Until you came (Zarry) /English Version

39. Amnesia

When I entered the guest room this morning, the bed was empty and neatly made. Nothing reminded me that Zayn slept here...except for the smell of alcohol hanging in the air.

Disappointed, I open the window and look out. Dewy morning air is chilly and it smells like fresh grass. I greedily inhale the fresh air into my lungs. For the last few hours I slept restlessly. Again and again I had to think of Zayn, of our secret relationship. The tide had turned for me. Suddenly I'm not so sure anymore if I can give him up so easily and stay with Taylor as if Zayn never existed.

Last night he said several times that I am his husband. At this thought I couldn't help but smile. I like that he sees us that way...as a couple. Does my feeling prevail to spend my life with him? Sexually speaking, it does. Do I want to have a homosexual relationship? I can't give that answer yet, my imagination is still fuzzy. Time will tell.

The loud ringing of the doorbell rouses me from my thoughts. Slowly I go to the door and open it.

"Zayn!"

"Hello, Harry." he says and looks embarrassed on the floor. "Um...thanks for letting me sleep in your house. I hope I didn't cause you so much trouble. I'm terribly sorry about that. I mean, I don't even know why I came to you. I'm so sorry."

For a second, I've been dumbfounded. Zayn says words that deeply hurt me. He is very distant; as if we hardly know each other. I don't know what I expected instead...maybe a kiss, a hug, a gesture that shows what I mean to him? I try to read in his eyes how he feels about me. All I see is void and apathy. I am frustrated.

"Zayn, that's okay. We're glad nothing happened to you on the way. Do you want to come in? I could make us a coffee," I ask and hope he doesn't refuse my offer and that I have the opportunity to talk to him longer.

"No, thanks, Harry. Actually, I need my key." He clears his throat and waits.

My heart is racing. The key. That's the only reason he's here? I am quite disappointed.

"Yes, of course... the key." I stutter and cannot hide the disappointment.

"Zayn?"

"Mmh?"

"Do you remember last night?" I want to know.

He shakes his head and looks at the floor again, embarrassed.

"Not at all and I guess It's not the worst thing that can happen to me. This morning I felt like I was run over by a lorry," he replies and smiles for a millisecond.

He doesn't remember! He doesn't remember our night together; our tenderness, our sex. Is it possible that all of that is of no importance whatsoever? Were all the words he said yesterday a lie? I would like to ask him if he still loves me, if he wants to share his life with me, as he once said.

"What are you doing? Are you going to your apartment?" I ask instead.

Zayn does not answer my question, but reaches for the key.

"Take care, Harry. Thanks for everything and say hello to Taylor for me."

Before I can react in any way, he leaves the landing and walks away.

I look after him for a very long time and brood over the last sentence.

Was that a goodbye?

Zayn

After two more hours in the gallery I finally arrive in my oasis. Already in the staircase I inhale the smell of the old house. There it is again, this musty smell. But the fly in the ointment came without delay. The last time I was here, Harry was at my side. I try to drive the memories away. It should be our oasis. In the end only I am left over.

The old wooden door locked itself behind me. For a brief moment I lean my back against it and close my eyes. I hear voices coming from the stairwell, I hear clattering on the steps and somewhere a little child is crying for his mother. I enjoy absorbing all these strange noises. I am alone and yet not completely cut off from the world. I am not lonely, I am only alone.

My feet are taking me to the kitchen. I don't enter the living room. I'm afraid of it because I don't know what to expect there. Harry was there last. We slept together in that room. I confessed my love to him there and then everything wrecked.

The kitchen window creaks when I open it. I sit down on the window sill, drawing up my legs and smoke a cigarette. I blow the cigarette smoke out of the window. The backyard of the house is colourful. A blue-painted garden bench stands under a willow. All around, roses and dahlias are blooming. It's an earthly paradise.

Someday I'll sit on this bench and dream. Later I have to paint this subject. In my mind I already mix the colours and apply them to the canvas.

The message tone of my phone rouses me from my thoughts. I fish for the mobile phone in my pocket and take a look at it. The screen lit up with a text message.

Harry

"Zayn, can we talk?"

How am I supposed to answer that? Do I want to talk? Looking for an answer, I put the phone aside. No, I don't want to talk, I don't want to meet him. Instead I light another cigarette.

Later, when I prepare myself something to eat, it occurs to me that I have to inform my wife. I had completely forgotten that. Gigi stormed out of the house in rage and never returned. So I send her the unpleasant text message that I won't come back home before the opening.

While I eat my lunch in silence, there's a knock on my door. I jump up and have no idea who is coming to visit me here. There is only one who knows the secret. Harry.

With a throbbing heart I go to the entrance. For a short time I pause, then I open the door.

"Zayn."