Replica: When the Rain Stops
A short story series inspired by the Maison Margiela Replica Perfumes that are known for their unique concept of capturing moments and memories through fragrance. Each scent evokes specific places and times filled with love, drama, friendship, and pain.
Prologue
Looking into the Mailbox rarely brings me pleasure. Nowadays I am mostly expecting invoices and other obligations that require me to pay for something. But when I grabbed today’s delivery, skipped through the different envelopes, and stumbled upon the one with the handwritten and familiar name on the return label, an intense shiver ran through my body.
Skipping steps I run up the stairs into my flat, rip the paper apart, sit down on my bed, unfold the letter, and begin reading. From the name on the envelope I already know that no other than a past club-adventure turned affair decided to write me “her side of the story”. It is the response to an explanation, a justification, and most of all an apology that I sent to her a few days ago.
The months we were seeing each other have been intense and the break-up following them was not an easy one. Hurtful words, messages, and tears characterized them. But even during this fall-out, there was never something of substance and to this day I never truly knew what her unfiltered feelings back then have been. Sure, I thought about them and made assumptions about what she wished for our future. But I never got any confirmation if I was right. Obviously, I was wrong — otherwise, things wouldn’t have ended the way they did— but to which extent only dawned on me as I scanned through the lines.
The first paragraph of the hand-written letter is slightly smudged and multiple times words have been crossed out. It is obvious that it was difficult for her to find a proper beginning, but she decided to play out the moment we met. In a Club that was redecorated for a fetish event, therefore full of nudity and temptations, it all began. But not in a way you might imagine. It was probably the most innocent and ordinary encounter anyone experienced that evening. Outside, with multiple walls between the dancefloor and the play areas, away from the action, I was looking for a smoke and got drawn into a conversation with her. The moment I put my arm around her warm skin is when everything changed. Still sitting outside on a cold January night, we now weren’t on our own anymore, but here as a unit. And once we entered through the doors — lulled in by the fast rhythmic beats, the dissociative strobe lights, the naked dancers around us — she handed me the leash to the choker that was tightly around her neck and I knew: She was all mine!
It is interesting to relive it in the way she experienced it. Her sentiments of secureness and her excitement for the unknown combined with the escape from reality our relationship was, also bring back nostalgia within me. But the further I progress in the letter, the more I begin to understand the different directions our feelings were headed towards. The explanations about how invested she became in our conversations, our texts, and most of all our dates. How she desperately wanted to make an impression and make more out of us than just a liaison. My throat tenses up and I get the feeling that I can’t breathe anymore. Only now do I realize that my mouth is as dry as a tar road in the middle of the Australian outback. Every muscle within my body is screaming to stop this torture and to please return to a normal state. I can’t swallow anymore, I can barely breathe and my vision gets so blurry, that even if I wanted to, even if my life would depend on it: I can’t continue reading! I stop, lower my hands with the letter still in them, and mindlessly stare at the white wall in front of me. I know how the story continues, was responsible for its outcome — but it is only now that I am starting to realize what an impact I had on this girl.
The wall in front of me begins spinning. Like getting knocked out black vignetting appears in the corners of my sight, the tunnel vision sets in and suddenly everything turns black. I find myself in my stairway. A boring scenery in a typical utilitarian building from the 60s. Ugly beige and brown walls, iron railings with blue paint that is peeling off, and exposed lighting bulbs. We just came home from our date in the park. The floral scent of rose and iris lingers around her. But the high humidity from outside is responsible for that I am predominantly reminded of water lilies when I am close to her. We entered just in time, as behind us you can already hear the first droplets of rain hitting the concrete. Our relationship with each other was very hedonistic and focused on squeezing out the maximum of the limited time we usually had. The environment we met in — the fetish night — it set the tone for the months that followed. I was happy to oblige to her expectations, and she was happy to experience what she previously missed in her life. But a date like we had today, where we took a step back from this dynamic and put our attention on other, previously neglected attributes, was rare. It was something out of the ordinary! However, the energy still carried over and we got along well. Playful banter, light conversations, and time well spent together. At least that's what it felt like. But there was something else within me. The feeling that nothing from our interaction caught onto me. Everything that I’ve got to hear from her, every word spoken just screamed a call for attention. A damaged relationship with her father, drugs, excessive drinking, and sexual escapades. The textbook of possible problems. I had my own phases and call them (un-)fortunately, there is very little that can shock me nowadays. All the weird shit that’s out there, the crazy parties, the excesses, and the self-damaging behavior. It is what I myself lately battle with to get away from, or at least reduce. A constant fight between something that is fun as hell, but at the same time not long-term sustainable. I know that. It occupies my mind a lot. I talked with friends, gathered their opinions, but ultimately I am still struggling to deal with this divide. And being around her didn’t make it easier… it made me more aware of it.
Those feelings all came up at once when taking the first step onto the staircase. “Listen! I was on vacation last week. I wasn’t there alone. A girl accompanied me whom I met a few months ago. It was a contrast to what was going on today, to the topics we talked about. We visited a foreign city together and spent our time eating out, walking around, and talking about history, art, and personal passions. And I liked that a lot more than what we talked about today… Honestly” I pause and take a deep breath “It showed me what I should be looking for”. And if this wasn’t enough. Telling the girl — who I now know had very intense feelings towards me and just wished to be loved, the heck, even just being taken seriously— that there was another one who filled this spot she so deeply desired. In a completely unhinged fashion, I continue: “And she isn’t the only one who I have those feelings towards. There is another woman with whom … “
I turn to her, locking eye contact, while trying to explain myself. Trying to explain something that is impossible to rationally justify. If there will ever be an expression of someone’s soul breaking like a glass mirror falling onto the floor, this was it. I saw it in the eyes of this girl. In an instant, they became glassy and jittery. Her nostrils swelled up and her pale skin turned red. All caused by me telling her, that I found the spark in others, that she could never ignite in me — no matter how intensely love was burning within her.
We continue our way up the stairs and in a desperate attempt to make any sense out of what I just told her I keep talking. Meanwhile, she hasn’t got a single word out. “I don’t know where this is leading towards. But both of them I deeply desire and I just can’t dedicate any of my time towards you. Can’t give you the time you need … the time to deserve.” As if this last sentence makes it seem that I care for her, while all previous ones only paint the picture that I see her as one of my chores. Like bringing out the trash or mowing the law. Something you just sometimes won’t find the time to do during a busy day and need to postpone. My words echo through the empty staircase. As I later got to know through the letter, this was the moment when everything turned into noise for her. When the relationship she hoped for became not only impossible to achieve, but also seemingly got granted to a different person … no … persons. And then it hit her. This wasn’t about me getting serious with someone else. This wasn’t about not having enough time. This was a clear statement about her not being enough. Not being able to provide what the guy she desired was looking for.
And honestly, that was the case. In the previous months, a lot has happened that I wouldn’t have expected myself. The time I spent with the other girls really put into perspective what is crucial to me. Characteristics that I previously hadn’t put enough emphasis on showed their importance over time. Even though a slight uncertainty always remained if those were true feelings and intentions or only some deemed aspirational by society and dictated by me “getting older”. But between Cyrenaics and Cynics, there have been centuries spent arguing about this. Resulting in the insight, that only through proper study and experience a decision can be made. For every human individually! At least this was my approach and the result was a constant comparison between the girls with the unfavorable result, that individual traits, which often make up a person, have been overlooked by me in search for the ideal be-all-end-all.
Even though I couldn’t pinpoint this feeling while walking up, something within my gut warned me about this shortcoming. With each step, it grew stronger and stronger, finally manifesting in the most schizophrenic way possible. While I am fully aware I’d just willingly ended whatever we had going on, I’m not ready to let her leave my life. Am just too used to the power and dominance I have over her — not ready to give that up yet. The previously spoken words didn’t matter, even though they had been specifically selected to burn bridges. To not fall into old habits and once again prioritize short-term pleasure over long-term satisfaction — a stale play, to gain control over my moral dilemma. She isn’t the ideal I am looking for, but I still want her and in a mindless motion, I reach out and grab her arm. Her soft but heated skin is now between my fingers while I tightly hold onto it. Her head spins around and her teary eyes, the previously sharply drawn eyeliner now smudged, the cheeks glossy from a thin layer of moisture, all facing me.
Overwhelmed I lose traction. A sense that I am slipping and falling. The feeling is similar to the one in a dream. When you miss a step and your heart clinches. Abruptly I turn and see that there is no ground under me. Standing at the edge of the stairway, just holding onto my girl who is saving me from this bottomless hole. But in the areas where my hands touch her arm, I can see smoke. See the sparks flying and the fire igniting. Is this only an optical illusion? There is no heat or pain corresponding to what I see. However, as soon as I lift my gaze and once again look into her eyes, now fully filled with tears, I can see that she is experiencing all the pain that normally should strike me. The otherwise beautiful and young contours visibly cramped up, making her seem at least a decade older than she was just an hour ago. All joy she previously radiated towards me, the moments of lust and the insatiable desire — all gone. The longer I hold onto her, the longer she needs to deal with this, is forced to endure something she isn’t responsible for. Unable to free herself. On my next exhale, a heavy moan escapes my mouth, I open my fingers and let loose, fully embracing the fall.
My Side of the Story
How to start — how we even started. Everything changed with the moment you just sat down next to me and my friends. I never in any reality would have guessed that this moment would change so much in my future and would later on also change me as a person. I instantly felt comfortable around you, making me feel secure, wanted and jet giving me that excitement of the unknown.
Texting you the next day I was sure you would be one of the regular ones who fucks you once, then never text again. But the build-up from the evening before was too strong and I wanted to know whether there was more to explore — there was.
The thing that first gave me the flight instinct was you letting me lay on your chest, reading out of some fancy book I had never heard of. We had met maybe two times and I started to tell my friends I know this one’s going to fuck me up. That feeling never left but grew stronger and stronger over time, just like the joy, lust, and even secureness I felt when I was with you. Driving an hour from home to where no one knew me and I could let go of anything that was trouble in my hometown created a new and so safe feeling for me… and I wanted more.
Texting in between the times we saw each other even gave me that feeling and every time I saw your name pop up on my screen my heart jumped. By that time I had turned on my notifications to be able to read what you texted without opening the message instantly. It was a game we both were playing and I knew you were good at It but I wanted you to know I could play it too. So at times, even if I had to practice my patience, I waited a few hours before I replied to not seem to reachable, even though you knew you only had to raise a finger and I would do as you said. In my eyes, you had every percentage of power over me, and even I started to notice that this wasn’t healthy.
At the end of our time together I more and more felt the need for you to see me as an interesting person who you wanted to get to know. But even though you agreed, I never felt that anything I told you was interesting to you. I now realize that because of differences in age and life situations, we both have completely different ways of living. We don’t have the same interests or experiences in our day-to-day life. We don’t have a set of topics to talk about. We are too opposed, and thus not relatable to each other. Speaking of this, me not being relatable to you probably made it even more tempting to only see me as a sex object. So when it came to caring and “looking after me” you saw me as a chore.
I always thought that we would make a great team especially because I felt nothing around me affected how I saw you or felt for you. I remember the moment you said you wanted to do something real and not only have sex, I thought you finally were interested in me. The way you had treated me the weeks before had made me unsure about how you stood to me and gave me an unwell gut feeling. In the back of my head I knew you were seeing other women, but I almost never heard of any of them, or noticed something (you made sure of that). That little feeling had became reality the moment we walked up the stairs to your apartment. I played that moment back and forth in my head too often. The way you spoke of the vacation you had previously made and that you were seeing two other women. That it was getting more serious with both of them and you wouldn’t have time to see me anymore. After that, everything just went into a white noise. Kissing you felt like the happiness and the trust that we had built up over the previous months completely evaporated, and even my lust for you had been demolished by a few simple words.
You not caring about me being so hurt that I had to call a taxi to get away from that feeling then showed me how much you really saw me as an object. The following phone call we had just made me sad and angry — every interaction that followed did. My feelings and faith were so hurt, I felt so safe with you… I probably would have trusted you with my life! Having this trust broken felt like I had been stabbed, and I never wanted to rely on anyone ever again.
Over time I reflected, talked to many good friends, and came to clarity with the way you acted and the whole situation. I of course mentioned you here and there to my friends because I never really could get over the feelings I felt for you. When you texted me asking to meet for coffee I wasn’t happy. I had thought about what I would do if you would contact me again. I already pre-planned how I would seduce you and then show you what you missed out on. I have to admit though, and I myself am surprised to say that (I was scared it would be the opposite), I didn’t feel attracted to you anymore. You touching me while waking or pulling me close to you made me uncomfortable — I couldn’t trust you.
I have completely forgiven you and have no bad feelings towards you because I truly believe that you acted in the way you thought was the best. Now, after everything happened we can think about it with calmness. Can reevaluate, and hopefully learn to realize mistakes earlier next time — but that’s part of being human.
The Tale of You and I
The reason for me unlocking my phone, searching your name, opening up our long deleted chat, and writing some meaningless words just to reconnect with you … Where to start? Maybe it is because I still adore your aesthetic. Because I miss the energy you brought into my life. Truthfully, maybe a bit of lust thinking about what we once had. But most of all, because I ended things in a terrible manner and I am ashamed of that. It is surprising what an impact a single person can have on someone else — you pointed that out yourself. And given that we’re only talking about a timeframe of a few months it only shows how intense those have been.
We all know: the higher the highs, the lower the lows. You sitting in an overpriced taxi crying and complaining to the driver what an asshole I am is something that definitely shouldn’t have happened. Neither should I have felt the need to fuck you up by sending hurtful things. But it seems like it was the right time for me to reach out to you. To be honest I was surprised that you even answered my message. I was confident that you hated me — and you would have had every right to feel that way. Luckily you didn’t. On multiple occasions, I wondered what exactly went wrong and where it could have gone differently. Thanks for talking about it and opening up.
The narrative we’ve created, the characters we both embraced might have been fine in a sexual context, but it spread into our normal dealings. I remember one day on which you’ve told me that just me ordering you to my place and you entering the train already made you wet. And while the power play in such an intense form was fun to experience it certainly wasn’t sustainable. It made me lose sense for you as a person, as an actual human being with the wish to be loved and cared that we all carry within us. The importance of proper communication and aftercare was downplayed by me not knowing what I want and by you being too afraid to tell me about your feelings. It felt good at the moment and we didn’t question it. Nowadays, I am more educated in the fine nuances of different kinks and how to find the right one to make my partner feel comfortable. You on the other hand told me that you’re now vocal about your expectations. It seems that we both have learned our lesson.
Sometimes I think we would make a great on-off couple. The best one! Collectively making our friends lose their minds with fucked up stories and drama. In our first go, we’ve already produced a number of anecdotes others would’ve taken years for. One day, I would like to read your side of the story — even if it is as morbid as you’ve spoiled. I would like to see pictures of you sailing to the places you’ve told me about. See the artworks you’ve created and achieve success in the profession you’re striving for. But most of all, no matter when, be it tomorrow or 10 years from now, I would like to see you happy and doing well. These are the words you truly deserve and come from the uttermost depth of my heart. I wish you all the best. Keep the spirit alive!
Purely a fictional story! All Images are generated by Midjourney. It’s a great service so check it out.
