little bitch! What’s happening to me?”

Vic was running to the university, hoping to catch someone of her mates, to find out what had been discussed at the preparatory meeting and how the exam was going to be, if the students had to be frightened.

Kharon was in a natural shock. Needless to say, that he had never been slapped by any woman over the entire history of his existence. He never knew his cheek to be burning.

The man was in the café among people and tried to fathom what he was supposed to feel. Anger? Perplexity? Offence? Wrath? But none of those emotions could describe the state which the hell representative was in. The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t understand what he was slapped for.

Practically it was for the first time he faced the most terrible male nightmare: like nobody else, Kharon looked the girl’s thoughts through as if her head had been made of glass. He looked through her desires, dreams, her thoughts visualization. She slept with him not once in her head, and he knew it and she knew it. But in reality, she slapped him in the face and ran away.

To run away from oneself? What a childish stupidity. To run away from her own thoughts, desires, dreams. Why? Was it so scary to materialize things which are in one’s head? No, that’s not the point. It’s yet another concern of society and collaboration. Was it so shameful to say I was unfaithful to my beloved or my husband? Then their cheeks were red, and they would kill themselves for obscene deed, destroying and rebuking for stupidity made. But it was so good. Why did nobody remember it being very good? It’s a shame… Being ashamed in whose presence? In people’s presence whom you don’t know? In your own? It’s a lie. You’re not ashamed. You were so scared to admit it, scared of being an outcast in society. To be someone who people perk their fingers in and laugh at, despise and make fun of.

But why? Why did everyone care so much about what was going on with others? Why did they care so much about others’ lives? Was an adultery really the worst crime? In fact, it was easier than people think. If a person never loved, he would never know love to have limits, to be very seldom long-lived, to leave quietly, gently closing the door behind. People continue thinking that love was here, near… but it’s empty for some reason.

Were they truly afraid of becoming outcasts in society but they weren’t afraid of being alone in unhuman emptiness, soothing themselves with ghost mirage of dead love? Bridle necrophilia. Love couldn’t resuscitate if it was dead. It could not. Love couldn’t come back if it’s gone. No. It was all a mirage. An illusion. Was that not a shame? Was that not a shame to deceive yourselves? But it was a shame to be unfaithful to…