- Leo Tolstoy "War and Peace"

A late evening wine shop was open. At first I passed by it completely but stopped head on heels—the wilted flower's petals were dropping. I back tracked into the shop and purchased a bottle of Beaujolais.

"Can you open it for me?" The shopkeeper looked at me skeptically. I shrugged, lying; "I don't have a corkscrew at home." He nodded and obliged.

Once I was out of the shop and back on my blind path of self pity I took a big swig.

I walked down along crooked cobblestones of the Seine, now in the opposite direction of my home. I watched the boats lazily drift past, the couples aboard fondly sharing intimate moments over wine and bread. I took another heavy swig. The wine was so savory it was hard to drink more than that. So I corked it and kept wandering, the neck of the bottle tight in my hand.

The Eiffel Tower wasn't lit up this evening but the stars were nearly as bright. A positive.

I kept a path along the river. Briefly I wondered where Dieter lived, where he was right now. But, really, the voice in my head knew where he'd be.

My feet took me out of the path of the Seine toward Champs-Élysées, the closer I got the busier the streets became. Filled with Parisian socialites dressed up and pretending the war wasn't happening and the ever constant presence of armed soldiers at every corner.

My feet took me past the Arch of Triumph back to the building that a month ago was half in shambles. Now it looked as if the bomb had never happened. There were more guards out front so I snuck around to the back where there was only two.

I ducked behind a tree and searched around for a loose rock or cobble stone. Upon finding it I threw it well down the alleyway. The guards stirred to attention and shuffled down to investigate. I took the chance and slipped in through the back door. Still too easy.

I slipped my heels off and silently climbed the stairs to the forth floor. When I turned the corner I saw a hazy stream of light beaming out from one office at the end of the hall, like a stark beam of sun in an otherwise pitch blackness. Like something out of a dream.

The closer I got to the office the smell of cigarette smoke filled my nose, and the soft sound of a gramophone playing Wagner filled the empty cavities of my mind.

The door was open and I glimpsed in to see Dieter sitting at his desk smoking and writing in a notebook slowly. His uniform jacket was off and he only wore a white button down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, his tie loose around his collar. He looked solemn, even contemplative. His posture was relaxed, every movement was slow—he would take his cigarette from his lips and tap the ash out in a crystal tray as if in a slowed motion, like nothing in the world could rush him from utter calm. He had no where else to be but right there.

Neither did I.

I relaxed against the door frame, still watching to see if he would look up. He did not. I could stand there all day, becoming a voyeur just so I could see what the real human inside Dieter was like. I had imagined this was what he was like underneath all the wool, patches, buttons, and pleats. Relaxed, contemplative, and utterly—frustratingly, handsome.

After a few moments went by without a notice, I knocked softly on the doorframe and he looked up tiredly. His eyes looked at me and he didn't react immediately.

"I knew I'd find you here," I said, unmoving. Dieter's eyes traveled from my face down to my bare feet, then back up and slowly grew a soft smile. He leaned back in his chair.

"And how did you know I'd be here?" He asked.

"I had a feeling you always find yourself here, even if you aren't working." I said, wandering in. His office had been fixed back to its original state, like nothing had happened.

Dieter stood and slipped his hands into his pockets, all casual-like and open.

"Why do you think that?" He asked.

"It's the same reason why you didn't use the bomb as an excuse to get a new office." A warm, blossoming burn deep in my stomach grew with each step he took. He stopped about a foot from me and I spoke again, "The same reason why you kept my ribbon."

To be close. If only close to the memory. I had walked passed this Gestapo building while it was being repaired more times than I could count in the last month, for the memories that erupted when I imagined Dieter being inside.

"You think this is because of you?" Dieter said. There was a lilting smirk in his voice, but it didn't seem to mock me—only rhetoric, as it was not a question. He agreed with me but wouldn't say it.

Dieter pulled two glasses from his small bar on the book shelf. He returned to his chair and set the glasses on the desk. I took this as an invitation and poured.

"Thank you." He said. There was only one chair, which seemed odd, but I resolved to sit up on the edge of his desk. He gestured to my dress. "I like this. Black suits you…You should wear more things like this."

"How do you know I don't?" I challenged, but Dieter was silent. He leaned back in his chair and looked away, ever contemplative, into the darkness. A feeling struck me, where the knot in my stomach loosened and my jaw naturally unclenched itself. I felt…calm.

"Who was he?" Dieter asked after he took a sip.

"Who?" I said dumbly, playing with the stem of my glass.

"You know who."

I sighed, "Martin, he works at a cafe I go to. He's sweet."

"Is that what you like? Sweet?" Dieter questioned, humor still in him. Our eyes connected and I couldn't help but smirk as I looked away.

"No, I don't."

"Then what do you like?"

I was confused by his question, confused as to why he wanted to know. How could he not know? Perhaps he just wanted to hear me say it. But if that's what he wanted, then I'd rather lie than tell him the truth.

"I like whimsical blondes and German accents and a questionable moral ambiguity that scares me."

"It is a good thing you're in Paris during the Nazi occupation then." Dieter said, obviously not finding my joke funny.

"I'm not completely kidding." I said, eyes wandering. I jumped off his desk and walked to the bookshelf, searching through the titles. I paused over a thick black spine at the end of the top shelf; my copy of Anna Karenina in Russian. I could recognize it anywhere.

I turned back and sat on the opposite side of him. He kept that book for a reason.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for any whimsical blondes I can send your way then." Dieter said.

I refilled our glasses, and repeated back to Dieter with the same confidence when he said it;

"You know what I mean."

Dieter left his glass untouched and looked me in the eye.

"Were you jealous?" I asked.

"No." Dieter smirked, but his tone didn't seem genuine. Or perhaps it was genuine—he found humor in my assumption. He couldn't possibly be jealous of Martin, could he?

I took a sip and fell silent. I noticed his hair had partially fallen from its greased hold, little strands came down and framed his forehead. He looked completely different than the Nazi who had interrogated me not so long ago. He looked approachable, docile.

"Will you see him again?"

"Not likely."

"And why is that?" Dieter asked and I paused.

"Not compatible." I said and Dieter looked at me with mild ire.

"Tell the truth." He said and I laughed to myself, there was no use lying to him. Not now.

"I've only ever been alone, Dieter." I started, looking at the seemingly bottomless black of the wine in my glass, "I constantly distance myself from those that could ease the loneliness. Martin was sweet, but I am too picky."

"Why?"

"If I knew I wouldn't be here." I laughed, "I wouldn't be alone in a city I don't belong. I wouldn't see men I'm hardly interested in just so I can experience a couple moments of intimacy—I…" I paused, feeling my heart harden, "I want nothing than to be understood, I feel like no one has ever seen me—not for who I really am or…or what I could be…" Dieter listened to me talk, never once indicating an interruption. I was surprised by my own calm. "Perhaps I am too picky, perhaps I should be satisfied with what's offered to me. Life is so short anyway."

"No," he said immediately, voice soft, "No, someone like you should never have to settle."

"Someone like me?" I questioned.

"With a face like that you should get whatever you want." At Dieter's words I felt my heart beat quicken, and burrow deeper in my chest. It wasn't the first time Dieter had referenced how I looked, back in the interrogation room he said something very similar, but this time it hit a little harder.

I cleared my throat, "And when I find what I want?"

Dieter turned and looked me dead in the eye, "Then you should take it."

Tearing my eyes away felt like dragging my palm over a flame.

"So says the Nazi who is used to taking whatever he wants without consequence."

"I'm not saying there wouldn't be consequences for you. It becomes the question of whether the consequences would be worse than not having what you want." Dieter lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke from his nose. "Is the consequence worse?"

I considered this, as well as my hazy mind could. With the combination of the wine and Dieter's proximity I questioned my mind's ability to make a sound decision.

"I don't know." I picked up the cigarette Dieter had left on the ashtray and placed my lips around the same filter which had just been between his. Dieter clinched his fist and breathed out heavily. "I don't even know if I'd be able to keep it."

I set the cigarette down and he picked it up, "Where would it go?"

"You tell me." I said and Dieter looked at me as he smoked. There was another silence. I sucked in what little breath he hadn't taken from me so far. His expression shift to that look. That look he gave me in the interrogation room, that look he had when he decided to let me go.

I immediately knew I had to leave before I made the situation worse. Without another word I pushed myself off the desk. Palm in the flame.

"Don't—" The strained voice behind me cutoff, so quiet I nearly missed it. I paused at the door, back still to him. I heard him get out of the chair and walk up behind me.

"Don't what?" I asked. I could feel his body behind me, so close without touching, his body heat was like a fire.

"Don't…don't leave." Dieter whispered, the deep temper of his voice nearly gutted me. I knew then just how much he needed to say that. And I knew just how much I needed him to say it as well. I needed him to say anything that expressed what he was feeling towards me. To validate these unrelenting feelings. And that phrase, 'don't leave,' was exactly it. "I cannot…I cannot bear another day…" He said in German, his voice strained like he was out of breath.

"And you think I can?" My hands raised to the door. I could either close us in or close the door behind me as I leave. Now, when the choice was simple—I could not chose. Because I wanted one so much more than the other, but in choosing so—

It was either self preservation, or self indulgence. I could not have both.

"We are supposed to hate each other, Dieter."

"It is unfortunate then, that I cannot find a single thing to hate about you." He said. "It will only get worse if we ignore it…"

"Is that a promise?"

My desire was compounded by the fear that if I did go through with it, how would things change? The tension between us, would it dissipate? Dieter didn't say anything.

I refuse to do this.

I forced myself out of his office. Tears fell from my eyes and I wiped them away with the balls of my palm. I wouldn't cry. Not now. No matter how much I wanted to turn back around.

I slammed the door of the stairwell closed but paused. The pang of danger suddenly filled my stomach as I imagined what would be waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I looked back at the door to the hall which held Dieter's office. Just looking back at the door made me feel safer.

Safe…

I spared another glance down the long stairwell then to the door again.

"Shit." I mumbled to myself and wrapped my hand around the door handle again. When I opened it a shocked gasp escaped my throat. Dieter stood there, out of breath and looking just as surprised as I was.

There was no self-control present in the moments that followed. I grabbed his tie and pulled him to my lips. Dieter pushed me against the wall of the hall, his lips hard and quick on mine. Heavy breathes inhaled and exhaled in such a flurry of excitement I couldn't decipher whose breath was whose.

"Office." I mumbled between his lips. He nodded and led me down the hall.

Dieter locked the door as he pushed me up against it. He ran his hands through my hair and kissed my neck. I sucked in a breath, feeling ticklish. Dieter pulled away and smiled above me.

He ran his hands through my hair again, before he buried his face in it.

"I love your hair." He whispered. I ran my hands through his locks and smiled.

"Your's is softer than I imagined."

"You imagined?"

"Everyday." I whispered in German. I kissed his neck with a gentle peck. Dieter shuttered from his core at the contact. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly to his chest. I huffed out a breath I'd held in for the entire month.

This was exactly what I wanted, what I needed.

"I've wanted to touch you for so long." Dieter mumbled, his hands moved to hold my face in his palms. I felt an instinctual urge to kiss him, to hold him, to touch him—more than I ever felt about anything.

Struck with more feeling, I grabbed his head and kissed him again. Impulse, instinct, impulse. Led by no sense and billowing fever in each other's heavy breaths.

Dieter pulled my hips to his and dragged his hands down my back. I let out a moan I'd never heard myself make. Deep, desperate.

"Dieter…" I breathed out.

"Mmmm…" He had me pressed against the wall still and towered over me, his hands falling and grasping and holding me. His hands, big and strong and rough to the touch, were even more electrifying than I had imagined. My skin jolted with excitement everywhere he touched. It was new. So new.

I moaned into his mouth and I found my hands wrapped around his waist, pulling his shirt up out of his pants. Dieter in turn wrapped his arms around me again, his fingers in search of a zipper.

Suddenly then, something snapped. My hazy vision became clear and I jumped away from Dieter. From the Nazi in front of me. He looked at me with his brow knitted. His hair was askew and he looked rather alluring all undone like he was.

"Dieter—" I put a hand up when he tried to step forward. I squeezed my eyes shut—the more I looked at him the more I wanted him. "Dieter we can't."

"Alma—"

"You know we can't. This…this is wrong."

"There is nothing wrong with this. This," Dieter took my hand softly and kissed it, "is everything that is right. Everything."

My eyelids fluttered and I nearly felt hypnotized by his words. Dieter pulled me close and I gripped his shirt in my fists.

"I'm not who you think I am, Dieter."

"I don't care."

"But you do. You do care." I pushed him back gently and looked in his eyes. There were traces of my lipstick on his chin.

"Nothing you can say will make me think any different. I see you, I—I know you."

"What do you mean?" I stuttered out and feared his next words.

"You are alone and you have no one—yet you refuse that which would give you peace." Dieter paused, "You are unsatisfied with what you've been offered because you know that you'll only be happy with something that scares you. Someone like me."

"I'm not scared."

"You should be, Alma."

I felt it again, that helpless urge grow within me just like in the interrogation room. But I didn't want it to overcome me.

"If we do this, I—I won't be able to stop." I barely croaked out.

"You think I would want to stop either?" Dieter took a step forward and cupped my cheek. I wanted to push his hand back and leave like I had before, but I felt tied down by a thousand invisible threads.

"What if you don't have a choice? We are on opposite sides and I—fuck, Dieter I can't go on feeling this uncertainty."

"There is no good answer to this, Alma. You know this. But I cannot go on any longer without…"

"Without what?" I questioned and Dieter's forehead fell to mine. "I've felt it the moment you first looked at me. I'm not going to pretend like this is nothing—I don't understand at all."

"Let me show you." Dieter ran his thumb over my lips, which felt puffy and wet.

"Dieter—I can't." I pushed his hand away weakly but he brought them back up and cupped my face in both his hands. "This cannot end well and you know it. And it will kill me to lose this."

"I cannot go on any longer without you, Alma." Dieter said, searching my eyes. I searched his eyes, his face, but he was still. "You are more important than this war."

"…What?"

"Let me show you." Dieter said and kissed me. I fell into his lips and nearly succumbed to them. But I pushed him back.

"It's just not true Dieter." I saw nothing but his eyes. Tears fell from mine. "We don't even know each other—"

"I know everything I need to know about you, Alma." Dieter attempted to plead, if it could even be called that. He was so sure of everything I nearly felt intimidated.

"You know nothing—don't make this harder." I said. I separated myself from him and wiped my tears from my cheeks. "You are a Nazi, Dieter."

Dieter's eyes grew cold, the tension in his jaw rippled.

"And I have never negated that fact. It is you who chose to ignore it." These were the words that did it.

I sucked in a breath but hardly any air came. "If you think—" I paused to gain some semblance of control on my thoughts, "If you think I forgot for a second that you—that I let myself fall in this trap—I never forgot, Dieter. And it's tearing me up inside."

"Then it's not me you need to contend with, it's yourself." He grabbed my hand by the wrist and held it over his heart. "Is it me you want, or the uniform?"

I ripped my hand away, my mind firing blank spurts of bright white light in replace of thoughts. I tore the door back open and slammed it closed behind me. Damned if anyone heard it.