On the Fritz

Chapter 2 - Part 2

Fritz coming over was the reason Rafael slept very poorly that Friday night. He tried to console himself by putting Amelie on, which was usually his last resort when he wanted to feel better, but even that was a weak distraction. Mostly, he tossed about in his sheets and tried to get the feeling of Fritz's fist punching through his gut out of his head, but nothing seemed to help.

It felt like he was 14 again, sitting in his darkened room and reading the comments of that stupid Facebook post over and over. His skin was crawling, he was sweaty and clammy, and it was the exact same fear.

As if things couldn't get worse, it only felt like he'd been asleep for a few hours when his mum opened the door and loudly asked, "Hi, what time's your friend coming over?"

Rafael had rolled over, swathed tightly in his own duvet, and opened his eyes to his alarm clock. The glowing green numbers informed him that, presuming he didn't show up any earlier, he had 13 minutes until a really hot guy strode through his living room with 20 bucks and an essay to finish. He fought his way out of the sheets, ran into his kitchen, and poured himself a full glass of orange juice that he immediately began downing.

"I have open homes half past 10 through until four," Rafael's mother said, wandering out from the hallway as she pulled her coat over her shoulders. "Oh, and a meeting at six. Who's coming over again? Tom?"

Rafael gulped for air, set his glass down, and told her, "Nope. Fritz."

"That's a new one," Constance pointed out, and when Rafael glanced over, she gave him a very obvious wink. Rafael felt the blood drain from his face. This wasn't going to plan, and he was no longer certain the lens would be worth it.

He made a bleary stumble down the hall and into the bathroom, where he kicked the door shut and had the most nervous piss he'd had in a long while. This was bad and getting worse fast, and for God's sake, when was his mum leaving?

He ran the tap so hard water shot back up at his chest, and he brushed his teeth like he was trying to strip paint. He spat into the sink. Rafael stared into the mirror, his eyes dry and his skin drier. He hated that his past self had agreed to this, he hated that lens, and he was really, really hoping Fritz got rear-ended on the drive over.

He ran back down the hall and into his bedroom, immediately shedding his pyjamas in favour of pulling on skinny jeans, frantically jumping around the room as he tried to get them past his thighs. He yanked open the curtains, ignored Sigourney as she bumbled around with her tail wagging around his legs, and swept everything on the floor very hastily under his bed.

The combination of exhaustion and anxiety not settling well, Rafael trudged back into the living room where his far more cohesive mum was piling folders into her arms. "Well," she said, picking up her sunglasses from the dining table, "say hi to our mystery guest for me, won't you?"

"At this rate," Rafael said glumly, "you'll meet him."

Rafael had been kidding, but it was at this moment that Sigourney's ears pricked up. Constance and Rafael both went still, and there it was, the distant crunching of gravel that was only getting louder. Constance's face grew a sick and twisted smile that only an overbearing mother could pull off.

"I'll get it," she said pleasantly, and started for the door.

While Rafael held onto Sigourney as she wriggled like an arthritic worm against her collar, he heard every word they exchanged, and every inch of his body was crawling. It was an uncharacteristically pleasant greeting from Fritz, a surprised hello from his mother who did not expect Fritz to look like that, shortly followed by the door closing with a hasty goodbye. That was it - Rafael was looking at Fritz beaming cheerfully from his living room rug.