"I know a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol is not the answer."
"We're not here to drink," Mateo asserted, glaring at Jake. "And alcohol is a great solution to many problems. Let's put that topic aside for now, we can discuss it some other day."
"Then why are we at a bar?" Jake asked, squinting at the decrepit building in front of him. Mateo had brought him there after visiting hours at the hospital were over.
"I'll tell you once we're inside."
"If I wake up in jail the next morning, we're never talking again."
Mateo rolled his eyes at Jake before strolling into the bar. Jake followed him reluctantly. He regarded his surroundings with mild interest. There were a few tables placed haphazardly on the dirty floor. Only four of them were being used by customers. Peanut shells were strewn across the counter behind which the bartender was seated. He was reading an old magazine, flipping the pages slowly.
"It's nice to see you spending your time reading something worthwhile," Mateo commented, peeking at the cover of the magazine.
"It's nice to see you bring another boy in here to listen to you whine," the bartender shot back, grinning.
"I bring life to this dump and you know it."
"Sure, whatever makes you feel better."
Jake could tell that there was sincerity beneath the sarcasm. He probably knew something about Mateo's life and felt sympathy for him.
"We're going to use the stage now, if you don't mind," Mateo declared, his eyes focused on a raised platform in a corner of the room.
"Go ahead," the bartender replied, shrugging.
"The stage?" Jake asked nervously. "For what? Stripping?"
"You can do that if you want," Mateo said, snickering. "But that's not what I'm here for."
"Did you feel the sudden urge to take part in a karaoke competition?"
"Does this place look like a venue for a karaoke competition?"
"No," Jake conceeded.
"This is one of the ways I deal with my disorder," Mateo finally explained.
"What?"
"See these people?" Mateo pointed at a few men who looked like they had passed out on tables near the stage. "They are so drunk, they'll cheer at whatever you say. Whenever I desperately crave validation and attention, I come here and whine, like Ray said earlier."
"Really? Whatever you say?" Jake questioned, looking skeptical.
"I'll show you."
Mateo ran up the stairs leading to the stage. He stood in the middle, cleared his throat once before declaring, "I'm a fuck-up who just had a meltdown in a hospital's parking lot!"
Two men who appeared conscious, but not entirely aware of their actions, raised their glasses and screamed words of encouragement.
The strange sight made Jake's mouth fall open slightly. He hadn't expected such an enthusiastic response to Mateo's statement. No wonder he indulged in this peculiar activity often.
"I hate people with small minds and big mouths!"
"I feel you, brother," a man responded, nodding.
"One of my closest friends got hurt and I could do nothing about it."
Jake saw Mateo's confident posture change, as he appeared to deflate like a balloon pricked by a needle. After a few tense moments, he seemed to shake off the despair that had clung to him and smirked at his audience.
"Now, my friend Jake will take over with the complaining. It's his first time, so be nice."
"What?" Jake hissed, refusing to budge from his place.
"Come on Jakey, don't be shy."
The few people that were still listening agreed with Mateo, and started to chant 'Jakey' repeatedly.
"Here," Ray muttered, sliding a shot glass across the counter to Jake. "Liquid courage."
Jake was about to turn the offer down, but changed his mind, grabbed the glass and emptied it. He winced at the burning sensation in his throat that followed, then started to make his way towards the stage. Mateo pulled him up when he reached the steps, and made sure he was standing in the centre before leaving.
"I'm not sure how to do this," Jake mumbled, staring at his feet.
"Just start ranting," Mateo hissed, hands cupped around his mouth.
"Uh... I'm a hypocrite."
"That's a good start," a stranger remarked, trying to be supportive.
"I used to believe that I was somebody who tried his best to understand other people and accept them as they were. But I'm not. I'm judgmental, and I except others not to be. I also don't always do the right thing but I expect others to."
Jake felt surprisingly lighter after his first confession, so words continued to spill from his mouth, faster and faster with every passing minute.
"I sucked at being an older brother. The world is cruel and I couldn't protect my sister from it. Sometimes I convince myself that I saved her life, but it was my fault that she felt she had to die. I blame my parents all the time, but maybe I was equally guilty since I did nothing to reach out to her either."
Jake noticed Mateo smile starting to droop at the corners, but he continued to speak.
"I never let myself feel guilty for anything but maybe I deserve the burden. Maybe I deserve to feel awful for not being better. For being so selfish and turning my back on anyone who might need help. Remember when you talked about how people turned away from the suffering of others, Mateo? I was reminded of myself when I heard that. I do the same thing, not because I don't care, but because I care too much and am trying to spare myself pain. But in doing so, I am disregarding the pain that others are going through. I'm not a good person. I have tried so long to look away from the truth, but I can't anymore."
Jake took a deep breath and finally looked Mateo in the eye, whose blank expression didn't give anything away.
"I didn't get any of that!" a man wearing a crumpled suit yelled, distracting him. "But good for you."
Jake cracked a smile at that, shook his head and walked off the stage. He took a seat on the barstool next to Mateo and ordered another shot.
"Thought you weren't going to drink."
"Fuck it. I deserve to wake up with a terrible hangover."
"But I don't deserve another day with your grumpy, hungover ass. We're leaving."
"No," Jake screamed as Mateo started to pull him out of the bar. His hands reached for something substantial to hold, but grasped nothing but air.
"Self-pity isn't a good look for you," Mateo remarked. "I'm one of the few who can pull it off."
"Lies."
"Name one contemporary poet who wouldn't love to turn my suffering into a poem."
"Poets are like leeches. Except instead of blood, they'll take your secrets. What's worse is that they'll try to fit them on paper and make them look pretty. But pain isn't beautiful, and it's not meant to be bottled up and sold to strangers."
"Are you sure you've had just one drink?"
"I dated a poet once. Well, went on one date with," Jake revealed, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm guessing the date didn't go well."
"It was fine, actually. Then she told me that there wouldn't be more by sending me a shitty poem she wrote. We had been friends for a few weeks, and I made the mistake of telling her about Lexa. She used that in her poem. Said that I treated everyone like they were as fragile as my sister, and she couldn't deal with that."
"Ouch."
"I know right? I don't understand women sometimes."
"That was one girl, Jake. No offense, but you can be a total Ross sometimes," Mateo stated.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm a nice boy, why won't girls date me? Why can't they give me a chance?" Mateo used a high-pitched voice to illustrate his point.
"You're attacking a beloved character from a well-known TV show right now. Tread lightly."
"Your warning makes me shake in my boots."
Jake sighed and stomped his foot to show frustration, which did nothing but make Mateo laugh. The two had reached the spot where the bike was parked.
"Come on," Mateo commanded, pushing a helmet into Jake's hand as he refused to pick it up himself and stood glaring at the pavement.
"I'm nothing like Ross," Jake muttered, reluctantly slipping the helmet on as he took his place on the passenger seat.
"Are you kidding me? You look at Astrid like she's the only woman in the room, but never try to ask her out. You claim you're working up the courage to do so, but you really have no idea how to treat her like a person."
"There's nothing wrong about being too shy to ask someone out."
"There isn't. But agreeing to a plan that invoves changing nearly everything about yourself, hoping to appear more attractive to her is kind of sketchy. She's like a concept to you. Nothing more than a manic pixie dream girl to makes yours," Mateo alleged, starting the bike.
Jake couldn't believe that a trope was being used to describe Astrid. He detested tropes, especially the MPDG and the naïve young man who fell in love with her. He stayed away from most books that targeted teenagers because of the overuse of these.
"For your information, the person who coined that term regretted it later. He agreed that it was fundamentally sexist."
"Exactly why you should stop treating Astrid like she embodies it."
"Are you accusing me of being a sexist?"
"No, I'm not. I'm just saying that maybe you should try getting to know her before claiming to be in love with her."
A car that appeared from a nearby alley forced Mateo to take a sharp turn to escape a collision. He flipped the driver off before they pulled away.
"Look, I can't explain how I fell in love with her after just one meeting. It just happened, alright?"
"It's called physical attraction. You needed action, saw a hot girl and started to obsess over her. If another girl pays attention to you, you'll forget about Astrid soon enough."
"Don't you believe in love?" Jake asked, hurt by Mateo's blunt statement.
"I believe that you have to work on it for it to be love. The part at the beginning of a relationship is easy. You don't see the other person's flaws or their fears. You like them for their appearance and because the two of you might have similar interests. This person intrigues you. But when you start to unravel them, that's when the real test starts. It's about making the choice to stick around despite knowing their darkest secrets. If you can walk away easily, it's not love. It never was."
"Is that why you're afraid of telling Mihir about your disorder? You're afraid that he'll walk away."
"I'm not in love with him," Mateo insisted. "I just don't want to tell him yet. I'm afraid that he'll try to excuse every single mistake I make because of it. He's the one person who tries to call me out on my bullshit, the one person who hasn't given up on me yet. I'd like to keep it that way."
"Zoya and Arman haven't given up on you."
"They have. They're friends with me because they can't imagine not being friends with me."
The sentence was uttered so casually that it made Jake's heart ache. Mateo believed that his own friends thought he couldn't change, and that he had to struggle with his disorder by himself. Jake wondered if he felt that talking about it was just another way to ask for attention. Perhaps he kept it a secret because he thought he was controlling his disorder by doing so.
"I haven't given up on you," Jake declared, wrapping his arms around Mateo to show his support.
"Thank you," Mateo responded stiffly, taken aback by the sudden hug. "By the way, you're not as bad as you think you are."
"Wow. I can't believe you just said that to a privileged white boy. This moment needs to be recorded for posterity."
"Do you remember that threat I made to push you off my bike?"
"Yes..."
"Don't give me a reason to carry it out."
-
Happy New Year, guys!
I hope you liked this chapter. I just found out I lost in a writing contest that I worked really hard for, and I needed something to cheers me up. This story and its readers always manages to do that, so thank you for your support. It means a lot.