Lovers Smooching In Park

”“Cal,” I said, looking her in the eyes as I started, “I don’t think you realise how many people love you.”“No, they don’t, everybody thinks I’m just a single minded selfish, immature bitch.”“Up until you used that last word,” I began, “I agreed with you. Substitute girl for bitch and you’re right. Everybody does, well, with the possible exception of your mother.”“I think even she does,” she said, a sad expression on her face.“Then what do you intend to do to change their minds?” I asked.“I don’t know,” she said softly, “I just don’t know.”“Cal, it’s easy,” I said, “just be yourself. Look, you have these two burning ambitions right?”“Yes, you know I do.”“And, if you don’t achieve either of them, or even if you only achieve one of them, how many people will die as a result?”“None,” she said, crestfallen.“So,” I continued, “it’s not a life ending tragedy if you don’t become a great opera star?”“I suppose not, no,” she agreed.“Then what if you do all the training, and spend a long career. Stay calm. Stay calm.It didn't work but repeating the words to herself kept her from dwelling on other ideas - like what they plan to do to her eventually - whoever 'they' turned out to be.She woke suddenly - suddenly aware that she had drifted to sleep, suddenly aware of the scarf tied over her mouth. Muffling even the loudest of attempts to make noise. She couldn't open her lips.She panicked and struggled against the bonds until she sat there breathing heavily and crying in frustration.Then, something whispered in her ear. A voice. Soft. Give, it said, Give. There was no warmth with it, no feeling of a body beside it. Just the vague presence of a voice saying 'Give'. Which only served to panic her more.Something soft touched her calf. Her knee. Her thigh. She tried to kick but her legs remained securely tied to the chair. It wasn't a hand; that much she could tell. The touch was too light. But it didn't feel like an object either. It was pressure and the absence of the breeze the.
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