Tuesdy evening part 1
She was in shock, horrified by her own demeanour, terrified by her loss of control. After her panicked flight from the guesthouse, Carol had locked herself in her bedroom. Discarding her still wet cycling clothes she went into the bathroom, seeking the comfort of her ancient, checked red robe. Panting, she leaned with two hands on the granite sink that occupied one of the light gray tiled walls. Only then did she allow herself to look in the mirror.
“God …” Her face was flushed, her eyes red rimmed, the pupils dilated. Her wet hair was pasted to her forehead and she noticed the pronounced wrinkles around her eyes, the deep lines that linked her nose with the edges of her mouth. She looked a mess and felt like it.
What had happened in the shower with Therese filled her with shame. What had made her do this, had possessed her? Anger, because Therese had outsmarted her by sneaking out on her bike, leaving her behind at the top? Lust? Oh, it was there, no doubt. But when had she ever only acted on instinct?
Carol shook her head. She could depend on her logical, legal brain to seek explanations, to rationalize until her original and far too upsetting emotions had vanished into thin air. But she knew she could not afford to walk away from this. She had to come clear, had to sort out this mess. She owed it, if not to herself than at least to Therese, to be honest to herself.
After Therese’s unexpected trick at the top, Carol had forced herself to remain at the bench. She couldn’t stand loosing but also knew that by pursuing Therese, who was not used to racing downhill, she would bring both of them in danger. Grudgingly she had to admire Therese’s guts to put her in her place after her childish sprint to the top. Carol knew by now not to let herself be fooled by Therese’s friendly and fragile exterior. She was a force to be reckoned with.
When she arrived at the house after a calm descent, Carol put away her bike and after a slight hesitation made her way to the guesthouse. She opened the door.
“Therese?”
There was no answer, but Carol could hear the sound of the shower. Deciding to wait, she sat down on the couch when she saw a big folder, lying on the coffee table. She knew Therese was working on her portfolio in order to contact galleries to interest them in her work. Curious, she took the book on her lap. Leafing through the prints, mostly portraits, she could not but admire Therese’s sharp, but compassionate eye. The people in her portraits, mostly women and some children and men, looked straight into the camera, as if asked to share their thoughts, emotions or observations of that moment with the photographer. By letting them open up to her, Therese had managed to reveal their strength, intelligence and vulnerability, their humanity.
Carol’s attention was drawn to another folder, hidden under the portfolio. When Carol opened it she saw to her astonishment that it contained pictures of Therese herself, clearly shot using a self-timer. And there was one of Therese with another woman. Putting the self-portraits of Therese aside, Carol focused on the image of the two women. She tensed. They were naked and lying on a bed together, propped up against some green cushions, the arms and legs of their fragile, sleek bodies entwined. It was a very intimate image but clearly also meant to be seen by others, because Therese looked straight into the lens. Her expression exuded boldness, pride and defiance, where the focus of her partner, a red haired woman with a translucent, freckled skin, was entirely on Therese’s face, expressing what Carol could only define as love. She looked at the backside of the photo, where Therese had written “Genevieve”.
Carol felt her mouth become dry. Gasping, she dropped the folder. During their talk yesterday, Therese had revealed nothing about her own personal life. How convenient, when there was obviously someone she shared her bed and possibly her life with. Carol felt how a hot, jealous anger overtook her. Fists clenched, she agitatedly paced the room, then entered the bathroom and opened the shower door.
Still leaning on the sink, the hard granite cold against her hands, Carol shuddered, feeling sick. She had forced herself on Therese, had simply taken her body, without asking her consent. And although Therese had not rejected her, Carol had immediately felt disgusted by her own actions and had fled from the guesthouse. She sighed. There was only one thing left to do. She had to apologize to Therese.
Carol moved to her bedroom, looking for her mobile phone. She decided to text Therese, thus allowing her the space to ignore her message. Hands shaking, she started typing.
“Therese, I’m sorry.”
The message was received and read. Carol watched her screen anxiously, but it took some time before Therese replied.
“What do you want from me?”
“Let me talk to you …”
This time there was no reply. Carol held her breath, then decided to try again.
“Can I come over?”
She desperately hoped that Therese would be willing to talk to her. After a few minutes and to her great relief she heard the familiar buzz of her phone.
“Give me five minutes.”
Clenching her phone, Carol murmured “Thank you.” She closed her eyes. There was no turning back, now.