Two Horns

Keelan Crampsey

My first reaction was to hold still, to freeze, when I heard the footsteps stomping on the stairs outside. My hand was poised over the doorknob, hoping that the sound would disappear into an upstairs apartment, but instead they stopped outside, and I knew it was her.

            I tried to tell myself I had no reason to be hesitant; I asked myself why could not old flames get together, be nostalgic and part without incident? It was all in good innocence. Then it occurred to me what nostalgia meant to two former lovers, and how no innocence lived within that.

            I opened the door, allowing the light from inside to fill the hall with a dingy colour. I could see her silhouette through the thick light, splashing against the wall as she fiddled with the latch on the big metal door leading into the building. After a long struggle, she opened the door, and with a light smile, slipped past me, without a word, but I didn’t notice because the white gloss of alcohol in her eyes had me distracted.

            Shutting the door I followed her in slowly, suspicious of her, and feeling as if something were going to jump out and get me.

             She had wandered into the kitchen to make a cocktail, that coquettish smile still on her lips as she tossed ice cubes into a glass.

            Apprehensive, I took a seat at the kitchen table, with the idea of putting something solid between us. She remained silent, holding her stare on me as that odd little grin I could not understand inched upwards, while one palm laid flat on the counter, appearing to be the only thing keeping her balanced. She lifted her drink to me and took a sip. I could only stare back because I had no idea what to make of all of this.

            We kept to ourselves, allowing the tension to help pass the time, while sending little glances at one another in between. I had no idea what to expect, and that was what made me nervous. Those eyes, narrowed into points, holding me where I was, scheming, and I wished I knew what she had in mind. I knew she would never break, so I gave in and asked:

            ‘What brings you here?’

            ‘Oh, no reason,’ she said, ‘I was just in the neighbourhood. Figured I’d pop in on my way home. You know, catch up?’

            ‘Does your husband know you’re here?’

            She raised a finger to her mouth, giving me the universal sign for silence. The way she ignored the question told me that there was something more than catching up in her plans. But, I shook it off and tried not to think of her, in that way. She made it hard though; the way she stood there, staring at me with sharp, blue, sultry eyes; ignorance was a pleasurable escape. Locked away she and I could fall into whatever we dared, but she was married and surely what I believed to be seduction was just her, being her. However, even as I tried to convince myself that I was full of it, the past slipped in and reminded me there was only one thing that kept us together for so long.

            She sidled up to my chair and I could see the gentle flush of inebriation glowing in her pale cheeks, which made her look angelic under the soft fall of the single bulb overhead. With every painful second of silence, it became increasingly clear how wrong I was. She was all sexuality, and she knew it, so I stood and slid past to give her another chance to consider what she was doing, and to give myself another chance to fight off my own urges.

            Setting her drink down she took a step towards me, but froze when I asked:

            ‘Where’s Quinn tonight?’

            ‘Home.’

            ‘Isn’t he expecting you?’

            ‘Of course, but the bars don’t let out for another hour.’

            She had me, and she knew it. I was speechless, leaving nothing but open space for her to wander through and up to me. She came close, reaching a hand out, running it along my arm, and I shuttered. I wanted more, to take it further, all the while wishing it would stop, but that is the nature of desire: what is taboo tastes best. She lifted her hand across my shoulder, and down along my chest as she hoisted herself to my height to brush her nose against mine.

            In that moment, there was nothing but the two of us, locked away in my apartment, with the world seeming to move for us alone, moving for our folly and surrender; but now, in hindsight, it was, and still is, a justification for what I felt in that moment because the world was going to move regardless, what we were about to do was nothing new; we were merely looking for the past through lust.

            She closed her fist around my shirt and pulled me into her, kissing my mouth firmly. I tried to pull away, but my back was pressed against the fridge; all I could do was kiss back lightly in an attempt to discourage her. She slipped her hands behind my head, pulling me closer, pulling the kisses out of me so that I finally surrendered in full.

            She held my face as she brought her lips to my ear and whispered:

            ‘You’re in my web now.’

            I knew it, but it did not need to be said. I pushed her aside, feeling foolish, and took a seat at the table. She walked to the counter and slipped a cigarette between her lips, and lit it with a cold smile, to let each of us know she was in control. 

            The past was easy to forget when the lights were blacked out, but when I invited her in, it was not simply like turning on a light to see where you had been stumbling around, but instead, it was as if every light of every room I had ever seen was turned on at once, and all of the houses and apartments I had forgotten over time were there, for me to see, and inspect. The problem was, I had always looked on those times with fondness, but I suppose it was to validate my past, to tell myself that I gave it my best, so that I believed it turned out all right. However, now I could see how treacherous she was, and years on, proved to be still.

            I shot a glance towards her, seeing how she seemed to balance wretched and beauty perfectly. I chose to forget all of her wickedness because it allowed me to forget my weakness and timidity; I could never stand up to her, and this time was no different.  I could only mumble:          

            ‘I’m sorry, you’re married.’

            She chuckled slightly, her shoulders pitching gently. She laid the cigarette in the ashtray and said:

            ‘Look, marriage is like two bull horns: two mirrored images of pain. Not one side more frightening than the other, and neither less beautiful. You choose one to hurt you, and you choose one to please you and you stand by it. Sure, there’s regret and there’s memory, but life is long, remember, and there are things to get you through it–even if they’re sharp and lovely.’

            ‘Touching.’

            ‘It’s not meant to be; just something I thought you should know. Even when you get something you think you want, it’s never enough. Life is never enough. All we can do is find pleasure wherever we can.’

            I rolled my eyes, but she had already walked out of the kitchen. I followed her into the hallway, hoping she had had enough, but she only stopped to glance towards my bedroom, glancing over her shoulder as she did, to whisper:

            ‘Trouble,’ and stepped into the living room.

            She threw herself onto the sofa and wiggled her shoulders in, her feet dangling off the end. I leaned against the back of a chair opposite her, hesitant to come any closer.

            ‘Take my shoes off,’ she demanded, kicking her feet.

            Instinctively I took a step forward but caught myself. She frowned, and said:

            ‘Well, c’mon, these shoes aren’t getting anymore off.’

            ‘Who do you think I am?’

            ‘Someone who took his scruple pills.’

            ‘Stop.’

            ‘Look, I just can’t reach my feet, and if I lean forward all this alcohol might fly out.’

            Against better judgment I crouched in front of her. I knew what it must have looked like kneeling at her feet, but I felt that the quicker I gave in, the less humiliation I would be forced to endure.

            I pulled her shoes off and backed away, and she giggled lightly. I slumped into the chair and waited, cautiously. Her eyes remained on me, curiously still, as a thick strip of golden light, from the street lamp outside, cut the room in two. I could not bear to look at her; I was terrified. I could not keep my leg from trembling.

            After a while, she chuckled and said:

            ‘You’re the same nervous person I remember.’

            ‘I don’t think silence characterizes nervousness.’

            ‘But silence isn’t the only thing you’re giving me.’

            ‘I haven’t given you anything.’

            ‘Not yet.’

            She pulled herself upright, allowing her hair to flow over her shoulders in supple waves.

            ‘Come over here,’ she said seriously.

            ‘I’m fine here,’ I said.

            ‘I can’t hear you over there. I wanna talk.’

            It would be easy to say that I had lost control, became clouded by lust and desire, but there is no point in lying: I knew exactly what I was doing when I sat beside her on the sofa. When I sat down she turned her face to me, stretching a hand across my knee. She tilted her head, and whispered:

            ‘I’ve missed you.’

           ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ve missed you too.’

           ‘It’s strange how little changes.’

            My heart was racing; all I could do was nod.

            She leaned in and kissed my neck softly. I pulled away, but she grabbed my cheeks and held them, kissing me again, with her hands moving from my face to my head, to pull me closer. I kissed back, wrapping my arms around her, ignoring whatever morality I had felt necessary to live up to. I threw myself into passion and innocent exploration to preserve a time I felt I was happy, and what had existed between us was still ours, and no person, husband or wife, could strip us of that.

            I wanted happiness; just the same as anyone, and with her there, I had it. But, as we fell deeper into the moment the reality of my thoughts grabbed me, shook me, and made me feel sick. I had accompanied her, had been her partner, in infidelity, and shot up. She looked at me confused, but still eager.

            ‘I can’t do this.’

            ‘We haven’t done anything yet.’

            ‘Cut it out. I don’t know why you chose me, but I can’t be a part of it.’

            She rolled her eyes and turned away.

            I continued:

            ‘…And you’re married now. I can’t be that guy.’

            She looked towards me with humourless eyes and said:

            ‘Too late, you already are.’

            ‘I know,’ I began before she cut me off:

            ‘Well, this’s been unfulfilling, but I better find a cab; my husband’s waiting for me.’

            I had the door open before she collected her belongings.       

            She walked up to me and kissed me on the mouth before saying:

            ‘There’s no reason to mention tonight, right? Nothing happened, so why bring it up?’

            ‘Fine.’

            ‘Just so you know, everything that could’ve happened tonight wouldn’t have changed anything.’

            ‘It doesn’t matter.’

            ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking; don’t judge me, just come and speak to me once you get married. You’ll see what this was all about.’

            ‘You’re the last person I’d call if I were married.’

            ‘Yeah, we’ll see.’

            She walked to the stairs before calling out:

            ‘Don’t be self-righteous; some things never die, it’s only that you get used to them and think they’re gone, then, poof, hello. You’ll see.’

            With that she turned and vanished into the night. I walked in and shut the door, locking it behind me. I took a seat at the table and lit a cigarette. The house was calm and empty, and for the first time I heard the wind outside; the constant ping of thin branches gently tapping the window rang in the house. I felt restless, so I walked to the bar and poured a drink, swallowed it and poured another. I walked to the window, sipping it in the half-light, and listened to the night trying to get in.