Amantine's Song

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 12

As soon as we went through the door Peter turned to me. I still had to convince myself I was there. He simply put his hand on my side. His expression became serious, almost composed, as he caressed me with an unexpected gentleness.

I didn’t get it. In a few moments he had switched from sarcasm, to harshness, to sweetness. Even his expression had changed from the grin, to seriousness, to a smile. I didn’t know from which demon or which angel he was animating. I only knew that I was irresistibly attracted to him, not just physically.

He left me there at the door and tore himself away from me. I watched him as he crossed the living room, big, bright but rather unadorned, to go and sit on the huge light sofa. He took his shoes off, crossed his legs and leaned to grab a guitar placed sideways. I stood in the atrium with my arms on my hips as Peter strummed something, nodding in time. After a few minutes, he seemed to remember my presence.

‘I’m a miserable host... do you want something to drink?’

I didn’t dare to confess I expected more from him. He was in a phase that I would learn to define as “angelic innocence”. It crossed his light eyes as if he was the most innocent and pure being that had ever appeared before me.

‘Can I make a phone call?’ Maybe I should have taken this opportunity to leave. But I didn’t want to. I preferred to persist in that sort of incompleteness existing between us, between innocence and desire.

‘Sure, if you can find the phone around, it’s all yours, Amantine.’ He looked up at me and the ironic, mocking grimace appeared.

‘I’m leaving for the treasure hunt, then.’ I smiled, biting my lips. I turned to be invisible in his eyes; the guitar was winning this battle and I wasn’t a worthy rival.

I found the phone on a small cupboard in the corner of the living room. The corridor led to another room. I glanced, but refrained from going through it to look around. I grabbed the phone and looked at it, uncertain. Would I really do it? Yes. I needed it. I quickly dialled the number of Geoffrey’s apartment.

‘Geoff... hi, it’s me...’ I closed my eyes, trying to identify myself and keep a low and suffering tone of voice. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t feel well today. I also think... I have a slight fever, so…’

So I was a b***h. Hearing him worrying about me and my health hurt me. I felt bad, unfair, treacherous. For sure I was a good liar, Geoffrey believed me without suspecting I was lying to him.

When I hung up the guilt was devouring me. I leaned my back against the wall. What was I doing? And above all, why? But now it was done. I picked up the bag I had left on the floor while I was calling and went to sit on the sofa, next to Peter who continued to seem more interested in his guitar and in the notes he was writing on a notebook that he held balanced on his knee.

All right then! If things were like that... I took off my coat, rummaged in my bag and took out my folders and my notes. I began to reread what I had written during the week.

Every now and then I looked up to see Peter, totally involved in a world that wasn’t mine. He occasionally stopped to look at me too, I felt his eyes on me. We didn’t touch each other, but I felt his closeness passing through and caressing me. Our worlds ran parallel without colliding, without forcing, without breaking into each others. And I had lost track of time. Was it still morning? I wasn’t wearing a watch and I looked around to try to find out what time it was.

Peter stood up suddenly, put down the guitar where he had taken it from and stretched, yawning.

‘I’m going to sleep, I haven’t slept since yesterday. You make yourself at home... unless you’re sleepy too.’

For sure he was making me feel very attractive! Was I so horrible then? I inspired him to go to bed, yes. But to sleep! I hated him. Yet I followed him, like a desperate fool. Yes, desperate and frustrated. If he wasn’t interested in me in that way, what was I doing there in his house? I climbed the stairs behind him, walked down a corridor. Peter opened a door to a room and let me in before closing it behind him. It was his bedroom, mostly empty and bare just like the living room and with a large untouched bed in the middle.

Peter leaned over and placed the pillow behind his head. I reached the other side, the right one, and sat down, taking off my shoes and gathering my knees to my chest. I watched him drifting into sleep.

I lay down on my side, facing towards him. He hadn’t asked me anything. He hadn’t demanded anything from me. No explanation, no question. He wasn’t trying to impress me, either with gestures or words. I fell asleep. Waking up I didn’t remember where I was. Nor did I find Peter Wiles lying next to me.

I left the room and went down to the living room. By now it was clear to me that he didn’t find me attractive. I had slept in his bed and nothing happened.

‘I ordered something to eat,’ he informed me, stretching on the sofa. ‘Pizza, fries, burgers... you do eat high-calorie junk food, don’t you little egocentric intellectual?’

‘Asshole!’ I grabbed a pillow from a small armchair and threw it at him. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave then.’

‘Sure... otherwise you risk your fever getting up and you’ll have to stay here with me.’

Of course he had eavesdropped my call to Geoff. But it was his home, at the end of the day. I didn’t reply. Peter Wiles confused me. The truth was that I didn’t want to go. I was not used to someone who stayed close to me without demanding anything from me. Not my words, not my mind, not my thoughts. And not even my body.

‘I’ll go eventually, don’t worry. But not before having devoured pizza, fries and hamburger. The little egocentric intellectual is greedy for high-calorie junk food, Peter Wiles. Very greedy.’