At first, I had been ashamed of it, can you believe it?
Not of him, of course, but of trying something as pathetic as online dating.
It had been on a whim of cocaine, when even two lines didn't work to cure my despair. After four photo shoots that week on equal amounts of continents, I was not only physically exhausted, but mentally done with this life. In the dizzy rush, some Baileys with coffee being added to it, I had somehow managed to download a fucking dating app to get some male attention.
It had worked. Even if I only had a photo of my hands, people had written to me, begging to take care of me. When I woke up the next day, I couldn't understand why they had made such caretaking suggestions, but then I saw what I had written in my profile. I had basically asked for gentleness, which was a goldmine for daddy doms.
I had groaned. What the fuck had I been playing at? I panicked as I saw I had even answer most of those who had written to me, not wanting to upset anyone. Thank God I hadn't given anything away about myself.
As I did a line, I contemplated what the men had said or done if they knew I was Madara, the world-famous fashion model. They'd probably freak out. Or demand to meet me. Or offer me their hand-wrenched hearts on a plate.
One conversation had caught my eye, though. Even if it was the most anonymous profile, it was the most heart-felt conversation. The only one I felt I hadn't talked to only to be polite.
Oh, this man. H... Even in the Baileys haze, I remembered some glimmers of the conversation from the night before without reading it. Or, rather, I remembered the feeling it conjured in my heart. A feeling of safety. Of joy. Of happiness.
He had asked me how I was. I had confessed I was terrible. He had asked me why. I had refused to answer, but he hadn't been a dick about it, like the rest. Instead, he'd kept the conversation up softly. Not once had he asked me to meet up.
As I brushed my teeth that morning, no breakfast and only one line of cocaine in my system, I felt I wanted to write to him again.
That had been two months ago, and since then, we had written every day. Always anonymously. Never revealing anything major.
He had given my life meaning. He had given me a purpose. I just wasn't sure what that purpose was.
And now, I would see him. I would finally, finally see him.
It would change my life forever.
I stared at my phone screen.
Incoming call.
I pulled my fingers through my hair, even if I wasn't going to be on video. I leaned to the side and did a line for luck, chugged some of my rosé wine. I wasn't all that fond of wine, but this one cost thousands of dollars, and I felt like I needed to like it.
Then, I took a deep breath...
And I answered the call.
My half of the screen was black, as I only had audio. His, however, was not.
And there he was.
I hadn't worried that I would think he was unappealing to me. The thought hadn't even struck me that I would not like what I saw. This, however... This was something else.
His chest was smooth, completely free of hair. He had some visible muscle going on, and his skin tone was darker than mine, enhanced by his fair shirt. I could just see a pair of strong collarbones, but no chin. I could just see he had two tattoos; realistic lightning bolts climbing over his hip bones stretching towards his stomach. I could see just the hint of a bun in his neck, letting me know his hair was long.
I felt myself blush. Not only blush; my skin was boiling. My hand had moved to cover my mouth on its own accord; I had no memory of telling it to do that. I hadn't even dared to look at his nipples yet, but a quick glance told me they were the colour of my favourite Belgian chocolate, and probably just as delicious.
In that moment, I knew I was done for. I knew there was absolutely no going back from this situation for as long as I lived.
"Hi, H", I whispered.
He didn't answer at first, just waved, as if ashamed of his voice. Then, he tentatively spoke.
"Hi, M."
His voice sent shockwaves of pleasure down my spine. I couldn't help but fantasise about tracing his lightning bolts with my tongue, making him moan with that dark, soft voice of his.
We couldn't speak. He couldn't see me, but I could tell, even if I couldn't see his face, that he was just as mesmerised by this situation as I was.
One minute passed. Two minutes. He was almost completely still, like a marble statue. Looking like one.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. If a line and a shot couldn't help me, how could a breath? I pulled the sleeves of my cardigan down over many hands for comfort.
Then, I just did what we had decided I would do.
"I'm famous. And I mean famous-famous. I cannot walk out of my apartment to go buy milk in the grocery store without paparazzi chasing me. I have more money than an army could get rid of in two lifetimes."
For some reason, tears started running down my face; I was crying. I never cried.
"I'm a fashion model. I won't tell you my name just yet. But you must have seen me on a billboard or other. I used to love it. But now, I'm ashamed of it. Especially..."
I had to take a break. I dared to look at the gorgeous man in front of me. He was still unmoving, but if I looked closely, I saw he was breathing. His chest looked so inviting to me, and all I wanted to do was to cuddle up with my head on it. Would he want me to?
I continued.
"Especially since having met you. Since you do so much good for the world." I snivelled. "I have considered stopping, but I can't. Because whatever I do, I won't be as good at it as I have been at modelling."
I looked at my coffee table where a few grains of my white powered whispered of my addiction. I knew I had to tell him at some point. Not because I needed to talk about it, but for his sake. Because he needed to know in order to decide for himself if he even wanted to be with an addict or not.
"I have done nothing for this world except imprint my appearance on it. At the same time, I feel selfish. Because how selfish is that? To want to do something good to be remembered by?"
H was still unmoving. I snivelled a bit more, huddled into my cardigan. I felt pathetic in front of this beautiful, competent man.
I smiled a little.
"Look at you", I said. "So young. A trauma surgeon at thirty. So beautiful you could do my job as well."
"You haven't even seen my face."
I could hear he was smiling, too, even if his voice was stern.
"Seeing your face is my biggest dream right now."
"Oh, you gorgeous soul", he murmured, causing me to shiver. "Well", he continued. "What do you think?"
"About?"
"About me."
I realised then how big of a reveal this was for him. What did I know; maybe it was a bigger deal for him to show his torso than it was for me to reveal I was famous?
I reached my hand out to the phone screen, put my fingertips likely on the pixels representing his skin. Suddenly, I wished he could see me, too.
"You are beautiful", I said. "And what do you... What do you think of what I told you?"
At this, H moved so he switched position. For the fraction of a second, I could see his long legs as he crossed them beneath him on his couch. I couldn't breathe.
"M", he said. "I want you to listen to me very, very carefully. I never, ever want you to compare yourself to what I do."
"But-"
He held up a hand.
"Be quiet for me, will you, pet?"
I blushed like a madman at this. It was one thing to see it written on screen. It was a completely different thing to hear him say it in his honey-warm voice.
"Yes, master", I whispered without thinking; it came naturally to me.
I was pleased to see that my answer shocked him into a short silence, and smiled a little through my blush.
"Good boy." Oh, what a comeback. "Now, listen. I don't want you to compare yourself to me, ever. It's not about who holds the most important employment. There is a clear demand for the things you do, and if you don't do them, that place needs to be filled by someone else. M... I'm proud to know you. Not because you're famous. But because even if I don't know who you are, from what you have told me, you're clearly an intelligent, self-reflecting man who cares what others think. And that, even if it can fuck us up sometimes, is a good quality to have because it means others are important to you."
I took what he was saying in looking down, not daring to meet his picture.
"That's such beautiful thing to say", I whispered.
"You're worthy of beautiful things", he said. "And I thank you endlessly for sharing this with me. Do you..." He shifted a bit again, and for just a second, I could see a small, square chin. "Do you regret it? Telling me?"
I shook my head before remembering he couldn't see me.
"No. Not even a little bit. Meeting you." I sighed. "God, it sounds so naive, but it's turning out to be one of the most important things that has ever happened to me. And it gets me thinking..." I had realised this just now, and the words came stumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. "There has been so many bad things in my life that had to happen in order for us to meet. And I can't regret them anymore."
Shit. Had I revealed too much? Would he start asking me what I meant? Did I have to tell him I did drugs now? What if he left me tonight?
But apparently, I needn't have worried.
"Good, pet", H purred, and I squirmed in his praise.
We were quiet for a while, and it was a silence that was tense, but not awkward. I didn't want him to leave, and I didn't think he wanted to leave, either.
"M?"
"Mmm?"
"I was just about to feed the cat and them myself. In that order. Fuck putting your own mask on before helping your children and all that." I laughed at this, and as he stood up, I could see a beautiful ragdoll following him. "I would love some dinner company."
"So you are a crazy cat lady?" I said, and he laughed, and the situation was suddenly so normal, I felt a jolt of happiness through my heart.
We hung out for the rest of the evening, me without video, him never showing his face. We talked about light things, and we laughed together.
"What's your cat's name?"
"She's Schrödinger."
"What kind of name is that?" I snorted.
"After Schrödinger. A man of science who said something about a cat being in a box and not being there at the same time, or something. Physics were never really my thing. I was a biology boy."
"Is she named after a male?"
"Schrödinger was his last name. And we shouldn't just assume her gender!"
"You mean their gender? You're cancelled!"
H laughed heartily at this, and his laugh was contagious.
He made a beautiful noodle dish that made me ashamed of my omelette, even if I stuffed it with bell pepper and mushrooms and spinach and it looked pretty good. He took it to his living room table and then, we sort of had a dinner date.
I was happy he couldn't see me, because as he went about his business, folding laundry and cleaning out his cat's litter box, I lay down on my couch just watching him. And drinking Baileys; I might as well finish the bottle as I had opened it.
It's you. I think it's you.
Then, my phone alarm went off, and I jerked.
"Shit!" I screamed.
"What's wrong?"
"Apparently, I have a flight to Sri Lanka tomorrow. At eight am?! Are you fucking kidding me?! And I haven't even done laundry!"
I stood up and started throwing things in my suitcase, blushing. I waited to hear H tell me off for having such a bad insight into my own life, but he just laughed.
"Aren't you lovely?"
I packed in just an hour, and then, I lay down in bed, exhausted.
And I realised H was in bed, too, because...
I sucked my breath in.
"H?"
"So you notice now, pet?" he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Never before had I met someone with such an audible smile.
"Yes", I whispered.
H was in bed, and I could see the silhouette of his face. His hair was loose now, and I could see the hint of how it spread on his pillow. I wanted to dive into that pillow and devour closeness from him; demand it. Through the faint light from his window, I could see the contour of a strong nose, and I was filled with a desire to touch it with mine.
"Shall we sleep?" I asked and yawned.
"Yes. But put your phone in its charger. So you won't miss your flight."
"But I want to miss my flight!"
"That would have been heavenly", H purred. "Then we could do this all over again."
"Maybe..." I began and looked down with a blush. "Maybe I can call you from Thailand?"
At this, he reached his hand out as if wanting to caress my head, then seemed to remember I wasn't there.
"I desire nothing else more dearly", he said.
"Goodnight, H", I yawned.
"Goodnight, M."
I fell asleep, not even thinking of the fact that I hadn't done a line in hours.
When my alarm woke me up the next day, the call had died, but my heart and soul were both alive.