Adam had been interrogated about the content of the letter that the prison officer retrieved from the crevice of the wall. He claimed that he didn't know anything about it, and it was true. But a detective always doubts. So he let Adam go but kept the letter to investigate some of the people and the locations listed there. Apparently, part of Richard's plan had worked out!
Since that moment, even before - to be fair - he attempted to make contact with Debora again. She wouldn't answer any calls and replied with quick text messages instead. That was all the contact they had in the past month: an endless exchange of messages that led nowhere. He was annoyed that she never made quality time for him and strongly suspected that it was all thanks to his - now called - former best mate. How he hated and envied Joel lately! So much that he couldn't even realize that his own intervention based on his fear had caused the whole situation. His fear became his reality. Of course, who can blame him, with such a terminal diagnosis? But the truth is that in praxis we never know if today is our last day, however, we dare take the next day, year, even decades, for granted! "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof." (Matthew 6:34) - thus says, Jesus.
During his drive to the Opera House, a battle raged in his head; many of the bible verses he knew were playing like a broken record. He quickly realized that the less he cared about those Christian thoughts, the quicker they faded, and that was how his conscience grew calloused. When he arrived at the destination, he didn't even care to find a parking lot, he just stopped as close as possible to the emblematic building of Sydney.
He had arrived there at lunchtime, and he was expecting to see his beloved come out to fetch something to eat; it would be his great chance to finally talk to her. But she was taking longer than usual and the impatience started growing on him. He waited nonetheless, entertaining his thoughts with the last moments he had shared with her in his parents' penthouse. Soon, without him noticing, the events coordination team headed out for lunch, and when he cared to open his eyes, there was skinny Joel next to a hot black chick, going together in the direction of an apartment building nearby. That sight infuriated him, and he struck the steering wheel. The pair was walking in a restricted area where his car couldn't go; pillars were preventing that type of invasion. Even if he walked to them, the distance was still considerable for him to reach them on time.
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What a day! Debora was the one complaining about her feet when she arrived home late. She put her shoes aside, while Joel worked on something for their dinner. That night they would be eating take-out, she could tell by the smell; it revolved her stomach. She had made quite an entrée in the kitchen, even startled her mate: barefoot, wearing an executive dress, and with her hair - that had been tied up all day - out.
"What's for dinner?" She asked.
"Wow, your hair!" It wasn't the first time he saw her like that, but it was always interesting to watch the pieces of art that her hair could do.
She walked into the kitchen, nonchalantly, and grabbed herself a glass to drink some water.
"I bet I look ugly now."
He let out a giggle and replied afterward:
"Even looking like a volcano erupted on your head, you look better than any woman that I know."
"What are you trying to get from me with those compliments?" She leaned onto the counter, and as she was drinking water, she felt ready to crash soon. "Chinese for dinner?"
"Yeah!" He confirmed.
"It's better than a pizza." She tried to look at it on the bright side.
"I've arrived like twenty minutes ago." He had picked out his tuxedo and her petrol green dress from a laundry shop. "I figured I wouldn't have time to cook anything, besides I thought you liked Asian food." Joel was finished preparing the trays with their food.
"Not anymore. But we've never talked about this, so you must have assumed."
"Sorry." He struggled to pick up the trays. "I shouldn't have assumed."
"Do you need help with anything, fake-sports-man?" She wanted to lay a hand, but she couldn't help comment on his clothes.
He was wearing an oversize grey sweater, blue sweat pants, and a pair of white socks. Winter was there and he liked to feel cozy at home.
"I got it." He was amused by her presence. "I just need to take these to the small table in the living room." He started walking out of the kitchen carrying the trays. "I'm preparing a special dinner." He winked at her, very amused and excited.
"Are you?" She made an intriguing grimace while defying him.
He laughed out loud and carried out his mission. She followed him, curious like a cat. The living room smelled nice, he had lit some scented candles and there was champagne and flutes on the table as well, and then those dreadful carton boxes of Chinese food and sticks on the side. Debora shook her head in compassion. She realized that he wasn't any good at that, but she could feel the effort he had taken to arrange that setting.
"Please sit down." He commanded politely.
"Oh!" Debora didn't expect such assertiveness from him. "Ok." She obeyed him, as he tried to adjust her pillows.
"Alright!" He knelt, facing her once she was all set. "So, let me open this." He grabbed the champagne.
"What are we celebrating?" She asked while she held onto the flutes, to help him out.
"That prize we won." He replied, trying to concentrate on opening the bottle.
"By your reaction, it didn't sound like a big deal to you."
"I don't think we're talking of the same thing." No, he wasn't talking about the National Photography Prize.
He finally managed to safely open the bottle. Debora was relieved that he hadn't made a big mess with that. He poured some champagne into her flute and then into his. When he was going to take a sip from his drink, she interrupted him, questioning:
"Aren't we gonna make a toast?"
"Uh..." He was taken aback. "Alright, if you want to." He just wanted to please her.
"Well..." She felt awkward to have proposed a toast. "Never mind." She put her flute down and tried to erase the thing from her memory. "Let's eat instead."
He breathed deeply because he had something that he wanted to say before anything else.
"There are a few things that I'd like to tell you before we start eating. If you're not too hungry."
"I'm not that hungry for Chinese, anyways." She complained. "Sorry." She appreciated his intention, but not the food. "So, tell me." She tried to encourage him.
"First of all, I wanna say that I appreciate you." He was so nervous to tell her how he felt, but he knew that it was the right time. "We've been friends, and the more I've gotten to know you, the more my feelings for you have developed." Her reaction didn't seem as positive as he expected; she was silent, and it felt like she was trying to hide from something. "Mm..." He hesitated a little. "You're an amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman, and I..." He stopped. Her reaction intrigued him so much that he felt discouraged. He looked down, disappointed for an instant.
"Joel," she perceived that she had somehow hurt his feelings. "Don't lose heart, I have feelings for you too. But I just feel too ugly to be having such a meaningful conversation!" She exclaimed, standing on her feet. "Just let me freshen up a bit, you deserve it."
He watched her leave the room so swiftly that he didn't really have time to react. He stood up because staying on his knees wasn't that comfortable, and waited.
In the meantime, Debora was looking at herself in the mirror, tying her hair up in a bun, but nothing she did helped her reveal all the beauty that Joel claimed to see in her. It was supposed to be five minutes, then it turned into twenty, and he decided to meet her. The door to the bathroom was open, so he leaned onto the wall next to the mirror, watching her working on her looks.
"What is taking you so long?" He asked.
"I'm not coping with my massive hair." She complained as she struggled to put it all in a bun.
"You don't need to do that." He was absolutely stunned by her.
"I should at least look good for the occasion."
"You're gorgeous no matter what you do," He showed an attractive confidence. "Besides, I fell for you because you're the woman God has for me."
"Really?" She left the hair alone for a moment, amazed by the confidence of his confession.
"Yeah." He caressed her cheek. "But do you have a confirmation that I'm the man God has for you?"
"Yes, definitely." She confirmed, and then a smile drew on her face. "But I should at least do something to my hair..."
"Don't." He caressed her hair and tried to pass his fingers through it, but they just got stuck in the density of its curls, and he then retrieved his hand.
Debora giggled. "I love my natural hair, but it isn't a conventional romantic type of hair." She declared. "But yours is!" She put her hand on his soft and silky hair.
He was delighted by her affectionate touch, which was new, and so pleasant to his senses that he didn't even hesitate or rationalize for a second that they were getting physically closer until their lips met and they shared their first romantic kiss. Fortunately, Joel gave ear to the still small voice in his head and parted from her.
"Oh, wow!" He was stunned that something like that happened so quickly and unexpectedly. "I didn't mean to do this."
"You didn't?" She was curious. "I mean, you are attracted to me, aren't you?"
"Yes." He was confused. "But I don't wanna use you to gratify my desires."
"So, what do we do?"
"I move out. I don't think it is wise for us to live in the same apartment anymore, at least not until we're married."
"I see." She looked sad with that news. "But I think you're right. I don't wanna feel nor guilt, nor shame and then hate you for that."
"I'm gonna look for a solution tomorrow." He stated. "But, right now we should eat our Chinese food; it's gonna be ice cold."
"Yes, you're right." She agreed to that. "Your touch is so tender though, Joe!" She was surprised by the tenderness and gentleness of his kiss and really appreciated him for that. "It's gonna be a long night, knowing that you'll be just a wall away from me."
Her declaration gave him confidence.
"It's just this night, I promise." He meant that. "If - that is - I can manage to find somewhere else to go." He knew it was going to be hard. "If not, we're just gonna have to get by and resist."