Tale of Love 3

When death comes at the end, one will realize that fear is incomplete knowledge. Maybe, Agatha Christie is right after all.

Slowly, I open my eyes. Anxiety takes over me as I don’t know where I am. After 10 seconds, my amnesia is gone, and I start to recollect my memory.  It’s a beautiful Monday at noon. The warm ocean breeze reminds everyone it is summer time. Outside the apartment, voices echo from the busy streets of Barcelona. If one has sharp eyes, he can identify the large figure of La Sagrada Familia protruding from the capital’s buildings. On the balcony, the horizontal line where the blue sea and white cloudy sky meet can be seen from afar. Not further from the apartment, many vague figures can be recognized as international tourists enjoying sunbathing under the summer’s sunlight. In a 6 hours’ time, the darkness will conquer the sky and the people will enjoy the busy Spanish nightlife.

Shifting my attention, a masculine physique beside me slightly moves as if it were a sign that he knows I am already awake. Carefully, his eyelids unprevails the artic blue pigment in his eyes. After a few seconds, he uncovers his beautiful smile on his face, which makes his jaws more visible. His messy blond hair is combed by his bare hands. While combing his hair, his biceps and triceps become intensified revealing his hard work at the gym. His rib tattoo is now visible, and it says El amor todo lo puede, which means love will find a way. At the same moment, the sunlight shining through the window manifests his smooth muscular body showing his protruding collarbones and broad shoulders. His abs can be noticed from my position, which really emphasizes on his V-cut. Wearing Calvin Klein underwear, his bulge appears complementing his detectable bubble butt. Perfection is the word I use to describe him.

Smiling back at him, I get up as a hint that we soon be departed. Carefully, I place my feet on the warm plank of his apartment. The apartment, I remember, has changed a lot since I, with him, first stepped in it 3 years ago. The bed is place near the French window showing the beautified Mediterranean Sea outside—just the way I like it. Placed on the bedside desk, Spanish-inspired buffet table lamp is waiting to illuminate the inside from the darkness of night outside. On the wall is the replica of Starry Night Over the Rhône because he knows how much I am fond of Van Gogh.  In one corner of the room, there is a small space for my personal boudoir, where I do most of my makeup. Sitting down on French boudoir chair, I steal a glance at the physique laying lazily in the bed. He’s such a sleepyhead—well, at least I think he’s cute being one. Leaning toward the floor, I pick up my red dress and put it on me. The dress really fits my body showing my golden-ratio figure. Then I work on my hair and face carefully balancing between natural beauty and the cosmetic products. After 10 minutes, I am satisfied with my look and ready to leave the apartment.

I dare say there is no fear when I am with him. Perhaps, it’s because my knowledge of him is complete. With him, I feel secured. With him, I belong. With him, I find my peace in mind. With him, there’s not place I’d rather be. With him is where I would die.

“Tengo que salir,” I tell him.

“Adios, bonita!” he answers knowing what I am going to do. That’s another thing I love about him. He knows me best. So, I blow him kisses before closing the door behind me hurriedly.

I am late. My husband is already at a restaurant.