Tom's fingers worked quickly over his phone screen, his face only inches away from its bright surface.
"Is he okay?" I asked Nate, as we both disregarded the TV in order to watch Tom gnaw at his lips until they turned a concerning shade of baby pink.
"He's probably texting Jesse."
We continued watching him for a while, and I personally tried my best to decipher the small texts that flashed on his screen.
Nate eventually heaved a long sigh. "This is ridiculous."
"I disagree."
"What?" Tom finally peeled his eyes towards us.
"We need to get out of this apartment," Nate stated. "Jake, you can't continue hiding in here. I don't know who you're avoiding but it's driving me nuts staying in one confined space. Tom, you need to turn off your phone or demand that Jesse provides you with a straightforward response."
"Or you could just leave," Tom suggested, standing up from his slouched position on his couch. "I need coffee."
Nate watched him leave. Then he turned to me. "Okay, we really need to get him out."
"How?"
Nate became more accustomed to the city after realizing how that could be more of help than secluding himself in an apartment. He dragged us in between damp alleys and bumpy streets, stopping to grab snacks at random stops.
"That's where they sell the best ice-cream," he would point out. Or, "Ian hates that place, so I always buy stuff from there."
Tom would occasionally glance back at his phone, but never for too long, and always when he made sure Nate was distracted or busy talking to me.
He asked me about my job, or my friends (Scarlet, mainly. He was fascinated by the fact that I could get along with a woman. I had to pretend that was normal), or even Raphael.
"No, I don't mean the real one," he said at the expression on my face. "I mean the fake one. How similar are they?"
"I don't know." I watched as the clouds laced between the top of sky scrapers, craning my neck back just to get the full view. "I never gave it much thought. I always pictured Raphael with dark hair and tan skin in my head. But the real Raphael is almost the exact opposite of that."
"Do you have a picture?"
"No," and I was almost sorry of it.
I was reminded, suddenly, of all the times his hair caught in the light, shined like a golden crown that circled the top of his head. And the smiles that melted the harsh lines of his face, and accentuated his youth.
I didn't know a dime about his past, given how secretive and closed off he made it out to be, yet it ceased to matter when he kissed me, or when he smiled up at me like that. Or when his eyes caught that mischievous glint that sent my heart into a complete mess of irregular heartbeats until I desperately needed him to touch me again. Until he stopped touching me, and that glint softened into a shine and he was looking at me softly.
How could I give that up? That look in his eyes that said his past needn't be mentioned, because that look meant he had forgotten all about it.
I knew what Scarlet thought of our relationship. That it was one that strictly catered to our strains for short lived pleasure. That it couldn't be more than that even if we wanted it to be, because neither of us truly wanted it to be. Because neither of us wanted to invest in the other. To show the other what it would really be like if we followed the normal cookie-cutter method of being with someone you adored a shade darker than others.
Thankfully, Nate changed the subject before I had to. "So, Ian knows you're back. He wants to say hi."
I froze. "Did you tell him?"
Nate shook his head. "Should I?"
"Probably," I said honestly. "But maybe wait until after I leave?"
He laughed. "Okay."
We continued our exploration (or re-exploration, since all three of us already had a general sense) of the city, and all its secret locations that weren't privy to all its occupants.
We had lunch at a restaurant that Nate swore was the best he could find so far, and took our meal outside where the clouds seemed to thin as the sun sunk behind the buildings. In the breeze, surrounded by the sound of Nate and Tom bickering about Jesse, and the smell of good food wafting past our table, it was easy to forget that I was only there to visit.
"He wants me to see 'other people'."
At that, my attention swept back to the conversation. "He said that?" I asked.
Tom nodded, pretending to be impassive to the notion, but the subtle blush on his cheeks easily gave him away.
"He's thinking of doing the same, isn't he?" he asked. "No one says that and doesn't mean to do the same."
"I think he's being dramatic," Nate said. "That he'll be back in a few weeks, or months at most, and realize how stupid he was to ever think of replacing you."
"But maybe he won't be back," Tom fiddled with the napkin that peeked out from beneath his knife and fork. "And then what? We'd be waiting for something that won't happen and realize we wasted that time when we could have used it to meet someone better. I get where he's coming from."
"Do you?" Nate chewed his bottom lip in thought. "I guess it's up to you. Is he worth risking it?"
Tom shrugged, and straightened his posture in an attempt to give off a look of indifference.
"You know," I said, "maybe he's just as terrified as you are. Maybe he's afraid that you want to see other people as well. Maybe he's thinking the exact same thing you're thinking of. I bet if you talked it out, you'll realize that neither of you really want that. And while you're at it, ask him how long he'll be, and tell him that it doesn't matter if he's gone a century. Because it's highly unlikely that you'll ever meet anyone else who'd write songs about you so well that he's this close to fame."
Nate punched my shoulder playfully. "Look at you go."
Tom sent me a smile and kept on a thoughtful expression for the remainder of our outing.
-
Later at night, back at the apartment, Tom offered me a piece of advice in return.
He said, "You should do the thing you seem to be so good at."
"And what's that?"
"Send him an email." He smiled teasingly, and thanked me for helping him out with Jesse.
But when the apartment grew still with sleep, and dark with flitting shadows of the night, I could not bring myself to write down a single word.
I racked my brain with thought. Searched over every nook and crack with fiery determination to find one word that could bring him back to me. One phrase that could say that I should not have pushed him away. Yet it was as if all the words I ever learned, he ever taught me, were nonexistent.
Suddenly, I couldn't speak but the basic of words. They sounded so fake, so drawn together with cheap fraying string. I tugged one way and it withered with its fragile words. With frustration, I threw all my efforts aside, and claimed that I wouldn't cave under the feeling of missing him. I was not the person whom owed the other an apology. I was the one who should have been eons away from the thought of him. I was beyond the feelings we shared. I was far above it.
I fell asleep that way, with a strong minded declaration of being better off without him.
It was a wonder, then, when the sound of something horridly bleating by the side of my bed, woke me from my sleep. It could have been minutes since I shut my eyes, but I reached out for that awful sound, and gave into its alarm.
I sat up, listened closely, heart beating so madly, so filled with chaos at the thought that he could be hurt in any way. The doctor, and his authoritative tone of voice, he couldn't sound less inhuman. The hospital, and its white walls that bleached away any sign of life. I did the worse thing I could have done, and I thought of him there. His skin yellow and bruised, his hair limp against his pillowcase, his lips chapped and gray. His body was a fragile shell that used to touch me so truthfully, so skillfully.
"Yes, this is Jake." My voice sounded weak to my own ears.
And then came that cold crashing feeling of full body binding relief, and I barely gave thought to the twinge of guilt that crept onto me only as a second thought.
I originally wrote a part of this on paper, and it took so long for me to decipher my handwriting like jeeeez it hurts my eyes. I feel like I missed a lesson when everyone else learned how to write their letters lolololol
Also I'm tempted to write up a short spin off of Jesse and Tom BUT I like it when a band member hooks up with another band member so??? Do you sense my struggle?? ugh.
Thanks for readinggg<3