8: Monsters and Men

It was November in Freiburg, a dark, rainy, and sickly time. The trams were overflowing with wet, sniffling people because no sane person rode a bike anymore. The thick mist from the mountains descended on us, and the town gained an inspiring noir quality.

I was inspired, all right. Suddenly, I wrote a lot, though my publisher wouldn’t enjoy it. There was still no sex in my writing. Just loneliness and angst. I wrote for Christian, about longing, self-hatred, and sad endings. Very beatnik, all of it. Nothing he’d ever read. Nothing anyone would ever want to read. To be honest, it was just like doodling his name in my notebook, only a little more pretentious.

I ran a lot and slept too little. I ate junk and drank too much beer. I was a train wreck.

My friends started to notice, Mattias first. He was also the only one who might have had a clue about the reason for my gloomy moods. I tried to avoid him. But since we didn’t have sex anymore, we became sort of co-dependent in almost every other way. In the end, I met with him and ignored his meddling.

I still saw Chris at least twice a week. And it was strange. He looked at me funny, and sometimes, I feared perhaps he knew.

***

“So, you had three tests in just four days?” I asked.

We were having coffee in town, our wet jackets hanging from our seats. School was a good topic, harmless, and I genuinely wanted to know how he felt about his studies—not only to appease his mother, who still bothered me with her suspicious questions once every fortnight. I didn’t dare to ask about anything else, afraid I’d be forced to hear about his love life.

“It’s a lot. But I’m not struggling. When I put in the time I’m supposed to, it’s fine,” he explained, slightly distracted. He wasn’t looking at me when he talked. He looked tired; his cheeks were pale and thin. He seemed edgy, restless.

To me, he was still the most beautiful sight on Earth. I feasted on the subtle movements of the corner of his mouth when he thought hard about something. In the dull November light, his eyes shone silver. The haircut was growing longer, the part he shaved had grown out, but the piercing still flashed at me every time he turned his head. I loved his hands—the protruding veins, long elegant, capable fingers—they told stories. My skin tingled when I looked at those hands.

“And Stusie?” I asked, desperate for another safe topic.

He smirked. “It’s a dump. It’s cold; there’s a constant draft from the windows. We’re all bitching about the water pressure in the bathrooms. The Romanian girl is nice to me, but she keeps washing her lingerie in the sink, so there are lacy thongs and stuff hanging on a rack in the hall, like, all the time. I slipped in a pool of fabric softener the other day and crashed right into her door. She insisted on cooking me dinner as compensation. I took her to the laundry room to show her around, hoping she’d take the hint? But no, there was a silk robe dripping on the floor in front of her room two days later. On the other hand, there’s, like, mold and stuff in the laundry room, so, I can’t really blame her.”

“Are you thinking about finding something else?”

“Well, next year I’ll have to. They only give the campus rooms in Stusie to freshmen, exchange students, and student workers. As a transfer, I got an exception. But almost everybody finds an apartment to share the second year. I was thinking, maybe Dieter and I could find something together. Andres keeps refusing to come over. I always have to go to his place when we want to hang out. He shares an apartment right under Schlossberg with a couple of American girls. High ceilings, wooden floors, ceramic stove…”

“You’ve talked to Dieter about rooming together?” If Christian noticed the clumsy way I skipped talking about Andres and his fancy-schmancy kitchen, he didn’t comment on it.

“Yeah. He’s on board. I mean, we like each other. We get along great when it comes to the everyday stuff like cooking and keeping the place neat. And he’s hilarious. I convinced Andres once to pick me up at the dorms. We were going to the Stusie pub for Shot Night. Dieter was working on the computer in the kitchen and noticed me getting ready. He was cool. Like, ‘Christian, those jeans are too tight, do you want him to think you’re easy?’ Can you imagine Dieter saying that? Well, he totally did. I’ve never met a straight guy who was so relaxed about everything.”

I suspected behind the lack of prejudice lay Dieter’s poor social skills. But hey. An ally was an ally. “He sounds great.”

“He is. It’s just he doesn’t like Andres much. I don’t know why. Can’t get him to tell me. And it seems mutual. Dieter keeps making sarcastic comments at Andres, and Andres completely ignores him. Like, barely looks at him when they happen to be in the same room.”

Andres, Andres, Andres. Whatever we talked about, that man was always polluting the conversation. A small part of me was dying of curiosity. How much time did they spend together? How long was Andres supposed to stay in Germany? What had they done together? I clung to the idea of Christian’s innocence, which was stupid as hell. I imagined I would somehow know if they’d have sex. But, how could I? Would he tell me? Would his demeanor change subtly? Was it information I could absorb by osmosis?

All the other parts of me didn’t want to know. None of it. If I didn’t ask, I could pretend. Unfortunately, he seemed to want to talk about Andres—hinted at it, as if he wanted me to ask. I couldn’t. I changed the subject yet again, and he frowned but said nothing.

“Do you see Mattias often?” he asked out of nowhere when our lattes were almost empty.

“He’s a good friend,” I sidestepped the trap.

“But you sleep together, too.” It wasn’t a question. Damn.

I shifted in my seat, thinking fast of the best strategy. Honesty? Did honesty include revealing everything? Or should I just answer the question at hand and hope he won’t ask for details?

“Not recently, no.”

“Meaning you used to sleep together. Why aren’t you together?”

“We’re better off as friends. And I’m pretty sure he’s still hung up on a mystery man called Simon.”

“You seem good together. He challenges you. I like him.”

Was he seriously trying to marry me off? Fear, disappointment, confusion. Impending loss…

“He’s a great guy,” I agreed. Oh, God, what should I say? “But I’m not interested in him like that. We’re not…a good fit.”

Christian was silent for a while, deep in thought. “It’s hard, isn’t it? To find someone here in Freiburg,” he said slowly, watching the people walk by behind the droplet-covered glass, huddled in their raincoats.

What about Andres? I almost asked before I reminded myself I didn’t want to know. “It’s hard anywhere—in Berlin, Freiburg, Tokyo—whether you’re gay or straight.”

He supported his chin in his hand, still looking away. “Sometimes I feel like a freak, you know?” he said. “A twenty-one-year-old virgin.”

Please, kill me now. Strike me with lightning. Blow my head off. Anything!

And then it hit me. They still hadn’t slept with each other? My eyes closed, and I sighed with profound relief; my whole body sagged deeper into the chair. Not exactly a good thing—I shouldn’t have cared either way.

“It’s not really a big deal,” Chris continued, oblivious to my inner struggles. “Nobody knows unless I tell them… But still. It’s weird.”

“It’s not.”

He finally looked at me and grimaced sarcastically. “How would you know?”

Fair point.

Just at that moment, I heard steps behind me and a screeching of a chair as people made space in the crowded café for someone to walk by. A tall, graceful body slipped past me, and Christian stood, giving Andres a quick peck on the cheek.

“Hallo, Alex,” Andres enunciated distinctly my way, his arm possessively around Christian’s shoulders.

“We’re meeting some people at the Stusie pub,” Chris said a bit awkwardly. His eyes darted around the room. Then he bent down, gave me a one-armed hug, and before I could hug him back, he went away. With fucking Andres.

I felt cold. I put on my jacket, but it was still wet, so it didn’t help at all, and went home and hid under my blankets, dying inside until I fell asleep, still in my jeans.

***

Adam and Jens, a happy couple of forty-year-old flamers who ran the LGBT helpline in Freiburg, were relentless in their efforts to cheer me up. They thought I was plain old lonely. They tried to fix me up with someone, which I vehemently opposed, and they asked me to volunteer again. I did, and it was great. Twice a week, I was on the phone for three hours—the busy evening duty—and it took my mind off things.

But then I came home and there it was again. The empty living room. The laptop with all those words. I couldn’t hide from myself.

Jens was a psychologist, and he was celebrating ten years of his private practice, so they invited Mattias and me to tag along to dinner and then some low-key clubbing. I went because I felt obligated, but it felt good, in a way. I didn’t have to sit at home on a Saturday night thinking of what Christian was doing. Adam and Jens were safe. No drama, no hints at threesomes; they just wanted to have a couple of cocktails, dance goofily with each other, say hello to old friends, and go home to sleep it off. I could do that and not crumble.

At the club, I saw the exact moment when Mattias chose his victim for the night. His eyes flashed, and he barely looked at us when he stalked away, throwing a half-hearted, “See you later,” over his shoulder.

He chose well. The guy was young, in his early twenties maybe, black eyes, black hair, latte-colored skin, slim and toned, smile like a toothpaste commercial, and pouty lips. Within five minutes, Mattias was wrapped around him, grinding against his ass, and when the man leaned back, his face was a picture of bliss and hormones.

While Mattias was duping unsuspecting boys on the dance floor, the guys and I sat by the bar like three gossiping retirees.

“It’s like watching a black Maserati speed into a wall. Such a shame,” Adam mused, nursing his first beer.

Jens turned to look and nodded grimly. “He’s off the antidepressants, I gather.”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“Has he told you what happened in Prague?” Jens asked.

“No, not in detail. I guessed some family tragedy.”

“I googled…” Adam began.

“Adam,” Jens grumbled warningly.

“What? I was curious.”

“Then ask him. Don’t google Mattias, for fuck’s sake. And if he tells you to mind your own business, respect it,” Jens reprimanded his partner. Adam was an old busybody. It didn’t quite fit his gruff lumberjack looks.

Like a creep, I watched Mattias kiss and lick the other man’s neck. The guy was putty in Mattias’s arms as they rocked together. With one hand, he held Mattias’s neck, the other reached back and clutched at my friend’s thigh. Mattias sneaked his tattooed arm under the guy’s shirt and went for his nipples. The man’s mouth fell open; he looked as if he were being fucked already.

My treacherous mind flashed automatically to Christian. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t even get a boner at a club without thinking of Chris…dancing in my arms, letting his head fall to the side so I could taste the soft skin just under his ear…

“Gentlemen, I want a tequila. Who’s with me?” I asked, turning on the stool to face the bar again. Jens’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

Adam waved down the bartender. “Two double tequilas and a Jägermeister.”

“Adam…” Jens grumbled.

“Shut up and drink up. It’s your anniversary,” Adam shot back and winked at me. Jens shook his head, grinning.

I envied them. They were amazing with each other. Even the way they bickered and argued was full of love and respect. They’d been together since they were teenagers. Incredible.

I was putting the empty shot glass back on the bar counter when a familiar head caught my eye. I strained to look over Adam’s massive shoulder. He saw my expression and followed my line of sight.

“Oooh. Nice. Jens, have a look. The tall, dark, sophisticated one. Too young for our lot, but Alex has a shot.”

Jens turned, too, and suddenly there were three of us watching Andres move through the crowd like a jungle cat. Fucking Andres again.

“A bit on the dramatic side. Could be interesting. Go for it,” Jens encouraged, having no clue whatsoever that I knew the guy.

I slipped from the stool and went after the despicable Spaniard who haunted my dreams and groped my boy. Was Christian there, too? I knew for a fact he’d wanted to stay home and study.

I kept my distance; I didn’t want Andres to see me. I followed him all the way through the chill-out room with the lounge sofas and slower beats. He weaved through the crowd and stopped by the exit door. There, he greeted a waifish young thing, a pale, red-haired boy in a bright-green tank top. He had a diamond stud in his ear and a ridiculously tall pompadour teetering above his glistening forehead. The traveling light beams blinded me for a second, and then I saw them. Andres’s long arm reached south, and his hand sneaked into the waif’s back pocket. They kissed, tongues and all. I winced. This time, my dick was limp with disgust. The waif tugged at Andres’s arm, and they turned toward the exit.

I didn’t think about what I was doing. I hurried after them, through the sweaty crowd, and emerged onto the street, next to the bouncers. Andres the Snake was nowhere to be seen.

When I returned to the bar, Adam and Jens were sitting where I’d left them, only now, they were grinning at each other and playing footsie like a couple of newlyweds.

Adam noticed me first and clapped me on my back. “What? No luck?”

“He was with someone,” I answered truthfully, still dazed. One thing was clear; I had to tell Christian.

***

Mattias came over on Sunday evening. I let him in and wobbled back to the couch, taking my game controller back in a tight grip. The monsters wouldn’t kill themselves.

“Fuck, that’s loud!” he complained, struggling to take off his sneakers.

Yep. Die Antwoord was blasting over the mundane soundtrack of the game. I needed something raw tonight. Blood and scattered body parts and Die Antwoord. Loud.

“You’re a mess.” Mattias sat down next to me and opened one of the bottles waiting on the table. I’d had four so far. Strong Belgian ales. They were deadly. I wasn’t done yet.

“This mess is cool. Totally zef,” I mumbled, shooting the shit out of a mutant alien zombie lizard. Or whatever. It screeched and fell with a thud.

“Watch it!” Mattias exclaimed as an ogre-like shape jumped my character from behind a barrel.

“Fuck!” I jerked, but it was too late. The screen went red. I sank back into the couch and sighed.

“Don’t drink and Doom, boy,” Mattias snickered and took the controller from me.

I opened my fifth beer.

“So, what’s the deal, Alex?” Mattias asked, not looking away from the eyeless toothy creatures hulking toward him on the screen. A dull, sickening roar sounded over the music. I stretched my legs lazily.

“I’m drinking in hiding.”

“I can see that.” His whole body strained as he shot a bunch of holes in the next mutant. A green head rolled away, blood splattering everywhere. Mattias leaned forward and squinted.

“I’m drunk.” I felt the need to put it out there.

“Of course you are. But why?”

“I saw Andres making out with a guy in the club yesterday.” It came out fast, without hesitation. Alcohol did that to me.

“Oookay.” Mattias shot another hyperbole of a monster to pieces and hit pause. He turned to me slowly. “You saw Christian’s boyfriend with another guy?”

“In the 2000 Club. On Saturday. You were there, too. That was yesterday. Because today is Sunday.”

Mattias just raised his eyebrows, waiting me out.

“I have to tell Chris.” I groaned, putting my head in my hands. I immediately felt like I was tipping forward, so I leaned back again, my head lolling on the couch.

“You should have told him already.”

“I know I should’ve, all right? I know! Okay, I’m fucked up and fucking this up. I know!” Enormous headache, incoming.

“Shhh, honey. It’s only me.” I felt a warm hand on my neck, massaging. Ooh, that was nice. “Why don’t you want to tell Christian?”

“It’s going to hurt him,” I mumbled into my palms.

“Maybe, yeah. Probably. But he needs you on his side.”

“I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Of course not. But you have to tell him. Soon.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow. I promise.”

“Don’t promise me. I barely care. Do it for Christian.”

I was an asshole. “I’m an asshole,” I said.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

I fell to the side. My head landed on Mattias’s shoulder, and he took the beer from me.

“Did you fuck the guy you danced with yesterday?” I asked.

“No. He was adorable. Pretty, clever, kind.” Mattias sighed, and his shoulder heaved under my head. Ugh.

“And that’s why you didn’t fuck him,” I mumbled with my eyes closed.

“Exactly.”

“Hmpf.”

Mattias was silent for a while, and the room swayed from side to side. It was kind of nice. Like on a cruise.

Mattias sighed again. “You’re in love with Christian, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” It didn’t feel good saying it out loud. There was no sense of relief. I felt nauseous, exactly like on a cruise.

“Pull yourself together, Alex. You’re way more confused than you have any right to be.”

I felt a little offended by that. “You’re a bigger mess than me,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but I have reasons. You’re just confused because of a premature middle-aged crisis. You love a beautiful man who might love you back. Instead of going after him, you’re rotting away on your couch, marinating yourself in beer and self-pity.”

“I told you, I’m an asshole. And I’m too old for him. In a few years, he’ll wake up and ditch me for a twenty-year-old. I’ll be bald, fat, and alone. And depressed.” The beer was filling my limbs, slow and sticky like tar.

“You’re only thirty-three, you neurotic moron.”

I was becoming sleepy. Warm fuzzies everywhere. The music was no more. The arm around my shoulders felt nice. I realized I was starved for touch. I burrowed closer. My tongue grew heavy in my mouth. “I don’t even want to know, you know. How it would be, to be with him. Because then he’d leave. And it would hurt so bad.”

“Like never telling him and watching him with someone else for the rest of your life?”

When he put it like that. “Is there a third option?”

“You have a shot at something amazing here, Alex. Grab it and don’t let go. Listen to the most depressing loser you know.”

I mulled it over. But everything in my head was tangled and gooey. “It’s probably stupid to tell him his boyfriend cheated and I love him, like, at the same time?”

“You’re an idiot. I have no clue why I’m wasting my time on you. Get off me and go take a shower. You stink.”

The Earth swayed like a pendulum. I could feel the darkness approaching. I strained to open my eyes and look up at him. “Will you tell me tomorrow what we talked about? I don’t want to forget.”

“You’re wasted, man.” He rolled his eyes. It made my head spin to watch it. “You sure you’ve had only four beers?”

“Mmm, think I had six. Maybe.” I counted in my head, but it was blurry. I had to start over…

“What was I counting?” I asked Mattias, because he would know.

“We’ll skip the shower. You’d drown.” He pushed me to stand, and the last thing I remembered was the door to my bedroom creaking.

***

The next day, I asked Christian to come over. I concentrated hard on sounding casual; of course, he knew something was off.

“I have a lab tomorrow and a paper due on Friday,” he said. “Can we meet tomorrow instead? We can have lunch somewhere closer to uni.”

I couldn’t wait another day. And no, I couldn’t have that talk with him in public. “Um, it’s important. I think it’s best if you come today.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I did a face-palm, immediately regretting the sudden movement. My headache was culminating. I thought maybe I’d had seven beers the day before. Hard to say, everything was knotted together. “I’m fine. Just come over.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ll cook.”

I pushed through the rest of my day, reading and hating my students’ poorly constructed short stories, and went home on autopilot. At six-thirty, I had pasta carbonara on the stove ready to garnish with premium parmesan, and a bottle of Riesling cooling. I’d overdone it—more like a celebration than a consolation dinner—and at the last minute, I decided to skip the dessert I had planned.

I was sweating like a pig. My headache was not getting any better. When the doorbell rang, my head almost exploded.

“You look sick. Are you okay?” Chris asked, barely through the door.

“Fine, just hungover.”

“Oh. But it’s Monday.” There was a dramatic pause. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hungover.”

I was fucking this up, and I hadn’t even begun.

“Chris, I have something I need to tell you.”

He stood there, stared, waited. He looked puzzled and trusting. How the hell was I going to do this?

Well, I had to do it fast, that was for sure. Before I chickened out or said something stupid.

“Sit down.” I motioned to the couch. “You want something to drink? I have wine.”

“You’re scaring me, Alex. What’s going on?”

Rip it off like a Band-Aid.

“I saw Andres with another guy.”

There was a beat. Chris watched my face like he was expecting an immediate sequel to that statement. Then understanding dawned—surprisingly fast, actually. Or was it me who was slow? He slumped onto the couch and his head fell back, exposing the lovely curve of his throat as he stared at the ceiling. No visible emotion. Nothing. Silence stretched.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I started to babble. “I’m sorry, Chris. It was Saturday. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid to hurt you, and I chickened out. I was at the 2000 Club with Mattias. I saw Andres groping the guy’s ass, and then they were kissing. I tried to go after him, but he disappeared before I could catch him.”

Chris blinked several times, his eyes still on the ceiling. He scratched his nose, blinked again, dragged a hand through his hair, shifted his legs… And nothing. No questions, no swearing, definitely no tears. Not a damned thing. He looked thoughtful, almost analyzing.

“Are you pissed at me?” I asked.

He shook his head and continued watching my ceiling. I was starting to panic.

“I had to tell you, Chris. I’m only sorry it took such a long time. I should have told you immediately.”

He rubbed his face with both hands and then stared forward for a change, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his palm.

“Chris, please. I’m so sorry.”

When he finally opened his mouth, what came out was nothing I could ever have guessed. “We’re not together.”

“You…what?”

“Andres and me. We’re not together,” he repeated wearily.

“I don’t understand. You broke up before Saturday?”

“No. We only ever went out casually. We’ve never been a couple. He’s free to do what he wants.”

That spineless, manipulating piece of turd. “That’s bullshit, Christian. If he forced you into an open relation—”

“Alex.” He raised his voice and turned toward me, pinning me with his intense gaze. “Stop and listen. We were never a couple because I didn’t want to be. I told him I didn’t want to sleep with him and didn’t want a relationship. I told him specifically that he shouldn’t wait for me.”

Eh? “You told him that?”

“He was very attentive.” That word again, bleh. “It was flattering. But I didn’t feel…like we would be a good fit.” He threw my words back at me and peered at me sideways.

I stood up and paced.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“I’m confused.”

“Sit down. You’re making too big a deal out of it.”

“Why did you let me think you were together?” All that jealousy. All those waking nightmares about them having sex. All my lies about wanting what was best for him when I’d always only wanted him for myself. My broken heart and my lame hopelessness. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

“I’m sorry, Alex. But you almost never talk to me about private things. I know next to nothing about your personal life—I had to cyber-stalk you and harass your friends to find out about your writing. I was mad at you. You know that. I told you. You’re like the most important person in my life, for fuck’s sake! But since I moved here, it’s like the more time we spend together, the more distant you become. And I don’t know how to deal with that!”

Hurt and exasperated, he gestured toward me with both hands. Those lovely graceful hands with elegant fingers and dancer-like movements. He was waiting for me to react, but I had nothing to say. He was right. And he was breaking my heart all over again.

In the absence of my reply, he continued: “You never wanted to talk about Andres, either. I tried, but you always changed the subject. Now you’re confused why I never told you more? You never let me talk about him!”

I sat down next to him and grabbed his hand on instinct. He didn’t pull away. I’d tried so hard to protect myself, but in the process, I’d managed to hurt Christian. He thought he couldn’t confide in me, that I didn’t trust him, wasn’t interested. He relied on me, and I’d let him down.

“I’m sorry, Squirrel,” I managed through the lump in my throat. He leaned into me as I lifted my arm, and I hugged him closer, my nose in his hair, trying my best not to cry. Because that would just be pathetic, right? How the hell was I going to do this? I wasn’t cut out to be a martyr, but if I kept him as close as he wanted to be, I was going to go mad with longing.

It seemed to be the time to buckle up. I couldn’t stop loving him, couldn’t keep away, couldn’t be with him. I clenched my jaw, kissed his hair. He needed me, and I was going to be the best friend any man ever had. I could cry and whine later. Christian wouldn’t ever need to know.

“I didn’t like Andres,” I confessed. “I thought I was giving you space. I didn’t want to interfere. I’m not exactly objective, you know. Nobody is good enough for you.” An understatement, but true enough.

He shifted in my arms and drew a pillow into my lap. He lay there, curled toward me, his angelic face right there in my embrace. I felt something akin to happiness for the first time in so long it caught me off guard. So, I thought, screw it, and I tangled my fingers in his hair. A friend could do that, right? He played with the hem of my shirt.

“I keep underestimating you. You behave more like the adult, and I’m being childish,” I said, surprising myself with the truth of it. His eyes closed, and he snuck an arm around my waist. Oh. My whole body craved to wrap itself around him. I blinked slowly instead and exhaled. “So, you weren’t attracted to him?” I ventured.

“No.” Chris snuggled into my stomach. “It was a nice ego boost. And I felt shitty because of it. He was really after me. But he’s also pretentious, snobby, and has an annoying sense of humor. He told me to change my sneakers once when he picked me up for dinner. Dieter is still giving me shit about it. ‘Christian, those shoes, really?’ He’s having the time of his life.” He chuckled. The sound vibrated through my arms and into my heart.

“I like Dieter. He’s cool for a straight nerd.”

“Dieter is awesome.” With his eyes still closed, head resting in my lap, Christian’s gentle smile was exquisite. I focused on the slowing beat of my heart, the returning normalcy. I could do this.

“We could go to a pub on Friday, invite him along,” I said.

“I think he’d like that. I suspect he’s fascinated by my ‘fabulous gay life,’ as he phrased it.”

“He’ll be disappointed. There’s nothing fabulous about having a beer with me.”

“Oh, but you are quite fabulous, Alex.” He opened his eyes and peered up at me, grinning.

I realized how we must look, him in my lap, my arms around him, my fingers in his hair. But there was no one to see and judge me. I never wanted to let go.

“So, you got drunk yesterday because of me?” he asked, coy as ever.

“Maybe a little because of you.”

Christian sighed contentedly. Apparently, me making an ass of myself because of him made him happy.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too, baby.” The endearment slipped out, totally not my fault. But before I could panic, his happy smile made me all warm and giddy.

“Want to put on Hot Fuzz?”

“Brilliant idea,” I said and stretched for the remote.

We watched the movie, and he fell asleep in my embrace. I knew I could survive on moments like this forever. I was going to make it just fine.

***

I wasn’t going to make it. I ran as fast as possible, but my wet clothes stuck to my body, and my bare feet hurt on the concrete. I could see Christian in the very back of the tram I was trying to catch. Behind the raindrops, his eyes were calm and passive, watching my progress without emotion. His serene, pale face and white suit stood out in the mass of gray bodies, the only source of light in the ghastly weather.

I could hear the dull roar of the water mass behind me. I didn’t look back, but I knew. The flood was coming; I could see it in my head. The dirty, thick waters swallowed the city streets at a speed nobody expected.

Despite my pulse throbbing in my ears and the sounds of the catastrophe behind me, I could hear the single ding of the tram door. I tried to scream. Instead, I coughed and stumbled forward, barely regaining my balance. The door closed, and the tram moved.

Christian stood behind the fogged-up glass, calmly watching me, his eyes unforgiving, as the vehicle disappeared into the rain.

I felt water around my ankles and looked down at my bare feet. The water was white, like milk or wall paint, and my legs were turning white, too. I screamed again.

***

Sweaty and breathless, I took inventory. I was sitting on my sofa, my neck was stiff as hell, and I’d lost feeling in my left leg. Christian lay sprawled across my lap, the pillow stuffed against my crotch, creating a convenient barrier. His cheek rested on my stomach as he slept deeply. I must have turned off the TV at some point. The remote lay on the floor.

I didn’t want to wake him, but I couldn’t spend the whole night sitting up. I carefully lifted the pillow, together with Christian’s head, and slid quickly off the couch. He sniffled and turned, his arm falling limply over the edge. His cheek was creased, the piercing in his ear came into view. I swayed. I could see every tiny hair on his temple, every blemish, birthmark, every pale freckle, the luscious edges of his parted lips, pink and soft, curved just so, the deep shadow under his bottom lip begging me to touch, caress, with just a fingertip. He’d never wake. He’d never know…

The thought made me flinch back and bite my fist to keep from swearing out loud. It wouldn’t be the same as raping an unconscious victim, far from it. But Christian trusted me. That was important. That was everything.

I tucked a quilt over his shoulder and turned away.

I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and stripped to my underwear. Maybe it was the dream or the emotional turmoil before, but I fell asleep again, exhausted to the core, and this time, there were no white suits.