Do You Feel the Same

Do you feel the same anyway
Now you've come

The girl was looking at him again, twirling her dark hair around her finger in that seductive way that was almost irresistible. She bit her bottom lip.

“You are my sun,” she said finally. “You mean everything to me.”

The boy gave her a dubious but hopeful look. Could that be true? It was almost definitely flattery coming from a fan, but he wanted to believe it, he wanted to believe so badly that he indeed could mean that much. That he could be someone’s sun.

The girl got up and walked over to him. She was wearing an extremely small tank top that exposed both bra straps and her belly button. He caught himself staring at the skin in the opening between her jeans and shirt.

She placed her delicate brown hand on his shoulder. “Look at me,” the girl said.

The boy raised his head and caught his breath as he found her staring at him. It was a good stare, the ego-boosting kind, not the jealous and venomous glares he felt he saw too often. This was a fragile moment for him. His usual sensation of indifference had been flavoured with the smallest hint of self confidence.

He tried to put into words what he was experiencing. “I feel...”

“Never mind what you feel,” the girl interrupted. “Let’s see what we can feel.”

With these terse words the girl pulled him abruptly to his feet and kissed him. He felt his soul giving into it. Then she whispered gently into his ear, “I love you.”

Love me? Yes, this was love, after all, wasn’t it? She loved him. The mere thought of it was arousing. And it was love when she began pulling off his shirt, wasn’t it, and it was still love as she led him to the bed, yes, of course, love.

The idea of love gripped him like fire, and they fell into the soft haven of sheets, and she was moaning, and he was unzipping her pants and thinking this one will be different; she is in love with me; she has no reason to hurt me. And all the while as it happened, quite beyond his control, now, as he felt himself going into her – he knew it was love he was feeling, beyond doubt – the boy repeated to himself, almost obsessively and with growing confidence: this is the different one; she knows; she cares; she understands.



It was perhaps an hour later when the boy awoke. The first thing he noticed was the absence of warmth anywhere beside him.

He craned his neck and looked to the left, wiping tangled strands of blonde hair away from his face. He was the only person in the bed. There wasn’t even the slightest indentation in the other pillow, nothing to tell him he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.

Confusion hit him then, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, snatched his boxers from a nearby chair, and pulled them on, shivering. Suddenly he was very cold. He took his shirt from the chair and brought it close to him, holding it against his chest. A distaste had begun to form in the back of his throat.

When he finally stood up and brought the shirt over his head, he doubled over and almost had to sit down again from the sudden rush of imagery that flooded his consciousness. It panned through the first glimpse among the crowd, the innocent backstage meeting, the eventual seduction, his repetitive self-assurance, and then the part he wished he could forget: a fleeting moment, afterwards, the boy almost unconscious with slumber but still seeing, in a haze, her hasty departure. He had been too sleepy to care then, but that didn’t make it any less painful to recall the look on her face as she left, the look of I came, I saw, I conquered, and the knowledge and prospect that came along with it, how she would undoubtedly go rushing out to exclaim to her friends something along the lines of “Guess what!”

With a pit in his stomach, he looked at the door. It was too late, it had been too late even before it started. Her fabricated love had vaporized. She just didn’t feel the same way anymore – and she was gone.

“Fuck,” he said.

The first tear squeezed itself out of his eye and rolled down his cheek. He told himself not to cry, which worked for a minute until it was just useless.

“Fuck,” he sobbed. “Oh, fuck it all to hell...”

He found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He felt washed out, bleached, all used up. And he could not believe he was alone again.


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