Fighting the impossible

FIGHTING THE IMPOSSIBLE

BY

SELINA
BODUR

Text copyright
©
2013 Veselina G. Bodurova

[email protected]

All Rights Reserved

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This novella is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, places and
events are work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to actual persons is
entirely coincidental.

Cover image
courtesy of Stuart
Miles at
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Cover designed by Selina Bodur

To all of
you,

 who believe
in dreams and wake up with the faith that anything is possible. Please don’t
give up!

To my
family, my dad especially and to the One, who never believed.

Special “Thank
you!” to my friend - Boryana Tsankova, who helped me with the edit.

Table of content

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Epilogue

The sun
was almost here. Tara Whyley was sipping hot cappuccino in the cold November
morning. Her chocolate brown hair was falling down her shoulders. Her amber
eyes were half-closed, and her cheeks had turned scarlet in the biting cold.
Utter stillness was reigning all around. No wind. No sounds. It was like the
whole nature had become quiet in anticipation of the sunrise. There was
something around Tara’s presence – sadness, it was twisted around her slender
body like a liana and it was reflected in her eyes – dark ambers, deep and
sensual. The feeling was so strong that it was blanketing her like mist,
soaking in every fiber of her being. Tara wasn’t crying, not any more. The
tears came and went a long time ago. Everything seemed too far back and the
precious memories were fading away.

For her
thirty years Tara felt pretty much successful, leading the publicity department
of a midmarket company, having the self-confidence to be an attractive woman,
with great friends and… Yes. Something was missing. Her eyes, once so vigilant
and filled with fire, were now only two embers, dying away in the grey November
morning. At that place where her heart had been, there was now a piece of
granite, heavy and eternally reminding for itself. Tara was hurt and after the
pain had gone, she was left only with an empty shell, without a soul and
without feelings.

Suddenly
the autumn leaves started to play at her feet; the trees sang their rustling
song. The Park Hotel, where Tara had been staying for a third year, was fabulous,
almost unreal, enchanting and taking your breath with its centuries-old trees,
rose gardens, streams and crystal clear ponds. Tara was blind for the beauty
around her. But then the first sun rays finally fought their way out of the
grey clouds and started playing in her eyes, inflaming long-extinct feelings. And
then…

Flash!

Five years earlier

Peter
was walking towards her in the fresh July morning. There was some uneasiness in
his gait, but confidence as well. The rays of light made his light brown hair
looked golden. His crystal blue eyes were fixing her. Peter’s body showed tension,
but also determination. Tara took a deep breath, stilling herself, ready for
yet another fight between them. His scent filled her nostrils – grapefruit,
melon - were soaking in each cell of hers.

“Tara…”
his voice…

Flash!

***

Present days

“Tara?
Tara, dear, are you okay?” Claire was gently shaking Tara’s shoulders.

“W…
What?!” Tara blinked in bewilderment.

“Come,
let’s have breakfast! You are so cold. How long have you been here alone?”
asked Claire.

“I…”
confused, she looked at her and then at the place, where Peter stood a moment
ago. The love of her life. The vision had vanished into thin air just after the
first sun light; the magic, which brought him back – slipping through her
fingers. In front of her was only Claire.

Claire.
She was always there for Tara, pulling her from the edge each time, bringing
back the harsh reality of life. Sometimes quite bluntly, almost like a slap,
but today – gentle, with eyes filled with worry.

“I’m
fine! Sorry, but I didn’t want to wake you up so I haven’t called. What is it
for breakfast?” Tara quickly changed the subject. The problem was that her fake
smile couldn’t deceive Claire. Both had been through so much together and had
built an understanding that didn’t need words. Claire knew Tara’s ache, the
more so here, where she and Peter met for the first time.

“I
don’t think that’s good idea!” the fine lines on Claire’s face deepened “One
word and we’ll be gone.”

“No!”
Tara almost cried. You could sense the need in her voice, as well as a bit of
masochism, knowing that she was letting the pain in her heart once again. “I’m
sorry! I didn’t mean to sound that harsh, but we’ve been talking about it every
year and you still haven’t changed my mind. I need to be here! I need to
remember!” her eyes pierced Claire’s and for a moment the old fire in them was
burning stronger than the sun.

“Fine,”
Claire sighed “come on, breakfast is waiting for us!”

The
two women headed back to the hotel, blind and deaf to the beauty surrounding
them, the scent of the roses or the murmur of the stream, both preoccupied with
thoughts about lost love and friendship, beyond limits.

Tara
made for her room to put on something warmer. The hotel was one of the most
beautiful places she knew; possessed a lovely charm and the wood-paneled
corridors and halls with marble floors carried you into times long bygone. The
entire architecture created the feeling of fairytale, of timelessness. Tara
froze. Something was wrong. She’d avoided this part of the hotel, but her feet
brought her here on their own. She stood in front of room No. 103, gripped by
memories and then… the door opened.

Flash!

***

Five years earlier

Two days before Claire and Tom’s
wedding

“Hmm,
a… Hi! I may have the wrong room. I’m looking for Tom Michaels?” Tara seemed
embarrassed.

The
eyes of the man opposite were piercing her, sending shivers down her spine. They
were as blue as two oceans, filled with suspense, intriguing and mysterious. He
was taller than Tara, creating a sense of superiority, well built, but not too
muscular. His hair was longer than it was the custom, wavy, dark caramel and
gave him boyish and wild appearance. He continued to study her with his eyes
without any embarrassment as if undressing her and barring her innermost
secrets. His eyes were intense as if they were searching for something and then
as suddenly, they began to twinkle out of curiosity.

“Tom
Michaels?! Hmm… let me think! But of course, you are a part of the show!” his
voice was deep and confident, the tone playful and conspiratorial.

“P…
pardon!? The show?!” she stammered. His eyes were holding her still,
immobilizing her. Tara shook the magic of.
What was wrong with her!
It
was like her brain cells refused to obey.
The eyes, it was all because of
his eyes. Damn!

“Yeah,
you know, bachelor party, booze, friends and….SHOW!” he shouted enthusiastically
“Come, come in, trust me the audience has no patience! I just hope that you’re
wearing something sexier underneath!” he winked. His fingers - locked around
her wrist, the lips - millimeters from her ear.
Oh, God!
The warmth of
his body so close to hers was wrapping her like invisible blanket. His fingers
were burning through her skin, leaving a mark, deeper than she even realized.

The
words finally reached Tara’s consciousness, making their way through the cobweb
of emotions and senses. A tiny, angry gleam flashed in her eyes.

“So…
You think that I’m a part of some kind of an entertainment show, like
striptease show?!” the anger was slowly forcing its way into her voice. His
eyes never left hers, but there was no trace of shame or regret in them, they
were still confident and relaxed, maybe slightly curious. The anger in Tara was
inflaming with each passing second. This man was just driving her mad. He
insulted her straight in the face, still grinning smugly. She wanted so much to
wipe that smile or rather to tear it up with her fingernails. But what was
wrong with her? It wasn’t in her style to let the aggression gain the upper
hand. Tara took a deep breath and with the cockiest expression and an icy
voice, asked:

“Is
Tom here? I would like to talk to him.”

“Tara?”
Tom got up from the couch apparently had one or two drinks more. “I see, you’ve
already met.” the smile on his face suggested that he felt the rising tension
around them too.

“Not
exactly.” said Tara. The fingers of the stranger opposite still twined round
her wrist like a bracelet, forged from white hot steel. She abruptly pulled her
hand away, which for a second seemed to cause bewilderment in him, but only a
moment later the sneer settled back into his eyes.

“Tara,
this is Peter McClain, my best friend at the university and our best man. He
has just returned from Australia. Great, right?” The silence after Tom’s words
could be cut with a knife. Turning, he continued:

“Peter,
this is Tara Whyley, Claire’s best friend and our maid of honor.” Tom was
barely keeping a straight face. Peter’s pupils widened for a fraction of a
second.

“But
this is wonderful! So, we will see us often in the coming days!” there was no
trace of uneasiness in his voice and even a hint of an apology in connection to
the scene that had just taken place.

“I’m
afraid! Tom, I didn’t know that you were in such a company!” she spat the
words. The disparagement in Tara’s voice was evident and the anger was creeping
up again. “I’ve always imagined you in better crowd!” But why that stranger
made her fly into rage, wanting to hurt him? And why she was feeling even worse
now, when she had? Her thoughts echoed in the empty hall, mocking her.
Fool!
Peter ignored the insult, but the sparks in his eyes went out and their color
mimicked thunder clouds, reflected in the ocean.

“Anyway,”
Tara tried to restore her balance, although emotions swirled faster within her.
“Tom, I came to leave the schedule for tomorrow. Don’t be late!” Tara turned
round and sighed quietly. She was out of his stare’s trap. Then why this
feeling of expectation didn’t leave her. She took a few steps, enjoying the
touch of soft carpet to her toes and thinking she was out of danger, twisted
her head just before turning into the hallway.
Damn!
Peter was still
standing at the door casually leaning on its frame. The sun, peering through
the window, reflected in his hair, making it look aflame. His eyes were serious
and somewhat guarded, but still never left Tara’s, creating a bridge of
electricity between them. He blinked and twenty four carat smile splashed on
his face, as the winner in a game, unknown to Tara. The last she heard was the
closing of the door.

***

Present days

Tara heard
the click of the door.

“Excuse
me, can I help you?” in front of her stood a man in his 50’s with gray hair and
caring fatherly eyes.

“No,
I… I think I have the wrong room.” Tara blinked quickly to chase the tears
away, which were desperately welling up to spill over her cheeks.

“This
is number 103.” The man opposite her looked concerned.

“Yes…
103.” Her thoughts were slamming into her skull, struggling with the reality in
front of her. It was so long ago, but Tara remembered; every moment and every
second. All that’s left to do was to welcome the memories, to accept and learn
to live with them.

She apologized to the gentleman and
hurried to her room.