tagNovels and NovellasIn Search of Logic in Limerence 2.0

In Search of Logic in Limerence 2.0


Thomas was half-awake, trying to make out a blurry outline of what looked like a woman sitting on a window-sill. He closed and then opened his eyelids completely, taking in what he saw. Through the doorway, he could see a young woman sitting on a padded window-sill, her head rested against the wall, her eyes shut. She looked like she was asleep. He smiled at the sight, as he recognised her, memories flooding back to his mind. It was Celeste.

He looked at her face: so calm and peaceful, so different from what he remembered. She looked so completely innocent and helpless, that for a moment he thought it was her twin. But then he remembered that she was asleep. "That explains everything," he thought.

He began studying her from head to toe. Her once long hair was now short and a little wavy. Her lips a little parted, making them look even fuller. He smiled, as he remembered her habit of breathing through her mouth when she slept. Then his eyes turned to her chest, as it was rising and falling as she breathed. He couldn't make out the size of it, as a white tunica freely covered her torso. He turned away. This was Celeste, for goodness sake, not just some girl. He shouldn't be thinking of her like that.

Celeste cleared her throat, as she saw Thomas' open eyes.

"Hi," she spoke softly, still clearing her throat, "I must've fallen asleep on this window-sill, even though it's NOT the most comfortable place for sleeping."

"Hey, Celeste, I'm sorry I didn't come to welcome you."

"No, it's Ok. Your parents are excellent hosts. I had this much tea," she raised her hand as high as she could reach. They both chuckled.

"Wow, this is awkward," she said as she got up. She stood before the window, stretching.

"How's life?" he finally asked, getting up on his elbows.

"Decent," she replied, as she sat down on the window-sill.

"As ever cautious," there was a long pause, before he spoke again. "You're right, it is awkward," he smiled.

Celeste managed to press a smile back before turning her gaze away from Thomas and back to the window. Nevertheless, the light outside was now muffled by the thick darkness hovering over the Earth. The window no longer showed the outside, but reflected the inside.

She looked at her reflection facilitated by the dim light at the end of the corridor, and saw a tired, yet evidently strong woman in search of something in her life, yet she was still to recognise what it was exactly.

"Can you pass me the robe, please?" Thomas interrupted Celeste's train of thought and pointed at a navy blue robe hanging on a hook on the door.

Celeste narrowed her eyes and reluctantly stood up, stretching her arms and neck.

Thomas looked at her, with a half-smile, still studying her body. Now he had a clear view of her figure. She had lost a significant amount of weight, yet her breasts were still relatively big. She still had some flesh on her hips, but now they were slightly narrower than her chest. He was wandering what had happened to her. He thought that it must have been dieting, though he could never imagine her on a diet.

It was weird to be so close to someone, who was, as Celeste realised from his bear chest, half naked, and somewhat strange. Yet, she walked to the door, unhooked the robe and then walked to his double bed with it in her hands.

"You look tired," he commented, with a hint of worry in his face.

"You bet I do!" she thought.

"I've only come back yesterday. Adjusting to the time difference is still something I need to master."

"Like you've mastered everything else you do?" Thomas grinned, as she threw the robe in his face.

"That is hilarious," she retorted, enunciating hilarious and walked backward, looking at him with playful irritation.

"I'm gonna head back to the Mad Hatter's tea party, or they'll think I'm lost."


As it turned out, her parents decided to abandon her. Seeing as it was already 10 pm when they found her sleeping on the window-sill, they decided, with much persuasion form her aunt and uncle that she should stay here. There she was, at twenty-two, a university graduate and her parents still had control over this matter. She rolled her eyes, as she held that thought in her head.

Her aunt gave her a white nightie that came to her knees, with thin stripes that barely covered her shoulders. Then she looked at the décolletage, and frowned, quickly wrapping a cotton scarf around her neck, letting it drape down, and cover the flesh exposed by the low-cut. With the towel, she also found a silk robe, which she put on, and relaxed a little bit, as the smoothness of the silk caressed her skin. She had a quick shower, before putting the whole outfit back on again. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she heard someone call her.

"Spirita!" she recognised the voice, so she ignored the call.

"Celeste!" the same voice called again, with a different, brighter tone. Now, she did respond.

"Would you like to join me by the fire-place? I have some mulled wine and something I'd like you to read. Care for some late night discussion?" and he put on the most charming smile on his face.

What's happened to her Thomas? The Thomas she knew was her physicist, her chemist, forever logical and a little clumsy. Has he been abducted by aliens and replaced by a look-alike?

For a second, she looked at Thomas, studying every inch of him: his hair was dark, wavy and unkempt, with waves covering his forehead and neck. He had, what she thought to be the dreamiest eyes she had ever seen, the amber green pigment of the iris patterned with wondrous ornaments.

From what she could deduce from looking at his robe and pyjamas-covered figure, the rest of him had even more to offer. She smiled at that thought, but felt momentarily sick at herself, realising her devious thoughts, and quickly covered this give-away by replying to his question.

"Mulled wine, you say? And some reading material? Sure, why not. But I must warn you, I am VERY sleepy," Celeste replied, in haughty manner, which she liked to adopt sometimes, be it for comical affect or when the circumstances required her language to converge.

"No problemo," Thomas smiled reassuringly, adding the playful detail to his assurance and strangely, not matching her speaking manner.


"You are absolutely right. This is brilliant. Tennov should be honoured for this work. From a scientific point of view, which, in view of my dedication to humanities, I lack, this is so precise," she gulped more wine and laughed at him as he picked yet another raisin out of his wine.

They were sitting in a dimly lit room, only illuminated by the fireplace and a torchère. It was a rustic drawing-room, complete with dark beams, a wooden floor and a stone wall. Yet, the sofa and the armchair that Thomas and Celeste sat on were cream coloured, just blending in quietly.

"You knew that mulled wine has raisins, yet you still wanted to drink it!"

"Yes, well the rest of it is delicious, but these raisins just ruin it."

"You can't love something, but not like the raisins in it," Celeste attempted a smile, as she rummaged in the pocket of her mind that stored logical thinking. She always did so, whenever a situation seemed to be awkward or strange. She found that weighing a situation carefully, sizing the many facets it can have, is the best way of surviving as a rational being that Celeste prided herself on being.

"The Wiseman has spoken," Thomas gave Celeste yet another charming smile, which she answered with a much more reserved, yet very Celeste-like smile that seemed to always acknowledge, even though it might not have been implied, that she was intellectually superior.

"I disagree," he continued going along with the professionalism she suggested when she began their verbal sparring.

"The mulled wine is completely fine, until they add the bloody raisins!" he swore as he picked out another one.

"Have you ever had mulled wine without raisins? Exactly. Then how can you say that it tastes the same, when there are no raisins in it?"

"I imagine it" he said firmly, turning his head to face her. He had an expectant look, gazing at her, tuning in all of his senses, but most importantly his eyes, as he tried to detect the smallest changes in her facial expression. Yet, he found nothing.

"Well, you can't imagine something you've never had" she argued back, laughing off the tension that was building for some unholy reason. As she looked at him, she saw the intensity in his eyes that frightened her.

She couldn't recognise him anymore. Even the alien-abducted Thomas in the corridor was closer to the true Thomas, than the person sitting before her now. Who was he?

Nevertheless, the fatigue was getting the better of her and Celeste felt a yawn building up, so she covered her mouth, at the same time trying to stifle it rather unsuccessfully.

"I should really go to bed... I am seriously tired. And the wine is getting to my head a bit," still absorbed in the battle with the yawn, she didn't notice the change in Thomas' face that that was building up from the last remark. She slowly got up, put the glass on an old wooden table, but as she passed him, Thomas grabbed her wrist. Celeste froze.

"Have you ever experienced limerence: an obsession intense enough to drive you crazy?" he looked up at her puzzled face, with his eyes full of the same intensity and some inexplicable darkness.

"You moron, imbecile, how dear you grab my wrist!" she shouted in her head. She felt anger and disbelief, but her rationality took control, and she managed to extinguish the smoke before it turned into a fire.

"There are better ways of driving yourself to the point of insanity," she pulled her wrist out of his grip and glanced at him coldly, driving sharp icicles through his eyes. "I don't want you grabbing my wrist EVER again," she warned him rather calmly, holding back the anger. Celeste looked at him with intense animosity for a few more seconds and walked off, angrily closing the door behind her. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Celeste forced her eyes open, kicking and screaming, covering her chest and abdomen with her arms. After the initial shock, the terror subsided and the kicks went away. Yet, her body was still trembling, her heart pumping at a dangerous pace and tears were gushing down her face.

With her hands tightly pressed to her chest, Celeste could feel the erratic labour of the muscle almost mimicking the painful pulsation in her chest. But the trembles were the most powerful of all, reverberating through her body in edgy ripples.

Celeste's tormenter was back, though somewhat changed. As she looked into the darkness of the room, she realised that she was living in fear and she couldn't deny it; every night, when she closed her eyes, she knew he'd come back to her dreams. And even though knowing is meant to prepare you for the future, there was no way she could prepare herself for the nightmares.

Suddenly, the door was flung open. Celeste shrieked at the unexpected action. She was breathing rapidly, battling for air, drawing it hungrily, in an attempt to relieve the acute pain in her chest. Her eyes widened, as to her complete disbelief, she saw who it was. The man from her nightmare had come for her.


Thomas was woken up by a sound. It was high-pitched and impossible to ignore: a scream. His heart rate quickened, as he realised that it was Celeste. Piercing and heavy sensation formed in his stomach; fear came over him.

He flung his duvet aside and rushed to her bedroom, without even a second thought. When he finally got to her door, he couldn't hear her anymore, only his heart, desperately trying to compensate for the coldness of his environment, his bare skin reacting to the temperature.

In almost complete darkness, he opened the door and burst into her room, not caring for the danger he might face.

Yet, the sight was worse than any threat in the world: Celeste's face, full of fear and disgust at seeing him; she was afraid of him, it suddenly dawned on him. He couldn't bear it. How could she fear him? He'd rather die himself than do her any harm.

"Celeste, please, what's wrong?" he moved towards her, begging for an explanation, his face furrowed with worry, eyes radiating desperation. But all that she did was move away.

"Celeste, it's me, Thomas. Please, speak to me. What's wrong?" his usual confidence was knocked out, once again, by the presence of this woman, who seemed to be able to make him lose his mind without even realising it.

But all Celeste did was look at him, drawing the duvet closer to herself, shivering, her face washed with tears. In her eyes, he recognised something that he feared the most: contempt.

Severe pain penetrated his head, making him grimace, his face acquiring a degree of monstrosity. "Celeste... Spirita... Don't do this," he uttered painfully. He was staring at Celeste's eyes, reading them, and thus increasing his pain. Why was she doing this to him? Indifference, he could bear, but not hatred, disgust or contempt.

Then it occurred to him: the evening, the drink and his half-drunken nonsense. How could've he been so stupid? Could've she had a nightmare because of that? That made no sense; she wasn't hyper-sensitive, he thought.

He had to put this right, he had to calm her down somehow.

He slowly moved towards her, not taking his eyes off her face, the expression on which was torturing him. Was he so abhorrent to her? The closer he moved, the further she pushed herself, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.

He knew he had to somehow get her out of this state of shock.

"Celeste, please," Thomas was pleading as the sight of her in such a state tore his heart to pieces, shredding even the tiniest scraps. It felt as if his stomach was now the dumping ground for all these bits of his heart, burning his insides.

As he sat on the bed, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist, securing her in a tight grip that made it impossible for her to escape, even as she struggled. With the fighting back, came the tears - the wail, deep and mournful.

Celeste hadn't cried like that in months, yet she hadn't felt so secure in years. His embrace was like a wall between her and the evil she faced. She spent so many nights fighting her subconscious, trying to persuade it to stop the devilish game. Yet it still played the memories over and over again.

But they were fading away now, scurrying away with the salty tears falling elegantly on Thomas' arms, trickling hypnotically down her cheeks, chin... And Celeste was asleep.



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