The Stolen Kiss
She was angry. So angry. Why had her ex been like that?
Never mind. That call had not gone like she had hoped. She knew she should start exploring other potential adventures. An old work crush’s face began to take shape in her mind: yes, he was a great start.
She had met Damian at a previous company and had felt she had found in him a mirror: someone whom she felt understood her. It was strange and electrifying. She remembered the time they first connected. They were in a carpeted start-up style room with chairs, bean bags and a whiteboard. Their manager was presenting something about a financial information tool the company group had recently acquired, so that the Customer Relationship Management and Sales Team could suggest it to relevant clients.
Everyone was clearly lost, except for Damian. He asked questions, discussed, understood and absorbed information better, it seemed, than the industry expert presenting the tool. She sat to his left, a few meters away, and found herself sizing him up, not in a competitive way, but as one does a newly discovered species. He turned and locked eyes with her. Having promised herself that she would no longer be embarrassed by her not-so-average behaviour, she stared back. It was a bizarre moment.
In the weeks that followed, she avoided him because she was in a strange mental state in relation to her then-boyfriend and the last thing she wanted was to bring someone in who was a wild card. As fate would have it, Damian sat next to her at the Christmas lunch: they couldn’t stop talking. They had similar backgrounds, were nerds in different aspects and equally ‘crazy’. Damian looked after her, the newbie on the team, and made sure nothing happened (some of the Sales Team boys were apparently known to be lascivious and the ladies not always as welcoming as their smiles); he himself tried nothing.
There was a moment where her anxiety about life and missing social cues bubbled up as a concerned colleague stopped her dancing in her devil-may-care manner, warning her that people gossiped and could make her life miserable at work. It brought back memories of childhood chatter and unfriendly fights in which she had never wanted to be involved, not understanding the nuances and jealousies at play. She thanked her, letting her colleague know that she no longer gave that kind of problem any attention as she had found that, in the end, she was not the master of peoples’ narratives; if they really were intent on making her life difficult, irrespective of what she did, they would.
Her colleagues’ watched jealously, attempting to dance as carefree, only to move into more sensuous movements, their eyes darting to catch onlookers. The Sales Boys moved in slowly.
She tried to continue to enjoy herself, but the moment was gone. Of course, that didn’t mean part of her was not hurt that she still felt being herself was a potential problem. She could be the soberest, the most demurely dressed, the quietest and still people would talk. Lost in her thoughts, Damian appeared and took her hand. The gesture jolted her, making her feel like porcelain left in the cold outdoors.
She was so tense: new job, new people, new learning curves, issues at home with construction, issues with her relationship, issues with herself and lack of path in life, issues letting go of old pains. But in that moment, she felt safe. She felt okay.
Damian nudged her towards the DJ, encouraging her to suggest a song. The song came on and they both danced like fools. It was liberating.
After this, she did her best to avoid him, whilst desperately wanting to spend more time together. She’d felt too close, her heart had started beating strangely, clearly forgetting it had already promised itself to another.
But… Things hurt less when she was with him. Family and home were all mines and bombs again; she didn’t have a room anymore, no safe place for her other than the Library, which she didn’t go to as much because she spent time with her boyfriend, who at the time was about to move to another country for work and who didn’t seem to understand what she was going through. It didn’t help she didn’t know either.
In March she had decided she didn’t want that job and had started to look for a job in consulting to prove to herself she could do it. Having spent hours the year before trying to study for the GMAT, speaking to her father’s friends about a career in consulting, feeling she would have to start from zero to get onto the consulting career ladder, it all felt a bit hopeless. She had also started trying her best to find small consulting firms which were creative and flexible so that she might be able to work from Germany, as it had been confirmed her then-boyfriend was moving.
From there, things settled for a bit because things seemingly became clear: her then-boyfriend and she were working through things, they would have their own place in another country, and they would both be starting a new job. It was a fresh beginning. But it became clear that it was an even messier situation as the excuses (living arrangement, parents, job) and things on which to blame their relationship issues were diminishing. It was becoming only the two of them. The relationship had finally imploded.
Forefinger purposefully on the power button, her screen came to life. Password in, her fingers eagerly typed Facebook. She had messaged Damian over Instagram to no avail. After months of him not missing a single Instagram story, after she messaged him he stopped watching them. He had uploaded a picture of himself with a girl whilst on holiday, deleting it a few hours after she sent him a message. She was either overthinking it or he didn’t want her to know he was romantically entangled.
She wondered if she was being too persistent. She shook her head, reminding herself that not all people were good at replying and, really, if he responded, then fantastic, if he didn’t, then no harm done. A message was typed, reread, and sent. There, all done.
A brief response was given. A few weeks later, she messaged again, more direct this time, asking when he was back in London. A brief interaction ensued, but it was slightly marred by her mother’s breast cancer operation, which had her mind on a slightly different plane. She’d been sleeping badly as well, lending her a sluggish mind.
He was up for a break from working into his Monday night. He had recently moved into her neighbourhood, the bar was therefore a quick walk away. She wore jeans, a white long sleeve t-shirt with a diamond skull on the back and a cropped denim jacket, boosted by her light blue platform boots. She didn’t want to look attractive, just cool. She wanted to be cool… How silly it seemed to try to look cool in a simple denim and white t-shirt outfit.
It was odd seeing him again, particularly as this was their first time doing a one to one. She was reminding herself to stay awake and think straight. She had taken a nap after her mother’s surgery had been successful, the relief letting her brain shut down as a mild fever broke and her weary body collapsed at home, having swapped her post by her mother’s bed with her brother and father. Hearing her parents relaxing into their room, her mother having left the hospital hours before, she snuck out through the basement door.
Damian was lovely, buying her a drink when she had offered to buy him a celebratory drink herself. She can’t remember much of the conversation, but it touched upon her chats with her lesbian friend, who had made it her apparent mission that month to take her to Heaven, the London gay club, for her to explore her bi-curious side. He told her of his travels and his new company, on which he’d been working until a few minutes before they caught up. He asked if she still saw anyone from their previous employer: yes, Anastasia.
It was clear they were both tired. They called it a night after 45min.
Two days later and she was walking around Chelsea with Anastasia. She mentioned having seen Damian, so she asked Anastasia if he might join them for coffee? Of course. A message was sent, mentioning they were about to grab a coffee, would he want to join? Also, please don’t message me on Facebook as I am rarely on the site; here’s my number.
A few hours later, a message wondering if the girls were still having coffee. Yes, 4 hours later, we are still at coffee… Damian invited her to drinks nearby. She hesitated, not wanting to seem so available. Ah, screw it.
She wore the outfit she had worn with Anastasia: shorts, white over the knee socks, her black heeled boots, white shirt, and captain’s hat. She felt great.
At the bar, conversation flowed, laughs were had. Damian complimented her ‘anime-look’ and offered her a drink, which she politely declined; she was not really feeling a drink. His friend missed this response, ordering three Espresso Martinis for the table. Not wanting to refuse a gift, she enjoyed her Martini, which she repaid by buying the boys a beer. This seemed to surprise Damian, who asked if she had ordered anything for herself. No, this is for you boys as a thank you for the Martini.
Damian’s friend apologised for not holding eye contact, which he explained was due to his autism. This surprised her, as at no moment had she felt he had not held eye contact, which, based on cultures, varied the significance of holding eye contact, ranging from polite to rude. She pointed out he was looking into her eyes at that moment and he seemed comfortable. She appreciated his sincerity nonetheless and congratulated him on his social skills. He smiled and she smiled back, glancing at Damian, who seemed to be looking at her intently. Was that wantonness in his gaze?
Good-byes were had on the street, Damian’s friend taking the road leading right, Damian and herself taking the road leading left. One, two, three, four, five steps and fingers slid in between hers. Her heart slowed, impressively doing its best to keep her calm.
“You’re being cheeky”, she said.
“Am I?”, he responded.
Before she could fully diagnose the situation and her next move, he spun her around, so his arm was across her waist and the other cupping her face as he kissed her full on.
Her mind exploded. This was what she had wanted to do so much all those times when they had worked together and gone out with colleagues. That attraction she had tried so hard to avoid so as to not be rude to her boyfriend-at-the-time. That first time they chatted for ages at the Christmas lunch, before going dancing, the best dance she’d had in so many years, not since The Idiot. That wonderful sense of being on the same wavelength with this person.
Now here they were, kissing on the middle of the King’s Road: it was a terrible kiss. There were no spine-tingling nor fireworks. What made her kiss him back was the giddy feeling of his wanting her and her wanting to kiss him after all those moments over a year ago.
“You’re the cheeky one not telling me you were single”
“What was I supposed to do? Plaster it on Facebook? Write ‘Open Season’ on my forehead?”
He laughed and kissed her again, holding her closer by gently pulling her in, his hands on her waist, hers around his neck, which was difficult, given he was so much taller than her. She leant in to kiss him more, she wanted so much more, enjoying the rush of just falling into the moment. It felt like breathing again, like coming into a calm port after travelling through a storm… safety at last…
“You were so clearly flirting with me the other day,” he sneered, twirling her around, catching her around her waist, pulling her up to kiss her again, greedily, yet oh so gently…
“I was not! I was exhausted, how could you say I was flirting?” she gasped in between kisses.
“You came in a white t-shirt and all denim: that’s you with your guard down. That was you being you. That’s you flirting.” he smiled at her, caressing her face, which had frozen in surprise at his understanding of her.
“That’s not true…” she stammered.
“Oh, but it is. You always dress up. You double denim-ed that night: you flirted hard in your own way.” he smiled gently this time, cupping her face and kissing her before she could argue further.
It was so gentle, slowly increasing in a delicious urgency of gluttons who’d been on a diet for too long. Soon there was tongue. There was so much tongue. Too much…
“Wow, who’s kissing with so much tongue?”, Damian laughed in between kisses, planting another squarely on her forehead, brushing her hair away, smiling, hugging her, somehow unsure as to how to celebrate finally having her in his arms.
Unlike Cyrus, he kept his hands mainly to himself, staying around the waist area, cupping her face and simply making her dizzy with wonderment on what and how fast it was happening.
Her hat fell off as he leant in for another kiss. He laughed as he put it on his head. It was too small. Surprise surprise. She jumped to try and get it. He caught her hand and pulled her in for another kiss.
Again, the hat was on the floor. Blasted hat, she thought, laughing at the scene as she picked it up and placed determinedly it on her head. They took the pause in kissing to walk. He’d taken her right hand in his left. It felt wonderful having someone.
She leant into his arm, hugging it with both arms, not wanting to let go. Her forehead rested on his arm as she momentarily forgot the world. A strong arm… She suddenly felt very sleepy.
They arrived at Damian’s street. They stopped. Before he could say anything, she stood on tip toes, hard as it was in her heeled boots, to kiss him. He kissed back, holding the back of her head gently in both hands.
He teased at her boldness: she clearly must like him, no? She let out a growl of frustration, calling him an idiot as she pushed him back. He stepped off the side of the curb onto the street. She panicked as horrible images crossed her mind.
She grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt and heaved him back onto the pavement. It occurred to her his slightly slow response rate to being off the curb and the way his momentum moved onto her might be due to mild inebriation.
He seemed to have found this outburst amusing. A few kisses in, they both looked at his street. She smiled, “I won’t be going home with you.”
“Suit yourself!” he laughed, as he gave her a last good-bye kiss before crossing the road.
She briefly watched him cross before heading home, finally a moment to process what had occurred.
…
The next day she woke up feeling furious. How dare he kiss her?! How dare he!?!
She went to a boxing class where her punches flew as hard and strong as her muscle and lungs would oblige (and a bit more). Why was she so angry? So absolutely, devastatingly angry? Was it because he had kissed her after only two brief catch ups instead of letting things build up slowly, like she had hoped? Was she not ready? Was it the utter lack of control she felt?
Why? Why? WHY?
The class was not enough, so she called her best friend, who obliged, listening to her retelling of events as her voice crescendoed.
…
Two days later she was at Charles’ home sipping tea and chatting. Charles, her friend, was enjoying her anger: it amused him how his friend was always finding ways of tumbling into a rabbit hole or other with people. Charles, being the interminable joker, had “Handle with Caution” tape, which he neatly cut to the warning text and placed on her lady parts. A picture was snapped and shared with close friends who knew of her recent single status and would therefore find the joke that little bit more amusing. One was also sent to Damian, much to her hesitation. If he didn’t find it amusing, which she highly doubted, then it was a dead-end anyways.
A week later, Damian responded, having ignored the joke image, choosing to respond instead to an invitation to a house party she was hosting:
“I do need to apologise for kissing you though - I’m supposed to be dating someone.
I must work on my self control”.
