They sat side by side on the bed, discussing the everyday happenings of the world. She was pretty with her long auburn hair and glistening brown eyes and he could feel the connection intensifying. He was trying to remember her name. He remembered loving her name the first time he had heard it, but it had since completely slipped his mind.
As they talked, he felt liberated. He hadn't opened up to anyone about his real past in a long time, and there was something about trusting a complete stranger with his own darkest secrets that appealed to his thirst for discovery. But soon enough, she had started talking about her boyfriend and his heart sank. She didn't overdo it, but it was clear where the line lay. He was disappointed, but not frustrated or angry. In fact, he was almost expecting it and it was a bit of a relief to know instead of having to guess.
Still, his teal eyes had lost some of their sheen and he retreated into his shell once more. Perhaps this was a cue to the outside world, for as he was about to launch into the more private details of his life with her, a man with a mohawk approached. He was considerably older than the man sitting on the bed with the girl. He wandered over and sat to the left of the young man, who was now sandwiched between the girl and the mohawk man.
And the mohawk man wasted no time at all. As swift as an eel darting through a pond, he worked his words on her and started recounting to her his travel tales of South America. It worked like a charm. She was immediately drawn into his fantastical world of adventure and ancient Mayan mysteries. And while the young man was interested in the tales, having had dreams of traveling down south himself, he couldn't help but notice the jealousy growing within him.
He managed to suppress every ounce of envy that smouldered at his heart and he expertly put on a silent front as he pretended to be absorbed in the mohawk man's tales. Soon enough, mohawk man started showing the girl his vast collection of travel pictures, and as he explained in perfect detail where the pictures were taken, the younger man further retreated into his own world.
Seeing this pattern in himself, he decided he would do something about it and he slowly edged his index finger to the touch phone screen, which the auburn-haired girl was already touching. And as their fingers brushed against each other, he felt the heat of their touch electrifying his entire body.
But that connection lasted only a second as the mohawk man took back his phone and started talking about his business and money-making schemes. Truthfully, the younger man was quite bored, but he didn't dare leave the bed for fear of losing the girl.
But eventually, he had had enough of this misery and as he slipped off the bed, it was as if no one noticed he was ever there. And as the girl and the mohawk man continued to exchange tales, he wandered into the kitchen to fix himself a much-needed drink.
As the whisky cascaded slowly down his throat, the burning sensation shaking him from his envious torment, a light went on in his head. Her name was Katarina, and he had lost her forever.
