"Jason Gould - Double Negative" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Jason)

and my palms clammy, and nothing I could do would alter what had been
done, nothing I could say undo what I'd said.
Once she'd realised it wasn't a joke, she gently began to shake. Tremors
consumed her, and she raised her fists to strike me. Without speaking, she
battered my chest with her hands - hands I'd had touch me a thousand times
in love but never in violence. Her campaign transferred to my face and I
pushed her away. She stumbled back, putting an arm out to steady herself,
and knocked a glass from the counter-top. It landed in the sink but didn't
smash.
'She means nothing to me,' I said, aware of how embarrassing I sounded. 'I
only love you.'
My words fell on deaf ears. I'd removed her tongue and her eardrums with
one quick blow. How glorious I should've felt.
Backed into a corner, I tried to defend myself. More and more of her
punches found their target; feeble punches that couldn't bruise nor even
sting. Through a tangle of arms I noticed the magnets on the fridge. I
remembered how we'd stuck the first one there for a laugh, and how their
family had enlarged over the ensuing months. I had to remove them; they
couldn't stay when so much else was going. I started to slide the first
Bart Simpson from its place, but failed when Angela's hand struck my left
eye. I swung my fist in her general direction and it met with her
cheek-bone. She collapsed. Part of my stomach leapt.
Nursing my injured vision, I peered around the kitchen. Angela was lying
on the floor, holding her head and sobbing into the linoleum. Her kimono
had ridden-up and I could see blonde hairs protruding from her underwear.
Her legs were white; too white, and her belly - although at this moment
covered - always smelt like mown grass. We hadn't made love for longer
than six months (I can't remember the last time; probably a Christmas Eve
or half-drunken effort involving scant sex but plenty of kissing).
That was her thing, you see - kissing. She liked it more than anything
else, even penetration after weeks and weeks of abstinence. When we first
met we used to kiss all night and long into the following morning, and by
the time the sun rose I would've forgotten the flavour of my own saliva
and know only that of ours mixed. We'd kiss anywhere; on trains, on
rooftops, in unlit bedrooms at dinner parties with glasses tinkling
downstairs...
Angela loved kissing; and sunsets and silk, and rose petals on her
breasts.

We fucked silently in Rowdean forest. To have used our voices would've
spoiled the romance; spoiled it entirely. Had Debbie and I been equipped
with wider vocabularies then I'm sure we would've insulted each other
nobly; but our penchant for swearing during sex had died months ago,
alongside spitting.
I looked up and allowed my gaze to linger over Debbie's nakedness; her
goose-pimpled abdomen, her pierced nipples, slender neck and crusted nose
ring. I climaxed when my eyes reached hers, and her body felt momentarily
repulsive in the seconds immediately after. She rolled off and lay beside
me, her back crushing leaves.
It was those shadowy eyes that had first waylaid me into her arms one