Tokyo Nights

Tokyo Nights
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Status: Finished

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Summary

"I could tell he was sighing, because when he exhaled an extra huge cloud of smoke glided swiftly from his mouth." So much can happen in so little time.

Summary

"I could tell he was sighing, because when he exhaled an extra huge cloud of smoke glided swiftly from his mouth." So much can happen in so little time.

Chapter1 (v.1) - The Crumbling of the Wall

Author Chapter Note

"I could tell he was sighing, because when he exhaled an extra huge cloud of smoke glided swiftly from his mouth." So much can happen in so little time.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 18, 2012

Reads: 618

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 18, 2012

A A A

A A A

The first time I thought about it more seriously than I’d ever done before was that night in nineteen eighty nine.

We were in Berlin. I don’t even remember where abouts specifically because I didn’t care, apart from we were where the boarder was to eastern Germany. Erik had demanded we go and shout obscenities at the authorities at the Berlin Wall, as this was at the start of all the protesting and fussing over it. I’d been living in Germany with Erik for around two years – but we’d been together for seven years. Which is much too long. Give or take a few short break-ups and minor cheating on both parts.

Erik was friends with two of my male cousins back in Poland, and he’d called them up a few days before to come to Berlin, and for the love of our dear sweet Lord bring a hammer boys because this fucking wall is going to crumble to the ground when we’re through with it. And so Antoni and Iwan – being just as annoyingly anarchist as Erik – had I think told their bosses at work that their dear Grandma, currently residing in Germany, was on the verge of her grave therefore what else could they do? Alenka, my cousin of the same age (twenty-three at this time) and part-time best friend when she wasn’t eyeing up my boyfriend had heard the news and said she was coming too, because she’d met a German guy in a bar a couple months ago who kept a python in his house called Pete, and said he was the best sex she’d had (the guy, not the python) since the crazy South Korean guy who thought the North Korean regime was the ideal way of life for the world.

“Ah, I never thought a Korean could be so sexy”, she’d told me at the time. “I love a good looking Communist supporter.”

“What, you’re a Communist now?”

“No, but it’s easier for men to look good in red.”

We both agreed that this was true.

Alenka and I stood, bored and wanting to go home and plan our shopping trip for the weekend whilst the men around us cheered and jeered, some kicking at the wall in all its graffiti, Iwan, Antoni and Erik in the midst of those who’d bought sneakily their own equipment with the goal of using their own personal labour to knock it all down.

“We’re the DIY guys!” Erik had grinned at me. I just looked at him disdainfully. This handsome, blonde-haired blue-eyed man of mine, he was wearing his best tailored trench coat and shoes that I’d bought with him from Gucci, and there he was, catering to the cheers of the crowd as he and my idiot cousins and various other men banged and climbed all over the wall triumphantly. Iwan and Antoni didn’t even live in the country and often expressed their dislike of Germans, yet still thought it their business to be there offering a helping hand. Any excuse to break something… men.

“What happened with Heinrich?” I asked Alenka after we had been stood grumbling for some time.

“I told him I wouldn’t have sex with him with Pete watching.”

“Why?”

“I felt cheap and exposed.”

“So what happened?”

“He told me, “No Pete, no Adolph”.”

“Adolph?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s Adolph?”

“That’s what he calls his dick.”

“As in “Hitler”?”

Lenka nodded, glaring at a man who shoved past her roughly.

“He says it’s because it is capable of great destruction.”

Christ on a bike. And there I was thinking about what colour I should paint my toe nails the next morning when Erik made love to me a couple nights ago. I’d much rather have had a piece of Adolph.

“ERIK!” I shouted up to him, as he was now stood smoking lazily on top of the wall with Iwan, Antoni and some other men after tiring of trying to hammer it down (I told him he was much too skinny for that, but of course he didn’t listen). I’d had enough of being pushed and prodded and at one point even spanked by these terrible men. Said spanker didn’t even give me the chance to catch his face to see if he was decent.

“I AM BEING PUSHED ALL OVER THE PLACE AND MY SHOES ARE IN JEPODY! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?”

I could tell he was sighing, because when he exhaled an extra huge cloud of smoke glided swiftly from his mouth, then he was stubbing his cigarette out on the wall with a lot more enthusiasm than was necessary, attracting the attention of a nearby protester who shouted, “YES! FUCK THE WAL L!” and starting spitting all over it. I was a lot lighter back then - I admit with regret - so he just reached his arms down to me and lifted me up without much effort, Alenka demanding the same treatment from Iwan who demanded in turn that she climb like a real revolutionist.

“Sweetheart”, said Erik, holding me to him tightly amongst the many people stood on the wall. “History is in the making. Tell me, why are your shoes important?”

“I paid good money to look good in these shoes, Erik.”

“Yes, and you look very nice. But all these people aren’t here to keep your shoes looking pretty.”

I felt like slapping him.

I thought about throwing him into the crowd below us, but then I remembered how much he enjoyed crowd surfing and that I’d probably be doing him a favour.

Shortly after Antoni had gotten into a dispute with a man who almost knocked Alenka off the wall with his over-enthusiastic arm motions (he didn’t speak a word of German, so eventually settled for casually throwing him off the wall after he realised he’d began doing the very same enthusiastic arm motions that hurt Lenka in the first place in an effort to get his point across), the police managed to gain control of the situation (finally. German police? They’d be crying like babies in Poland) and Erik quickly got me off the wall, despite thinking it best he wait until he was physically pushed by a policeman.

Then when Lenka and I thought we could finally go home, we happened to walk past some crazy woman whose “life wish” it was to walk through the Brandenburg Gate (she was there too late; not long before everyone was just strolling through before the police took control), and Erik took it upon himself to go and try and reason with the policeman (he was half German, spoke it perfectly, thought he was smart) and Iwan and Antoni quickly picked up the German for “let her pass” and chanted along with the crowd with all their might, Erik at the forefront infront of the cameras thinking he was the UN’s personal negotiator. Lenka and I sighed in unison.

“Lenka.”

“Hm.”

“This is no place for women.”

She nodded, then looked down at my shoes.

“Look at your –“

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I knew they were ruined, and looking at them would’ve been heart breaking and I wouldn’t be held accountable for my actions.

I was annoyed. It was all Erik’s fault. What was I even doing in Germany? Germans aggravated me. They had an unhealthy obsession with sausages and the men would always bitch about other men who weren’t as good as them, i.e didn’t have at least seven degrees in different types of neurological science or couldn’t explain the theory of global warming using quantum physics. The women were worse. Had they no shame? More to the point, had they no mirrors? I was in perfect form to beg and plead some of these disasters to at least glance in the reflection of a passing windscreen of a car to discover how shocking their outfits and make-up were, if not for themselves but for the good of the nation and its people. Alas, I digress. Erik.

It was never the plan to stay with him for as long as I did. I woke up on top of his chest about a year into us meeting, his hand lost in my hair as he snored away, and realised that shit, I was in a relationship and double-shit, I was in love with this man.

“Pah”, Tata had spat. “Germans. Where was he when his country was invading our Poland? Running round doing the Nazi salute, that’s what.”

“Tata, be reasonable. Erik wasn’t alive during World War Two.”

“That’s what YOU think!”

His arguments never made sense.

AND he was a hypocrite. One of his very dear friends was a political exile from Stalin’s Soviet Russia – Stalin arguably being such a little bitch Hitler could only look on with dreams in his part-Jewish pupils.

Erik thought he had me. It was three years into our relationship when he started squawking about marriage, scaring me shitless into the arms of rich bitch Henio who’d studied in America and therefore knew how to lasso me into bed with him, and also my pervert of a second cousin who was renown amongst the women in our family for violently threatening us in dark, lonely corners when he was drunk if we weren’t to meet his sexual favours. Most of us didn’t mind his advances though (although we were careful not to meet them) since Gustaw was a very good looking man (my know-it-all cousin-in-law Brygna was the only one who openly minded, saying he disrespected women and all this business about women’s rights. We all agreed she should marry Erik with her know-it-all ways). We’d just roll our eyes as we looked on at him following potential victims into different rooms.

“There he goes again.”

“Silly, silly Gustaw.”

“No need for the threats”, I’d told him after he’d grabbed hold of me one night at a family party, a hungry look on his face. “Where do you want me?”

I’d always wondered what it’d be like to fuck a pervert. I was not disappointed.

I never named names, as much as he demanded to know.

“I’ve slept with another man since the one I told you about”, I told Erik after we’d been split for four weeks and he was back on my doorstep, the beginnings of tears in his eyes. I was hoping for a, “Jesus, you slut of a bitch, that was quick work!” but instead I got a shuffling of the feet, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat, glancing at the floor before glancing back up at me with puppy-dog baby blues.

“I was hoping we could start again.”

Oh fine.

Have it your way. He was too cute.

I liked having him around anyway. He felt safe and could be quite funny.

Two years after that, Lenka, Maci (another cousin, very close) and I were at a rock concert in Paris during a holiday to France, after which I suddenly found myself in a fancy hotel room playing a naked and very horny game of Tag with none other than the lead singer himself (who shall remain anonymous). He wanted to play me a song, but I just laughed at him.

“What is this? I’ve already paid to hear you sing, I’m here for free extras. Hurry up and make me scream!”

He said he’d marry me if he wasn’t already in love with someone else. I told him I’d probably do the same. Some of that hair would have to go, though. The fact that this was the eighties was no excuse.But no, I mustn’t glorify him, as he wasn’t even that good in bed. I ended up taking control, naturally producing excellent results.

Erik wasn’t very understanding. I thought he would at least be an adult about it rather than stomping round the place, smashing various objects that I certainly was not going to clean up.

“Normal women, Celina, go to a rock concert and settle for listening to the music. Why must you, my woman, fuck the lead singer?”

“Be reasonable, Erik. If some gorgeous, famous actress wanted you in bed with them what would you say?”

“I’d say no, because I love you.”

“Well then, you’re ridiculous.”

And what did he expect? He’d been back in Germany visiting family for the past few weeks, leaving me at home because work always got busier nearer to Christmas time when everyone was having parties (I was working as a stylist for rich Polish women in Warsaw and sometimes even men, mainly through word of mouth), and I was lonely. He knew how high my sex drive was. Again, I ask you; what did he expect?

But then he informed me on a little secret of his own. Leaning against the kitchen surface, running a hand through golden locks, he’d told me through one big sigh that actually, one of his nights with “the boys” in Germany had lead to a little something else and he’d ended up fucking some girl he apparently went to nursery with. Excellent. I never had many excuses to go ballistic on him; searching for one was as useless as searching for a needle in a haystack. I slammed out of the door, happy to be shot of him and his suffocating Mother. Always hated me. Lenka said she was jealous of how she’d clearly long lost her looks, whereas mine were still firmly intact. His Papa loved me though. Lenka suspected him of undercover perverseness.

A couple of months after that, my Mama died. She wasn’t even that old, but I suppose Death just takes them when he feels like it. It was the first time somebody so close to me had died before, and it hit me quite hard. I realised when Erik showed up at her funeral that his were the only arms I wanted cuddling me as I watched her coffin being lowered into the ground. But I still wasn’t sure about getting back with him.

I told him that when we were in the shower together a few weeks later, and he wrapped his arms around my back, murmuring,

“I thought we could start again.”

How many times must we start again until he was satisfied we’d found the right path to the right destination? I told him that I had my doubts, and that we’d been together for such a long time that maybe our relationship had just ran out of steam. But he told me no, it was because we’d been together for such a long time that our relationship couldn’t run out of steam.

“I’ve been thinking about going back to Germany. To live. Visiting recently has made me realise how much I miss it…why don’t you come with me?”

I spotted the flaw in his plan immediately.

“I can’t speak German.”

“I can.”

“Yes, and well done you, but what am I supposed to do for a job if I can’t communicate?”

“Nothing. I’ll take care of you.”

This was all the persuasion I needed.

He could’ve told me we were going to live in the Indian slums, and I would’ve heartily agreed and followed him with a spring in my step as long as I didn’t have to work.

Eric had a good job, although I couldn’t tell you what it was exactly. He was three years older than me, had studied physics like no other and quickly found a job in Germany doing something smart. Again, what it was exactly I couldn’t tell you, but what I can say without a doubt was he looked fucking fantastic in a sharp suit. I could barely keep my hands off him. It didn’t take long for me to get restless just sitting round doing nothing, though, so because of my good English skills I found a job in a designer store as their part-time in-house stylist. It was good, because even if these Berlin ladies weren’t in the ninety percent that spoke decent English, all I had to do was throw clothes at them. I was happy for a while. When Erik asked me to marry him again, I even found myself saying no with much less feeling than the last time.

You’ve been sensing a “but” for a while now, haven’t you? Handsome boyfriend, good job, nice enough personality. “Where did it all go wrong?” I hear you cry! Well, nowhere, really. Nowhere in particular. There was no significant event, no pivotal incident that made me think I needed to escape this man as soon as possible. I slowly just felt myself ebbing out of love with him. It just happened. He’d been in my life since I was a baby sixteen-year-old, and by the time I felt myself growing distant from him it ‘d been such a long time. All through the last year we were together, it was eventually no use trying to suppress the little voice in my head that whispered, “You’re not in love with him anymore.” And I wanted so badly not to hurt him, because I still cared about him so much. He was my best friend as well as the man I snuggled up to in bed every night.

“You know what they call it, don’t you?” Lenka said to me down the phone in the summer of that year. “It’s the “Seven-year Itch”.”

She was exactly right. I was right in the time zone for that phrase. This, I should mention, was all together with the fact that I didn’t like Germany that much, I found all of Erik’s German friends annoying and obnoxious and I missed slouching around with my sisters (cousins, but we just called ourselves sisters most of the time) whilst man spotting in the streets (usually a losing game in Poland) and complaining about life. I didn’t really have any friends in Germany. You could probably say that I was lonely.

"Lina, come get on top of me, I’m too tired for missionary tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. He said it like he wasn’t always too tired for missionary, yet his eyes would sparkle at the mention of a certain dog. I flung my legs over to straddle him on the bed, giving him a little kiss before sitting up and pulling my nightdress off. I watched that glazed look in his eyes quickly arrive, right on usual time, reaching one of his hands up to squeeze my breast as the other held the top of my derrière. I always liked to marvel at the feeling of that dick of his, uncurling like a flower in my hands into solid stone.

“Riky?”

“Hm?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He groaned.

“You can’t expect me to talk to you sensibly with my dick in your hands!”

I rolled my eyes again, deciding I might as well get this over with before I lost my nerve. I made sure not to get too attached and emotional so as to keep the thought of having that conversation with him afterwards in my head. When he tried to pull me down onto his chest I shouted at him no, increasing the pace and making him forget all about it.

“Lina…sweetheart…oh, baby…”

That was one thing about Erik. He’d always call me nice names when we made love. Well, he’d always call me nice names.

When we’d finished, I let him lie there and catch his breath as I sat on the edge of the bed, a glass of wine in my hands, contemplating the security he gave me and whether I wanted to lose it.

He pulled on my arm.

“Ay. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked, sitting up slightly, back to normal, sensible Erik with normal, sensible eyes.

I tilted my head at him.

“I think we should split up.”

He laughed. Knee-jerk reaction. Then he looked at my unmoving expression and stopped.

“Is this about the shoes?”

I shook my head.

“No, Erik, it’s not about the shoes.”

“These are important times.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

He looked at me for a little while longer, a confused frown fixing his features. I sighed and slid my nightdress back on.

“I know it sounds cliché, but it really isn’t you. It’s just me. I think I just want to…you know…move on.”

I looked at him in all his silence.

“Are you that upset that you can’t say anything?”

He still wasn’t saying anything.

“I can go now, if you like?”

“What? Lina!”

He suddenly sprang into life, scrambling to put his boxers on as he got out of bed before strolling towards me.

“What are you talking about?” he said, gripping my shoulders. ““Move on”? What do you mean? What’s changed?”

“Nothing. Which is exactly the point! I just think it’s time I had a change. We’ve run our course now. I don’t really feel for you what I used to.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” he yelled, shaking me slightly as he grasped my shoulders tightly.

“E-Erik!” I exclaimed nervously. He didn’t often get that angry and I wasn’t experienced enough to deal with it. He released me, turning his back on me briefly to run his hands over his face in a short scoff before turning back to me.

“Have you cheated on me again?”

“No!”

“Then what? What is it? Why are you saying this?”

“I don’t love you anymore, Erik!” I said finally.

And as soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back and shove them back down my throat where they belonged. The hurt washed over his face beautifully.

I collapsed back down onto the edge of the bed, shaking my head.

“I’m sorry, Riky, but…I’m just not in love with you anymore.”

A moment passed before he took a step towards me. Then he was bending down to my level, taking my hands in his and looking up at me with those lovely eyes.

“Celina…baby…please don’t do this.”

But that was when I realised how much he deserved so much better than me.

**Author's note: Moreee to come! (Unless I get mobbed by angry Germans with no sense of humour.) Let me know what you think! Toodles :)**


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