Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Seventeen

I bet you're not ;)

"Those were my friends I'm sorry," I said.

"It's okay."

○ ○ ○

The next hour consisted of me trying to turn down Theo's good graces. The more that he was being nice, the more the guilt simmered in me. First, he offered his bathroom for me to shower in, then he proposed to take me for a brunch at Camden Market. Upon finding out, however, that we were in Camden and I had no idea how the hell to go home, I gave in. His rationalization being: I can see that you don't know how you got here nor how to go from here when I tried to argue that I can commute.

I accepted everything he said, constantly saying thank you and I'm sorry, thinking that that would even us out. And so, we find ourselves in the busy heart of Camden.

I try to ignore the filthy feeling of wearing the same thing from the sweaty club last night because I couldn't bare accepting more of Theo's help, like wearing his shirt. This feeling however escapes me almost immediately when I take in our surroundings.

A mesmerized expression found its way on my face for every stall and shop we pass by. Noticing this, Theo suggested that we look around first before eating. That made me want to check out everything we ever saw but I wanted to reserve that for a much better time. Glimpses are enough.

The Camden Market is eclectic, to say the least. Flamboyant signs fought for my attention. One moment you see huge sculpted shoes protruding from a building, the next you find Mad Hatter by the side of the road offering you tea.

I didn't expect to be met with such a colorful morning. Theo knew what he was doing by suggesting we go here.

"This place is amazing," I described, feeling that even amazing can barely cover the eccentric splendor of every corner of this place.

"I know," he agreed. "That's why I decided long minutes of drive to Birkbeck and Barbican are better than to be away from this town."

I nodded, taking a bite on my protein crepe as I feel my taste buds thank me for the savory treat. I almost make inhuman sounds over the blend of eggs, spinach, and salmon in my mouth. Even the food here is, unsurprisingly, amazing.

After maybe an hour of walking under the soft scorch of the late morning's sunlight, we found Nojo's crepes as the perfect hangover brunch. In my pursuit to further redeem us from the awkward upshots of last night, I insisted to pay for the food to which he reluctantly agreed to.

While we finish our crepes, he talked about his childhood which took place not here in Camden, but in the northern, in Manchester. He shared the crazy reasons he made up just so he and his brother and sister could stay in Greater Manchester which he preferred over the urban workplace of his father and grandfather in the city. He would act sick or if he really didn't feel like it, just throw tantrums so bad it actually works. He sights those antics as, perhaps, the reason why he ended up in Psychology. He knew how to work through other peoples' emotions.

I notice the way he tiptoed around the details of his life. There was hesitant stutter over the mention of a second house in Edinburgh, then a third, and a fourth over at Sweden, before finally telling me that his family lives a comfortable life. By comfortable, he basically meant rich.

I didn't entirely mind this confession except that I finally understood why his flat is quite the luxury in appearance or why he drove a sleek Bugatti Veyron.

"My great grandfather had a business that luckily survived until today," he said unassumingly. He genuinely looked like he didn't want to come across as spoiled and for that I can say he's modest at best. "It's my dad doing the work now though."