After finishing my afternoon shift – and wow, it's indeed way less tiring to only do half a day of work, I even bid good evening to Elsa in a very good-humoured tone, not even retaliating when she sticks out her tongue in answer – I quickly go back to my flat. Exhilaration is buzzing in my veins, I just can't wait to see which "clue" Aden is going to send me. During the whole afternoon, I regularly sent him texts trying to worm some information out of him, but the guy is even more secretive than a Swiss bank with its clients' accounts.
"All good things come to those who wait," he replied to my attempts. And he even added, very cheekily in my opinion "Remember when I said this the first time? Have I proven you wrong this night?"
I'm not ashamed to admit a shiver had run down my spine at this reminder.
Now, I'm just waiting for this damned clue!
My good mood flies out of the window when I see the flat's empty. Dark, cold and empty. I let out a loud sigh as I toss my bag in the hallway and hang my jacket on the coat rack. Dammit, I was already enjoying the thought of us three dining together. Watching TV, mocking the programme, mimicking the actors or the hosts, exchanging gossip, making fun of Sam's habits or Ben's coworkers...
Is that too much to ask? Is that the new normal for us, each one avoiding the other? All this because Ben and I stop fucking each other – you would think this is the end of the world!
But I know it goes deeper than this. Ben was hurt by my behaviour, I was left feeling like a fool when he called the shots on our "relationship" and Sam is caught between us.
I have no idea as how to solve this whole mess.
On this depressing thought, I decide to heat a can of soup, turning on the microwave while cutting down a slice of bread. The sound of me cooking for myself has a deafening echo. I never thought I could feel lonely here.
I miss my friends.
The temptation to whip out my phone and to send a text to Sam and Ben is overwhelming. It would be so easy, a simple "Hey, what's up?" and see their replies.
If they reply.
That's my big fear when I think of it.
Reaching out only to find out none of them reaches back.
And where will I find myself, exactly? Should I start planning moving out? Should I stay and make some efforts?
My head is spinning with so many theories, gloominess is settling in my chest, weighing on my shoulders. I startle when I hear the phone ringing before lunging forward. I don't even take the time to check who's calling me, I'm just so relieved someone has thought of me, I tap the screen and say a bright "Hey!"
And I instantly regret it when I hear, after a few heartbeats of silence:
"Ethan?"
Oh.
No.
Not him. Not now.
"Ethan? You're here?"
During a second, I'm really tempted to answer:
"Sorry, friend, Ethan has irrevocably passed beyond veil, you're actually talking to his ghost mail" but I backpedal at the last moment.
"Reggie," I reply instead.
I hear his tremendous sigh of relief, followed by what I'm sure is a big smile plastered on his lips. I can hear in his voice as he exclaims:
"Ethan, bro! How are you? Long time since..."
"Reggie," I cut him off, already exasperated with my older brother's behaviour. "Don't start doing small talk, we both know you don't get in touch with me for this. What. Do. You. Want?"
"There's no need to..."
"Reggie!"
My hand is clutching the phone so hard I can already feel the red imprints on my palm. I force myself to relax.
"What do you want?" I say in the quietest voice I can muster.
He sighs – a sound of defeat, this time.
"You know Mum's birthday is coming near. Next weekend, in fact. I've invited a few friends of hers and aunt Edna told me she would be coming. Please, Ethan..."
"No."
It flies out of my mouth before I even have time to consider. But I don't regret it – I instinctively feel better saying out loud.
"Hear me out!" Reggie is all but pleading with me now. "It's Mum's fiftieth birthday, you can't miss it! Besides, she's not talking about it, but I know she misses you and..."
I utter a laugh at this. There's no joy in that sound – only harsh, cold irony.
"It's no use lying to me, Reggie."
"But..."
"If Mum wants to talk to me, she has my number, thanks to you, by the way. But she doesn't want to and me attending her birthday celebrations with all her little friends who've called me a fag and other agreeable things at my back would definitely spoil the party you're planning. So, thanks but no thanks. And goodbye."
I ring off before Reggie even has the opportunity to protest.
All these evocations of the past leave a bitter taste in my mouth, as well as hurtful memories coming back to my mind. They fuel even more my foul mood. But underneath lies the true danger – this piercing shard of loneliness, of feeling like I don't belong, my company has never been truly wanted by anyone. I'm fine for a few hours, but why would anyone be so mad as to enjoy my presence for longer than that? I close my eyes, put my head in my hands.
I know I'm not to hear the depressing voice threading its way into my ear. It only tells lies. And I can't hear them, I can't trust it, otherwise...
Ping!
I look back, startled.
There's a new text banner on my phone screen.
Aden.
Hey there, beautiful.
It shouldn't bring a smile to my mouth, but it does. Oh God, how it does.
Hey, I text back.
Have you been a very nice boy?
I huff out a laugh.
Even if I reply yes, how would you know? Should I be worried you've set up cameras somewhere in my flat?
When his answer comes, it comes at once, with no warning dots. Typed with lightning fingers, must have been.
If I were to breach your privacy in such a gross way – which is not the case, by the way – I'd have installed every cam in your bedroom.
Before I can type back something naughty – the perfect way of continuing the conversation – another text pops up onto the screen.
Not just to watch you when you wank, although I'm sure it's glorious. I'd love to see you asleep, with your body all relaxed and your mind free of any worry. Your face... Your beautiful face...
Promise me that one night we'll fall asleep together?
And right on the heels of that text:
Am I going too fast for you? I'm sorry if that's the case.
Wow. To think I was feeling let down a minute before and now, Mr. Hottie was asking if we could sleep together.
Preferably after several bouts of memorable sex – reading between the lines, here.
But that's not all there is to it, is it.
I may behave like a fool sometimes, but I'm not stupid. What Aden is asking for is much more than a steamy one-off, in Elsa's words. And if I go down this way... I'm afraid I will end up being even more hurt than I'm already.
With cautious fingers I slowly type:
Can we talk about it later? Preferably face to face? I just don't think it's something we should discuss over text messages.
I feel bad for replying this, for not meeting him when he's all but putting himself forward. I'm clinging to Elsa's wise words as a drowning man would clutch at a straw.
His reply comes immediately.
You're right. Let's talk about this when we'll see each other.
And then:
I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable with this.
You didn't, I type. I just want to see...
I hesitate.
I just need to see him? To let him convince me? To find myself under his gaze and to let myself go?
I don't want to hurt him, but I have to protect myself. Playing Russian roulette with my heart is not going to end well.
On the other hand...
I bite my lip.
Finally texting:
I just want to see you.
Is tomorrow too soon for you?
A second text warning echoes in the flat.
With an URL link.
I've promised a clue after all.
☕️☕️☕️
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