a shove, and he straightened up and separated himself from her. He stood there looking at her.
“Okay. We’ve fucked,” snapped Bruna. “It wasn’t a fantastic fuck to be honest.”
Lizard’s face froze. His heavy eyelids came down over his eyes like a curtain. Unhurriedly, he began to fix his clothes. “Don’t exaggerate, Bruna. Always so extreme. You see everything as black or white. It wasn’t so bad. And remember, you called me. You were the one who started it.”
Something more, something more. The rep desperately needed something more than this sticky wetness, this void. By the great Morlay. She needed feelings. For Lizard not to leave. For him to embrace her. For him to love her. But she was unable to say it, to ask him for it. Bruna had never given in to the demands, the traps, of emotion. Not even with Merlín, her beloved Merlín, the technohuman she had lived with for two years and whom she had accompanied through the final painful journey of his TTT. Out of the blue Bruna knew intuitively that there was a beautiful world of intact emotions within her. It was a dazzling, fleeting vision, like Earth glimpsed from the stratosphere through a gap in the clouds. All that affection and need formed a deep, sad lake inside her chest.
“I was ready for more. Six months ago, when we started,” whispered the rep.
Lizard looked at her. Solid, expressionless, impenetrable.
“No. That’s not true,” he said finally. “You don’t know how to give more. You can’t. And maybe I can’t either.”
He pushed open the door and left.
What a waste!
15
B runa was lying across her bed, sleeping. She was dreaming that Merlín was pounding her head with a rubber mallet. The mallet was thick and heavy. Merlín was hitting hard and the blows hurt. The rep knew that her lover was hitting her because he wanted to convert her head into a funerary diamond, which it appeared he would do by battering her skull. “But you’re the one who’s dead! So why do you want to make a diamond from me?” she was asking him. “Because I’m lonely and I need you to keep me company” was his answer. Bruna understood him: death must be a desolate, windswept place. She also knew that this was all a dream, and even though she was enjoying Merlín’s presence, she began to search for some way of waking herself up; the blows were becoming increasingly unbearable and painful. Her first thought was to give herself a call, but her lover was holding her in such a way that she couldn’t reach her mobile. The hammering continued, and her pain was getting worse. So then she started to shout in the hope that the noise would save her. Fiery whiplashes ran through her temples as the mallet continued to land heavily and insistently. She redoubled her yelling, finally opening her eyes and emerging from the dream but not from the pounding and the pain. Dazed, she took a few seconds to return to reality. She was lying on her back, the migraine was torturing her, pecking at her head like a vulture, and someone was hammering on her door. She sat up with difficulty and noticed that she was wearing the same clothes as the night before. Oh yes, last night. Oli’s bar. Lizard. She suppressed a feeling of nausea. Someone was still trying to batter down her door.
“Enough!”
Her own voice resonated between her ears like a deafening bell. She stumbled to the main screen and saw that her visitor was the tactile. Naturally. Who else? At their first and, to date, only meeting, Daniel Deuil had insisted that Bruna was too tense. That she was on the defensive, lost in herself, dug in. That in order for his treatment to be effective, they would henceforth have the sessions in the rep’s apartment, because if she was in her home environment, she would feel more protected, and it would be easier for her to relax. It wasn’t a suggestion; it wasn’t a question: he simply stated it as a nonnegotiable fact. Bruna hated any intrusion on her privacy, into her
“Okay. We’ve fucked,” snapped Bruna. “It wasn’t a fantastic fuck to be honest.”
Lizard’s face froze. His heavy eyelids came down over his eyes like a curtain. Unhurriedly, he began to fix his clothes. “Don’t exaggerate, Bruna. Always so extreme. You see everything as black or white. It wasn’t so bad. And remember, you called me. You were the one who started it.”
Something more, something more. The rep desperately needed something more than this sticky wetness, this void. By the great Morlay. She needed feelings. For Lizard not to leave. For him to embrace her. For him to love her. But she was unable to say it, to ask him for it. Bruna had never given in to the demands, the traps, of emotion. Not even with Merlín, her beloved Merlín, the technohuman she had lived with for two years and whom she had accompanied through the final painful journey of his TTT. Out of the blue Bruna knew intuitively that there was a beautiful world of intact emotions within her. It was a dazzling, fleeting vision, like Earth glimpsed from the stratosphere through a gap in the clouds. All that affection and need formed a deep, sad lake inside her chest.
“I was ready for more. Six months ago, when we started,” whispered the rep.
Lizard looked at her. Solid, expressionless, impenetrable.
“No. That’s not true,” he said finally. “You don’t know how to give more. You can’t. And maybe I can’t either.”
He pushed open the door and left.
What a waste!
15
B runa was lying across her bed, sleeping. She was dreaming that Merlín was pounding her head with a rubber mallet. The mallet was thick and heavy. Merlín was hitting hard and the blows hurt. The rep knew that her lover was hitting her because he wanted to convert her head into a funerary diamond, which it appeared he would do by battering her skull. “But you’re the one who’s dead! So why do you want to make a diamond from me?” she was asking him. “Because I’m lonely and I need you to keep me company” was his answer. Bruna understood him: death must be a desolate, windswept place. She also knew that this was all a dream, and even though she was enjoying Merlín’s presence, she began to search for some way of waking herself up; the blows were becoming increasingly unbearable and painful. Her first thought was to give herself a call, but her lover was holding her in such a way that she couldn’t reach her mobile. The hammering continued, and her pain was getting worse. So then she started to shout in the hope that the noise would save her. Fiery whiplashes ran through her temples as the mallet continued to land heavily and insistently. She redoubled her yelling, finally opening her eyes and emerging from the dream but not from the pounding and the pain. Dazed, she took a few seconds to return to reality. She was lying on her back, the migraine was torturing her, pecking at her head like a vulture, and someone was hammering on her door. She sat up with difficulty and noticed that she was wearing the same clothes as the night before. Oh yes, last night. Oli’s bar. Lizard. She suppressed a feeling of nausea. Someone was still trying to batter down her door.
“Enough!”
Her own voice resonated between her ears like a deafening bell. She stumbled to the main screen and saw that her visitor was the tactile. Naturally. Who else? At their first and, to date, only meeting, Daniel Deuil had insisted that Bruna was too tense. That she was on the defensive, lost in herself, dug in. That in order for his treatment to be effective, they would henceforth have the sessions in the rep’s apartment, because if she was in her home environment, she would feel more protected, and it would be easier for her to relax. It wasn’t a suggestion; it wasn’t a question: he simply stated it as a nonnegotiable fact. Bruna hated any intrusion on her privacy, into her
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