Orpheus | Installment Two – Descending

“He glanced around to check if the treacherous gods
had really given him the reward promised for his accomplished song
and there she was, Eurydice restored, perfectly naked and fleshed
in her rhyming body again, the upper and lower smiles and eyes,
the line of mouth-sternum-navel-cleft, the chime of breasts and hips
and of the two knees, the feet, the toes, and that expression
of an unimaginable intelligence that yoked all these with a skill
she herself had forgotten the learning of: there she was, with him
once more”

– Albert Frank Moritz, “Orpheus”, 2000

Descending

“The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.”
– Jess C. Scott, The Darker Side of Life

Face to face. Pretending they had all the time in the world when in fact they did not. Studying each other – trying to figure out if they were going to be allies, or enemies, or maybe just strangers finding an uncanny connection in a world that was impersonal, cold, aseptic. Disconnected.

The lights above their heads flickered and Lisa blinked. She also pretended not to find Mike as mouth-watering as the food he had gifted her with, a few days earlier. More than anything else, the thought stunned her because it was so unlike anything she had ever felt for anyone, and unlike anything she had ever experienced at all.

She was sure that she was still in love with Maxwell – it didn’t matter they were no longer together. She and Maxwell had been a couple for years, and Lisa had once been convinced they were meant to be. She had been wrong – but that didn’t mean she had forgotten him. Maxwell was still in the back of her mind, the memory of him was in her dreams, the sound on his voice was still in her ears. Her heart still ached for Maxwell who, by the way, had not contacted her again. As if she was nothing but a joke to him.

Fool that she was.

And then there was Mike Jackson. The creator of sounds, who had told her that he liked to listen to his “voices” at such a high volume that it was intolerable even for his colleague, Maddix Hoover. Maddix sometimes had to leave the room. And yet, Mike Jackson spoke in a low, soft voice, he was controlled and gentle, manly and refined at the same time. The mysterious inhabitant of Ozymandias Condo, who didn’t sleep well at night and who Lisa had spotted again, a couple of times, randomly, just wandering around the synthetic external garden on floor 58, where he lived. Near the pool.

Shit, the pool!

As her expression remained collected and serious, and she kept listening to him, Lisa wondered why in the world she had come up with that subject, during their little trip in the elevator, a week earlier. Why had she asked him if he was the night swimmer, when she already knew the answer? She was sure it was him.

The moment she had thought he was asking her out for dinner, Lisa had deemed Mike unprofessional. But then she had come across like the real amateur there, with her silly questions and remarks. Even telling the guy that she was not a prude.

Fool that she was.

What was wrong with her? Lisa knew for a fact that never, not once in her life she had been so unethical and inefficient with a client. Never she had felt so out of control around someone, as if two souls lived inside of her – one, controlled and professional, the other on unruly and uncontrollable. What had happened in the elevator was not the best business card for her first important job in New York. If anything, it could be the pass for her way out and back to San Francisco.

What had happened had been idiotic. And childish. As if she had wanted Mike to know that she knew. How sick was that? It might have worked had he been a random guy in a club, but this – well, this was just inappropriate. Lisa bit the inside of her lip, trying hard to hide the gesture behind a backdrop of nonchalant expertise. All the while, hoping that Mister Jackson would not tell Miss Bankmann – his boss, but also Lisa’s client – about her questionable professionalism.

The mere thought almost froze her and she tried to dismiss it. Then she blinked, focusing on Mike’s face once again. The intensity of his eyes struck her. There was something about them that made her feel in a way she could not understand. She felt confused, and she could not allow that. She was not going to.

Back into the moment.

“So… let me see if I got this right. You don’t even want to know if another job might be better for you because of your… personal relationship with this company?”

Sitting across her desk, Mike nodded his head and leaned back into his chair.

“That’s right.”

“What do you mean by that? Is it because you have relatives working here, too?”

He squinted his eyes as if he was trying to focus on some blurred thoughts. Blurred – or difficult to express.

“No, I…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t have any relatives left, actually. It’s just me.”

Lisa opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Mike cleared his throat, his eyes lowering for a moment.

“I started working here at Electron about five years ago, and this is the only job I’ve ever known. And there’s a reason for that. Miss Bankmann… Sydney, she – uhm – she was the only one giving me a chance after what happened to my family.”

Lisa bit her lip.

“OK… This is uncharted territory, Mike, and I don’t want you to feel forced to talk about anything unless it comes natural to you. I know these sessions are mandatory, and I can tell you’re uncomfortable and you’d rather be somewhere else… but what you make of our time together is totally up to you.”

He nodded his head, giving her a faint smile.

“It’s fine…” He cleared his throat once again and took a sip of water from a recycled paper bottle. “It’s not a long story… I am the only son of Peter and Linda Jackson, and I was born here, in New York, on August 29th, 2257. My parents and I lived on Level 2. My dad, he… worked as a gatekeeper at one of the plants down there… and my mom, she was a teacher. One day, they left me home and went down, on Level 1, because they were looking for…”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, snorting wryly. Lisa could tell how painful it was, for him, to even talk about this. And she wondered if he ever talked about it to anyone. It was obvious that Mike wore a public mask that made him look all cool and collected, but the trauma underneath the polished facade was palpable. Its rough edges were sharp. At least to Lisa. She didn’t know the specifics yet, but she had a pretty good idea where all of this was going.

“…They were looking for an old armchair, can you imagine?” Now Mike lifted his head and stared at her. Those dark eyes once again looking like two undiscovered planets. Foreign and familiar at the same time. “An old armchair my dad remembered having at home when he was a kid. So they, uhm… they went to the black market on Level 1, because they thought they could find it there. And they ended up dead, instead.”

His gaze became remote and he just seemed to slip away. Mike stared into space, his face beautiful and immobile. For the first time in her career, Lisa fought the urge to reach out and take her client’s hand. Mike’s hand. To touch him. Comfort him. Tell him that everything was fine. Even if it wasn’t.

“They found themselves in the middle of some looting… and they both got killed. One of those pricks shot them, maybe because he thought they would call the police… or something. They never caught him… he still out there. Or maybe he’s dead and rotting somewhere down in the slum, who the hell knows what happens in this city.”

Lisa realized she was gritting her teeth and took in a deep breath. Control yourself. Self-control is everything you have – together with your ability to listen, understand, emphasize. That’s all you can give this man. That’s your job.

“I am sorry, Mike. I truly am. What happened to you, afterward?”

He glanced up at her, a sad smirk on his lips.

“What happened to me, after I waited in vain for my mom and dad to come back home with their old armchair?”

“Yeah…” Her voice was a whisper. She kept her hands clasped in her lap. She didn’t notice how hard her nails were pushing into her skin, until it hurt. “…After that.”

Mike stayed quiet for a long time. A time that Lisa once again spent fighting the urge to reach out to him. Noticing how his hands, mirroring her exact position, were shaking slightly. Flashbacks of her infancy fell like rain before her eyes: her mom and dad were safe, healthy, content, comfortable. Lisa had been a happy little girl, born in a wealthy family. Every chance had been hers by right, somehow. Her background was so different from Mike’s. And yet…

“Well – we weren’t rich, as you can imagine. No rich family lives on Level 2. My parents’ money barely covered their funeral. I was just a kid, and I became part of the… machine, you know? I went from foster care to foster care and, let me tell you, Miss Lisa… the machine ain’t pretty.”

He set his jaw. Then gave her another one of those dry smirks.

“Anyway. When I was about fifteen, I don’t know how exactly, but Miss Bankmann, Sydney, she… well, she came down to Level 1, where I was living at that time, wanting to meet me. Because someone had told her that I was, you know, good at creating noises… and voices. Imitating them or making them up from scratch. It was just a game, really… I did it because it made me feel less lonely… I loved to pretend someone was talking to me, because I didn’t like talking to anyone.”

She gave him a sad smile.

“You created voices? With your own voice, you mean? No technological aid?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying her.

“Technological aid? You mean computers and stuff?” He chuckled and seemed to relax a bit. “No… there wasn’t anything of that sort where I lived. Only a fifty-year-old laptop that didn’t even work anymore… some ancient, rusty smartphones from the old world… knick-knacks… But, anyway, yeah, I only used my voice. And Sydney… she thought I had potential and paid for my education. And then she offered me this job… basically turning the sad, lonely kid into a lab rat creating voices for rich clients.”

“Do you think the sad, lonely kid became a fulfilled, happy man?”

Mike seemed to ponder over her question for a moment.

“I think the man still needs to find some answers. And then maybe…”

He never finished his answer.

They stared at each other. Lisa noticed that the backdrop of mourning and crystal clear despair she had seen had now been sucked back in. Only a melancholic glint remained, behind what could be perceived as a mischievous look. Superficial. Fake.

“Is this the reason you’re staying Mike? As a sign of respect and gratitude?”

“I keep working here because I like my job, most of the times it’s fun… but also because Miss Bankmann was the only person who truly believed in me after the death of my family. Because she turned me into someone that maybe I would have never become. I always think that perhaps, without her, now I’d be the same scum that killed my parents…”

“Well, actually you don’t know that. The environmental factor influences people, but the outcome is never only about that. And I am sure you know it. Sometimes we become what we want to become, despite the bad stuff happening to us, around us. Despite people not believing we’re gonna make it, despite concrete deficits. And some other times…” Lisa tilted her head to a side. “…We just can’t do it, it doesn’t matter how much people believe in us. Don’t you think?”

Mike shrugged, ever so slightly. His gesture held a dismissive quality that Lisa wasn’t sure she liked.

“Maybe…”

“So… Let me ask you again: do you really like your job?”

He giggled, and she couldn’t help but smile, too. Her eyes moving on his lean, athletic frame, sometimes intercepting his gaze. His entire body language was magnetic.

Mike’s head lowered, then he looked up at her.

“Yes, I like my job. But… sometimes I still make up voices the way I used to do when I was a kid. It’s still fun, you know? It’s easy.”

“You still do it because you feel lonely?” Her voice was very soft and, if he walled up, it was not that clear.

“I just think it’s fun.”

“Yeah? Can you show me?”

Mike’s eyebrows sprung up and he blushed.

“For real?”

“Yeah… I mean, if you want.”

And so he did.

He did a perfect impression of Maddix Hoover, and of another couple of people present at the group counseling session, including the quite obnoxious John Feeney who, on a side note, had been hitting on Lisa mercilessly since that day. And Lisa laughed like she hadn’t done in a very long time.

“You’re gonna fall in love with me eventually, and you know why? Because I don’t know the meaning of the word fear. But then again, I don’t know the meaning of most words…” His impersonation was so funny. And flawless. “…And if you look into my eyes you can see that there’s no one driving, but I bet now you’re thinking about going out with me, right, Miss Presley?”

Lisa chuckled.

“No, John, I am not. But thanks for asking – I am flattered.”

Mike dropped his head in feigned defeat, then giggled. He looked up at her again, clearing his throat.

“What about me, Miss Lisa?” His eyes narrowed. “…Would you like to go out with me, sometime?”

He turned serious and Lisa’s smile died on her lips.

Shit.

“Is Mike Jackson asking, now?”

“Yeah…” His eyes kept studying her and threatened to pull her into their spell.

Lisa took her time before answering.

“I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Why? Because of this session? A session I was forced to take part in? Don’t get me wrong, Lisa – I like talking to you. I feel strangely at ease with you. But it’s not because you’re a counselor. I don’t care about that. I wish…” He shook his head. “I wish you were just a girl I could meet out there, you know? Outside these walls…”

Oh, she knew what he meant. Because all of a sudden, the only thing she wanted to say was yes. Yes, Mike, I wanna go out with you sometime. I want to know, I need to know what it is, that seems to push me closer to you. This magnetic field. I would like to know why you feel so strangely familiar although I am sure we’ve never met before. Why talking to you, and you alone, makes me forget about the man I think I still love. The man I left behind. Selfishly, I would like to go out with you and see where all this would take me. Would take us. Us?

“And yet I am not that girl” She replied instead. She noticed him studying her again and she knew her calm, even voice was not mirrored by the look in her eyes. And she felt naked before him. As if he could read her so easily, and hiding from him was impossible.

“Did you like the food, the other night?” Mike asked, his voice soft.

“I did. It was excellent… just like you said.” Her lips felt parched.

He nodded as if he expected that answer.

The moment seemed to freeze in eternity. Then, without breaking eye-contact, Mike extracted something from the pocket of his military-style jacket and placed it on the desk. It was a holocard – one from the noodle bar on Level 2. Mike had kept his promise – remembering what he had told Lisa during their little conversation in the elevator. For no apparent reason, once again she was struck by that small, seemingly insignificant gesture. So thoughtful.

Mike pushed the holocard toward her.

“Here… if you happen to be hungry, you know… after work. Just be careful on Level 2, OK…”

Lisa swallowed and could swear the air around them sizzled. Like electric wires malfunctioning and buzzing, crackling, sparks flickering. She took the holocard, her fingers slightly brushing Mike’s.

Electric shock.

Just for a second. So fleeting to be almost imperceptible. But they both seemed to acknowledge it because something in their eyes, locking once again, shifted.

“Thank you… So… I’ll see you in a few days, then?”

Mike smiled, relaxing a little.

“For dinner?”

Lisa laughed, shaking her head.

“For our second counseling session.”

“Right… our second counseling session.” Mike stood up and held out his hand. “Thanks for your time, Miss Lisa.”

Lisa rose from her chair and took his hand, shaking it slowly.

“Just Lisa. I told you.”

“OK. Thanks for your time, just Lisa… Oh, and by the way, it’s not true, you know?”

“What?” She looked at him, puzzled.

“That I’d rather be somewhere else.”

Their hands stayed joined a little longer than necessary.

Later that night, after work, Mike went straight to Level 2 and to a club he had once eyed from afar. It was called “The Accidental Gate”, which was a quite appropriate name given his mood. He was hot, bothered and a bit miffed after his counseling session with Lisa. It was not only because he had somehow talked about his family, something he didn’t like doing and didn’t think he would do – ever. It was also because it had come spontaneously to him. Those words had tumbled out of his mouth even before he knew what was happening. They had managed to climb over his well-oiled self-defense mechanisms and had laid themselves bare in front of this young woman Mike knew nothing about.

Nothing. He knew nothing about her. Not a fucking thing. Just that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on and that he had never felt that attracted to someone before. Why, oh why the masquerade he was so used to didn’t seem to work, around Lisa? Why did her eyes seem to hold the magic key to his soul and all its secrets? Click, unlocked, she was in. And he wanted her out at the same time.

This was so not good. Not good at all. He was not that kind of guy. He could not tolerate losing control. He had experienced what complete loss of control meant, when he had been so cruelly deprived of his family and of his life the way he knew it, and he hadn’t liked it in the slightest. Yes, Mike wanted to know what love was – he craved love, but in his own vision, love was something he could somehow curb and restraint. Like lust. Like desire. Like the voices he created. Like everything that his life was.

He would not be a slave to love. Or to a woman.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed to himself as he walked straight to the entrance of the club, the techno music coming from the inside already filling the space and his ears. Why was he even thinking about love, now? Love had nothing to do with this. If anything, Lisa had become the main star of his wet dreams. First with her voice, even before he met her, and later with her sinful body. Mike had woken up hard quite a few times after their brief encounter in the elevator. Hard, flustered, confused and frustrated.

Fool that he was.

And when he had tried to ask her out, Lisa had rebuffed him. Which was probably for the best. But it wasn’t. Because deep down, Mike knew that she had wanted to say yes. And he wanted her to say yes. He wanted her to get rid of those counselor clothes and be just a girl, talking to him. Or possibly get rid of all clothes and do something more than just talk to him.

Mike glanced up at the nightclub. The outside looked unfriendly, rough, broken, with sandstone bricks covering almost the entire outer structure of the building. He couldn’t see through the dusty windows, but the clinking of glasses and the voices and laughter sounded almost as loud as the drum and bass line pounding against the walls. He pushed the heavy, metallic door and was immediately welcomed by a clear smell of alcohol and sweat – nobody acknowledging his presence but what looked like a drunk waiter, standing near the entrance.

“Dude… want some plasma-grilled vitro steak?” He grabbed Mike’s sleeve and he disentangled himself from the grasp.

“No, thanks.”

“What about battered protein shapes?”

Mike made a disgusted face.

“Eh… No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

He pushed forward, through the crowd, straight to the bar. The club was dark and smoky. Hard-wooden beams supported the upper floor, the walls were loaded with old pictures. Nothing looked like it had been cleaned properly in a very long time. The area was packed, though – groups of people chatting and dancing under the strobo lights on the upper floor, scantily clad girls glancing down from the balustrade, toward him, toward any man, really. Sex-starved men meant money, at the Accidental Gate club. And what was he there for, after all?

It was all a lie.

He didn’t crave sex. Sex was almost an illusion – not only the way it happened but also the reasons why it happened. It was nothing but a way to fill the void. The closest thing he knew to a sensory experience in a world that had forgotten all about carnality. A world of loneliness, alienation. A world he had always felt estranged from. Just like… Lisa. Oh, he had felt it. He had felt her, the moment their fingers had touched.

She was just like him. Different. A malfunction in a well-oiled mechanism. They were a glitch – they had that in common.

Mike winced as he sat on one of the old bar stools, at the counter. He remembered having heard rumors about this club. It was supposedly infamous for something, but for the life of him, he could not remember what for. Glancing around, he realized he didn’t care and probably didn’t even want to know.

“Hey. Need anything?”

He observed the bartender. His craggy face was almost fully covered by white, straight hair. He was watching him with expressive hazel eyes, set far within their sockets. Mike noticed a tattoo resembling an eagle claw just above the side of his left eyebrow.

“Yeah. A light whiskey – thanks, man.”

The bartender nodded and turned his back, grabbing a dusty bottle from an old rack. Mike’s eyes unfocused.

He wanted to touch her. Lisa. Wanted to touch her hands, her hair. Wanted to run the back of his hand along the side of her face. He knew that physical contact was considered inappropriate, in current times, but he didn’t care. He was not afraid of any outbreak or disease, not with Lisa. Mike had studied history and knew that virtual contact had become increasingly common after the outbreak of weak rage, about forty years earlier. Even now, scientists had no definite answers to why it had happened. What was certain was that, at one point, skin on skin contact had meant getting sick with a condition that involved altered mental statuses and memory loss, sudden outbursts of fury and violent cramps, high fever, and convulsions. It might have been a sexually transmissible disease, possibly a bacterial infection, or maybe not. The point was that weak rage had killed hundreds of thousands of people and had become the perfect excuse to create an even more striking division between classes, with healthy and wealthy elites inhabiting the upper reaches of the megacities, far above the down-trodden masses, confined to the smog-ridden, disease-filled dark alleyways of the lower levels. The authoritarian government that had been running the system for about a century now had taken the chance to teach people that sex existed only for one reason: procreation. And even that could easily happen with the help of science, without any real need for physical intercourse.

Mike thought that the depersonalization of sex, now stripped both of eroticism and romance, had been the last nail in the coffin of the old concept of civilization. Dead and gone – buried. The eradication of desire, to the point that even a well-educated man like Maddix Hoover considered sex as impure, dirty and dangerous, was a means of control. Probably the strongest means of control ever conceived. He had personally heard people say that orgasm should be abolished. It had baffled him.

The result? Sex had become the secret, dirty opiate of the masses. The human species was split in two. On one side, porn was rampant in the lower levels of the city, where casual, holographic, virtual, or – best case scenario – contraceptive-filled, no-strings-attached sex was the norm. On the other end of the spectrum, there were so many people rejecting sex altogether, even in marriage.

Neither side of the coin was OK. Mike felt they were both wrong. Sex couldn’t be meaningless, used purely for physical pleasure or ostracized. Most of all, in his opinion sex shouldn’t be completely disconnected from romantic love. He knew sex always had meaning, whether people realized it or not. He, himself, didn’t turn to porn simply because he wanted sexual pleasure. He was lonely, and porn offered him the only semblance of intimacy he could conceive.

He knew what he was looking for, even though it scared the living shit out of him. He wanted more than momentary pleasure. He wanted to feel close to someone, he was starved for intimacy and, in his isolation, he could only seek relief in the most intimate of acts that, as it was now, only left him lonelier than ever.

And then there was Lisa – suddenly appearing, breaking his habits and routine, pushing through the fog of his estrangement. Why hadn’t he felt lonely with her? Not that night in the elevator, not earlier that day in the meeting room. Shaking her hand had been more exhilarating than any holosex session, to him. Why? What the hell was going on?

Mike had heard rumors about her. People would talk about the beautiful young woman consulting for Sydney. They whispered. And although he was not the nosy type, the voices had reached him too. That Lisa was desolate after a nasty breakup. That she was going to get married, and then got cheated on by what Mike deduced was a vacuous assface. That she had moved to New York because of that. That her heart was broken.

Well – Mike was no knight in shining armor, and sure as hell could not mend her heart, but he knew something about pain. Pain, just like lack of comfort, could be as feathery as rose petals, skimming over your skin, at first tickling you, until you got used to it and ignored it. Before you realized how deep of a wound it cut in your skin.

Why was he in this club, again? Why wasn’t he home, trying to rest? He needed to sleep, so bad.

Suddenly, he felt like a spare dick at a prostitute’s wedding. Completely out of place. He downed his light whiskey and started to rise from the stool when a female voice stopped him, mid-track.

“Leaving, already?”

He turned and looked at her – recognizing her right away. She was the pole dancer he had noticed the moment he had stepped into the club. She was pretty – with her olive skin, platinum blond short hair, piercings and UV tattoos that showed up under the black light.

“Hey… Ah, yeah, actually.”

She touched his elbow, very slightly, and sat on the stool next to him. Staring at him. Her fluorescent contact lenses made her irises look almost white, just like her tattoos. Swirling all over her skin, moving.

“You should stay. You look like someone who needs to relax.”

“Do I?” Mike gave her a lopsided grin and sat back on the stool, gesturing to the bartender for another light whiskey.

“Yes, you do. My name is Nilah Garcia. What’s yours?” The pole dancer played with her long earring. She only wore black latex gloves, leather hot pants and a black rubber mesh cage top with black bound style lines, pointed shoulders, and black metal front zipper. Basically, seventy percent of her body was visible. A body that, in its curves and valleys and petite frame, reminded Mike of Lisa’s.

“Mike,” he replied, downing his drink and squinting.

“Well, Mike…” Nilah ran her finger over the back of his hand. “What about some company? Wanna spend some time with me?”

Go home, Mike thought.

“Why not?” He replied instead.

Bits and pieces of his old habits took over and, ten minutes later, he was in one of the private areas of the club. The music was still very loud, and the lights were dimmed out, making Nilah’s fluorescent tattoos even more visible as she danced in front of him, naked except for a G-string. She moved like an exotic dancer, her alien eyes fixed on him as she stepped closer, almost touching him, and then moved back once again.

Leaning back in the small couch, Mike felt as if he was going through some sort of extra-corporeal experience. This was nice. Actually, it was quite arousing. But he was not totally into it. As a matter of fact, he was only mildly turned on by the beautiful body swaying before his eyes. Nilah was a gorgeous girl, she was sexy, and he was sure that any other night she would just be perfect. Maybe even perfect enough for a semi-real fuck – after sheathing himself with all the proper equipment, of course. Just in case.

Any other night. But not tonight.

Nilah dropped onto her knees between his legs. Her warm hands rested on Mike’s knees. Her fingers were nimble and thin. She looked up at him.

“Want me to suck your dick?”

Mike’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment. That was a million dollar question. The last time he had allowed a woman to blow him in a face-to-face, ultra-protected sorta-kinda-intercourse was so buried in his memory that he couldn’t even remember the year. And, to be honest, if it had ever happened at all – as virtual sex tended to thin out the invisible border between imagination and reality.

“Mh, Mike? You’re pure fire, baby. I can tell. Do you want me to suck your dick?”

Yes.

“No.”

Taking a deep breath, he extracted twenty airdollars from the back pocket of his pants and took Nilah’s hand. Her tiny hand in his own big one. He placed the money in her palm and smiled at her, very softly.

“It was a beautiful dance, Nilah. Thank you.”

She just looked back at him, not really knowing what to say. Maybe relieved to not have to fuck someone, for once, to have enough bucks for a warm meal.

When he reached his floor at the condo, he didn’t even bother going back to his apartment. He knew what he needed – he needed to cool off. His mood was somber, he felt unfulfilled. He was sad and bitter, even more so than usual – which said a lot.

He walked straight to the terrace, not even noticing the rain fogging the cityscape. He could only hope some water would thin out the devastating pollution they were forced to live in. The sky was black, no stars – as usual. Just a blanket of thick clouds covering the moon, the neon signs flashing, flashing. His mind reeling, Mike felt trapped and the air constricted in his lungs.

He started taking off his clothes as soon as he entered the pool area and closed the glass doors behind his shoulders. He removed his leather coat and jacket and tossed them on a deck chair nearby. Off went his boots and socks. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then went for his belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his fly. His pants pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them. Only his boxers on, his brow furrowed, he slowly walked over to the pool. It was quiet, except for the rain drumming on the glass ceiling. A blueish light was the only artificial illumination, and the suffused lighting made everything look more flattering. He hoped the calm atmosphere could soothe his erratic, restless mood.

The infinity pool looked empty, the waterline smooth and still until, out of his peripheral vision, he noticed a movement. Mike turned his head and saw her – the last person he could fathom being there.

Lisa’s back was turned to him, and she was clinging to the edge of the pool. Her damp hair was down on her shoulders, and she was naked. Mike’s skin immediately tingled with goosebumps and his eyes widened. A sudden, warm sensation invaded his belly, his chest. He swallowed hard as he took in her presence. This had to be a dream. He would wake up any moment now – Echo’s monotone voice informing him that the weather in New York City was foggy and he was late for work. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Mike blinked, again and again, and nothing happened. The scenario didn’t change. He could also tell, by the way Lisa’s head slightly turned in his direction, that she was very much aware that he was there, too. He didn’t know what to do. Should he leave? Stay? Join her in the water? Put his clothes back on?

As he contemplated what to do next, Lisa turned her body fully to him – her eyes sparkling in the dim light. The blueish light reflected on her creamy skin.

She didn’t say a word but looked at him. As if she had been waiting for him and was relieved he was there.

Mike sat on the edge of the pool and slowly slid into the water, his body completely immersed for a good handful of seconds. That night, the water felt warm. Once underwater, he opened his eyes. Lisa stood at the opposite side of the pool and he could barely make out her frame. He needed to get closer. To breathe in her scent, look at her. Touch her.

He swam underwater, emerging when she was only a few strokes away. She was still standing still, her back leaning against the edge of the pool, eyes fixed on him. She didn’t look cocky. Quite the opposite, in fact. She looked insecure, almost defeated. And so, so beautiful.

This was too much. Mike’s heart drummed in his chest like a set of congas, as if its beats had multiplied.

Another couple of strokes and he was there, facing her. His slightly uneven breathing reverberated against the water, echoing in the space. He swallowed again.

Lisa bit her lip and let out a long breath. Then she reached out and touched the side of his face. Mike closed his eyes for a moment, shivering at the skin on skin contact. God. What was this woman doing to him? Like a seismic event, he was not expecting this. Not to this extent. Not so quickly. He had wanted her since he had laid eyes on her, but this felt unreal. He was shaken to the core.

He noticed that she was trembling, ever so slightly.

His face leaned into her touch. Then his hand emerged from the water, gently grasping her wrist. He turned his head just enough to place a soft kiss at the very center of her palm. Lisa caught her breath, her lips parting. Mike moved closer, bracing both arms on the edge of the pool, trapping her in between – but not touching her. Lisa’s hand was still on his face. It glided down slowly, her fingertips tracing his jawline, then his neck. Her hand eventually rested on his shoulder, and it was warm and soft, the physical sensation of unimaginable beauty for him, more intense than any cybersex he had ever experienced in his life.

“Lisa…” Could a whisper come out this hoarse and husky? He was an expert with voices, but this time he didn’t know the answer. He felt as if he had inhaled smoke. His mind was obfuscated.

Her other hand reached out and found him, too. Her fingers raked through his hair, tangled in his curls, gently stroked his head. Instinctively, Mike closed his eyes and his head fell back slightly, once again leaning into her touch.

“What…” He blinked, confusion clear on his face. “…What is this?”

She touched his lips, silencing him, and he kissed her fingers. Her whole body shivered and Mike realized how turned on he was. Aroused and on the verge of tears all at once. He had rarely been touched, and nobody had ever touched him the way she was touching him now. As if she was discovering him and knew him by heart at the same time.

“Lisa… Why are you doing this?” He shook his head slightly.

Lisa’s blue eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“I can’t help it. I have to do it. I don’t know why.”

Mike licked his lips and moved closer, his body weightless in the water. The back of his fingers caressed her temple. The vision of her beautiful face became blurred as the distance between them decreased, decreased. If he didn’t kiss her, he would die. Right then, right there.

He could almost taste her lips. So close.

“Mike…”

He blinked.

“Mike?”

A warm hand on his shoulder and his eyes snapped open. Lisa was looking down at him, her eyes concerned, a little wrinkle on her forehead.

What the hell was going on? What the fuck was going on here?

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and stared at her, coming back to his senses, to his physical body, to the here and now. Lisa was perfectly dry, fully clothed, and now crouching near the deckchair, in the pool area. The deckchair he had fallen asleep in. She was not naked, she was not in the pool, and sure as hell she was not about to kiss him. If anything, she was looking at him as if he was some pathetic charity case.

“What…” He cleared his throat and winced. He felt as if he was swallowing nails. “What time is it?”

Her gaze roamed all over his face. He felt glad her hand was still on his shoulder. He loved the contact.

“It’s almost 3 in the morning, Mike. Are you OK?”

He sat up and rubbed his face, and she let go of him. The wire was cut, and he was adrift in the sea of his confusion.

“Yeah… I think I am.” He pressed his fingers on his temples, trying to soothe the headache suddenly seeping in. The light whiskey was demonic – the hangovers it caused were notorious. Why, oh why hadn’t he ordered a soda? “Whatcha doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Yeah, it was kinda weird that he had fallen asleep in a deckchair without even realizing it. But Lisa shaking him out of his dazed torpor in the middle of the night wasn’t that normal, either.

“I’m still not used to the new apartment… Can’t sleep very well. I noticed you in the pool area around midnight and thought you wanted to go for a swim, so I just went to bed.” She paused, biting her lips. “Then I woke up again, got up to drink some water and noticed you were still there… in this chair, not moving. I thought you were not feeling well, so…”

“You got worried and came down to check on me?” His eyes narrowed, squinting against the now pounding headache, and he gave her a lopsided smirk. Lisa smiled, very gently.

“Pretty much.” She turned serious. Once again, concerned. Without even thinking, she touched his forehead. Her palm felt soft and cool against his feverish skin. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yeah…” His hand came up and rested on top of hers. Lisa bit her lip, catching her breath slightly. Mike swallowed.

“Is that what counselors do?”

“What…”

“They get worried…”

“Yeah, they do. But we’re not having a session, right now… so…”

“So?”

“So… you gonna spend the night here or…?”

He smiled at her, again.

“No… I’ll go back to my apartment. I just need a minute. But you can go back to sleep, Lisa… I’m fine, really. Thank you…” Half-heartedly, he let go of her hand.

She seemed uncertain for a moment, then rose, still looking down at him.

“Alright… I’m glad you’re OK, Mike Jackson.” She stepped back. “Try to get some sleep, OK? Good night…”

“Goodnight,” he murmured, watching her leave. His eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the sliding doors of the elevator. Only three floors separated them. They were so close. So far away.

Groaning, Mike sank back into the chair and rubbed his face. He dozed off once again, for a few minutes. Not really sleeping, more like slipping away, hoping to find himself immersed in his dream once again. It had been nothing but a dream. Maybe Maddix was right, after all, and dreams were nothing but figments of imagination. Intangible and unreal.

Unless you made them real. Unless they were desires coated in the fabric of sleep, or suggestions about the direction you should be taking.

His back stiff and sore, Mike rose from the deckchair and walked straight to the elevator.

She was shaking from head to toe. To the point that she seriously considered ordering some medications online, delivered in 15 minutes by a drone. Then she tried to regulate her breathing, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. She had been pretty good at keeping herself in check… at least while she was down there. But as soon as the elevator doors had closed, she had sunk against the wall and had started trembling, her whole body in overdrive. Her mind, too. Her heart beating erratically.

She had come this close to just leaning over to kiss him. And she hoped he didn’t realize that she had stroked his hair before waking him up. This was fucked up. It was nonsense – was she on drugs? Someone had poured something in her drink and she was high? Otherwise she could not explain the sensations she felt. Her rational mind keeping her back, while something she could not name, something living in the deepest part of who she was, was pushing forward. Searching for him, longing for him. His scent, the texture of his hair, his skin. This was absurd.

Lisa drank a glass of water and stared into space, finally calming down. And then, a second later, she knew he was there. She felt him.

In the perfect silence of her dark apartment, she walked over to the hall, her eyes fixed on the seven-inch screen on the metal surface showing the man at the other side of the door. Mike.

His head was lowered, and he was chewing on his lip, blinking, as if he was trying to make up his mind about what to do next. His hand rose in a fist and she knew he was fighting against the instinct to knock on the door. Why would he knock on the door, anyway, when there was a very convenient electrodoorbell next to the doorframe?

Lisa placed both hands on the metal surface, her lips parting. She could almost physically perceive his aura through the panel. She could almost touch him. Her hand glided on the door and Mike seemed to stiffen.

“Do it… do it…” Lisa thought, out of pure instinct. “Touch the door… Look for me… Find me…”

Oh, she knew what would happen if he really did it. If Mike knocked now, she could no longer fight her own desire, her own need. If he knocked on that door now, Lisa would simply rip the door open and fly straight into his arms. Because denying it was pointless: she wanted him to take her into his arms. She did not understand why, but every cell inside of her screamed to just give up and give in.

Holding her breath for what felt like forever, she watched him as he swallowed and his arm fell back at his side. His head dropped and he let out a long sigh. Lisa clearly saw his chest rising and falling, his shoulders slumping.

Mike shook his head and left, and she just rested her forehead against the cool metal surface. She felt as if she was running a fever.

When he once again disappeared into the elevator, she glanced to the side, her eyes focusing on those damned foam boxes. The ones that had once contained Mike’s food – the food he had given to her. She should have just thrown them away, instead she had washed them and now they were on the kitchen counter.

Whenever Lisa would try to get rid of them, those two letters scribbled over them with a black permanent marker stopped her, kept her hooked. Her soul stirring, its chords humming softly.

MJ.

Soundtrack