DAY FIVE

IN THE morning on the fifth day I’d known Jamie, my logic and pragmatism conspired against me and decided to remind me of everything I’d tried hard not to think about. The result was a violent stream of oh-shits.

What the fuck was I doing? Cuddling and playing a doting boyfriend with a guy who, after tomorrow, I’d never see again. Swallowing tears ten times a day like a preschooler, staring into space, and reciting old lyrics in my head. As if I could fall through a rabbit hole into a world where people wore purple hats, undying-love-at-first-sight was a real thing, and queer was the new black.

I lay in bed, eyes open but unseeing, not acknowledging who slept next to me. Knowing that if I looked at him, I’d feel ten kinds of desperate. Instead, I stared at the clinically white paint above me, struggling with what I had to do. I had to distance myself. I knew that. I had one more day. So I made up a plan, a contract with myself, a survival strategy. I’d give myself one last brief look, but I wouldn’t let a ridiculous romantic fantasy ruin me. Not today, not ever, no way.

Easier said than done, though. I turned on the bed and immediately squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, my heart was beating its way out of my chest.

He was a mirage. The low winter sun made its way into the room, and a shiny stripe of it rested in Jamie’s tousled hair. He slept facing me, curled up on his side, his lean fingers reaching out toward me on the pillow like a silent plea. So soft and so pale. He looked like something that should be guarded by a troop of agents in black suits, locked up in a vault, behind a bulletproof glass wall. Priceless, fragile, unique, and untouchable.

His closed eyelids were swollen with deep sleep, and it made him look even younger, vulnerable and innocent. I burned with the need to crush him to my chest, envelop him with my limbs and breathe him in, to feel him again in my arms, warm, trusting, and heavy with fatigue. The feeling had nothing to do with sex, which made it much worse.

I got up in a daze and retreated to the living room area, picking up my clothes noiselessly. I admit, I chased the feeling a little longer. I thought, One more hour, and then I’ll let it go.

The sight of Jamie like that, sleeping in the sun, reminded me of something. A shard of memory. I dug out my phone, searched through the database for a while, and put the music on, letting the volume stay very low. Jamie was a heavy sleeper. There was a chance he wouldn’t even stir. I changed clothes, shaved, drank some water, and thought of the long-lost past. About the time when I was very young, when I thought I had it all figured out, long before I realized that life was just an inextricable tangle of a thousand different wrong paths. I thought of the summers in the mountains, about hope.

There had been a point back then, just before I moved to the city, maybe twelve years ago, when I’d felt exhilaratingly happy. That early evening in June, I’d been barely eighteen. I’d just gotten accepted to the university in Bratislava, and I’d known I would have the summer free. Then I would come to the city and start studying and meeting all those new, beautiful, cool people. That day, I’d thought I could conquer the world. I’d stood in the yard behind our old house. My parents had been out visiting Grandma so I could smoke without getting caught. I’d lit a cigarette and watched the sun set behind the woods. I hadn’t seen the shabby house, the wall paint that was peeling away, the trashed yard dotted with chicken shit, the rotten barn. I’d only seen my bright future, the pink haze on the horizon, the prospect of a secret date later that night. I’d been bubbling with joy. Standing in my parents’ lousy backyard, I’d been so sure: this is it, from this day on, everything is going to be amazing. I’d thought that the evening had been the beginning of my wonderful life.

The thing is, the younger you are, the thinner is the sliver of the future you can imagine. I hadn’t thought further than the first semester of school. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry about anything beyond that. Many years later the realization came, grim and square like an old Russian calculator. I hadn’t known what real happiness was. I hadn’t known that the minute there in the sunset had been the actual happiest moment of my life. Everything that came later was only a shadow of that feeling.

Now, in the professionally decorated hotel room in Basel, Switzerland, I thought of Peter and the traces of love I still felt for him in my memories. How vague that feeling had become. More of a conviction, a dream that felt almost real, and not an accurate memory. I thought of the years in between, the blur of empty faces, bars, and clubs, the steel and glass. That was the constant backdrop to my life, steel and glass and concrete.

I knew that if I allowed it, Jamie could make me feel something more again. I could be so wonderfully, ignorantly happy if I could just…. That hurt. I had to stop right there.

I had to get out, but my stuff was all over the place. I’d need warm clothes and gloves. I didn’t know how long I’d have to be outside. I was putting a sweatshirt on when I saw Jamie standing in the door to the bathroom. He watched me warily.

“Hi,” I tried nonchalantly, but my voice betrayed me. It came out as a hoarse whisper.

“Hi. What’s the music?”

“That’s just an old Czech thing,” I answered dismissively and went to retrieve my phone. I reached for it, but Jamie intercepted me.

“The accent is weird, but I like it. What is it?”

I sighed. “It was a project in the nineties; they called themselves Color Factory. They made a soundtrack to one silly movie, and that was it.”

“It’s sweet.”

It was. Sweet, soft, and gentle. The simplest song but full of tenderness, about waking up your lover with a kiss in the morning and thinking about moments that may never end. The trifecta of the music, memories, and Jamie made my hands tremble, so I stuffed my wallet in my back pocket with force to mask my weakness.

“You’re going out?”

“Yes. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” I sounded like an asshole again, but I needed my armor of cruelty.

Jamie knew something was wrong, but he didn’t comment on it. We didn’t know each other that well, did we? Not well enough to be entitled to question each other about feelings. But well enough for me to have feelings for him?

“When is your flight?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know, haven’t booked it yet. I’ll do it today. Maybe I’ll stay in Basel one more day or so. I like the town.” Lying liar, lying nasty lies. I couldn’t make myself book the ticket because I didn’t want to leave the bubble yet. But I would do it today. I had to.

“Oh. Okay.”

The damned music continued, both wistful and cruel. It clawed at my composure.

I stretched my arm out and took my phone from Jamie’s hands. He started but didn’t say anything. I turned the sound off and put the phone in my coat pocket.

“See you later,” I bit out and fled before he could answer.

TAKING A deep breath, I looked around on the street, noticing the huddled figures, the faint mist in the air, the frostbite on the sidewalk and cars’ windows. The cold air bit me in the face and calmed my burning eyes. I’d forgotten the gloves. I hid my hands in my coat and headed toward the river.

I WALKED through the picturesque old town until my head spun from hunger. I ended up in a café on Gerbergasse, stuffing myself with eggs and croissants.

I stared out the window at the foreign street and passing strangers. I wondered how I could have let myself become so closed off, so desensitized, that I couldn’t even make myself cry over Peter dying in the most miserable way ever. And now, after meeting Jamie, I was so vulnerable that even the table, which I rested my forearms on, seemed to rub my palms bloody. How deeply ingrained was the delusion of my self-sufficiency?

The tiny, crippled, exhausted creature that was kicking and screaming inside me now—he was thrashing so bad he bruised my insides. Was that the hopeful, rom-com-loving idealist? I was certain I’d managed to smother him to death. Now he wanted out and he wanted me to hope.

But I didn’t believe in love anymore. Love was for teenagers. I believed in compatibility, and I believed I was incompatible with most people.

How the fuck could I be in love?

WHEN MY stomach started hurting, I left the café, and after walking the streets aimlessly for half an hour, I called Kristina.

“Ondro? I’m in a meeting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll call later.”

She must have heard something in my voice because after a minute of cracking and scrambling noises, her words came out clear: “What’s wrong?”

“You are busy. I’ll call later,” I repeated, sounding clingy and miserable.

“I already told them it’s a family emergency. I’m in the hall outside my office. So talk.”

“I don’t know what to say….” For fuck’s sake. I called her! “I don’t know what to do.” That sounded worse; broken, whispered words of despair.

“Ondro, honey?”

“It’s so weird. I’ve known him for what, five days? And he’s leaving tomorrow. I’m supposed to be leaving. And I can’t…. Jesus, I’m a psycho.” Pure luck that I was speaking Slovak, and nobody around me understood a word of my silly freak-out.

“Jamie? That’s his name?” Kristina sounded confused. Of course, she was. Her cool-headed, cold-hearted bestie was having a nervous breakdown over a guy he’d just met.

“Yeah. He’s perfect, Kristina. Smart and kind. He’s good to the bone. Do you understand what I mean? I didn’t think there were guys like that anymore. So good, I feel like a roach next to him. He’s smallish and a bit skinny. But, God, he’s beautiful. To me, he’s beautiful. I… I’ve never felt like this about anyone.” A harsh, self-deprecating laugh escaped me. “And I can’t believe I said those exact words.”

Kristina remained serious.

“Tell him.”

“Tell him what? I’m just a one-night stand who got clingy, Kristina. There is no way I can prolong this. And I’m still reeling over Peter, and it’s all a fucking mess…. But I feel like Jamie…. Like he’s the….” The what? The One? I wouldn’t sink so low as to say something naive like that. No way. Not even on my worst day.

“And if he feels the same?” Kristina said, loud and clear.

“He doesn’t. And even if he did, he’s too smart and rational to take a chance on something this crazy.”

“You are convinced there’s nothing you can do. Why are you calling me, then?” Oh, the lawyer in her. I loved her.

I took a breath and told the truth. “Because I just admitted to myself that I need someone, and I’m all alone, and no one cares.”

“I care. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time. But I care a lot. You’re still my best friend. We are close. You get me. I’ve got you. When you come to Bratislava, I’m going to be there for you when you need a hug, and you’re going to listen to my frustrated rants about work. We’ll party and suffer together. I’m here; nothing’s changed about that. You are not alone, okay?”

I rubbed my stinging eyes and nodded, feeling silly because she couldn’t see me. “Yeah.”

“You are not alone, Ondro,” she said again, in that hard, sure tone of voice that made me admire her so much.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re silly. Next time, just say you need me to be your friend. We can skip the problem-solving and go directly to comforting.”

“I’ve never needed comforting before.”

“Yeah, you did. We just usually used alcohol instead of hugs. Hugs are better. I’m looking forward to hugging you again.”

“Me too.” She was a miracle. “Go work.”

“Hang in there, Ondro. And call again. Anytime. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I book a flight.”

“Take care.”

“You too. Bye.”

“Bye,” she sighed. There was a load of worry in the simple syllable.

Seeing an opening between the houses, I almost ran down the stairs. The stone wall above the river stopped me. I stared at the gray-brown waters, trying to let the comfort of Kristina’s words seep into me.

Was this how he felt? No, it must have been incomprehensibly worse for Peter. How did I even dare to compare my pathetic struggles to his suffering? I’ve done so much since I left, met so many people and seen so many places. I could complain about it being empty and superficial, but I still had so many reasons to continue. Yes, I felt jaded and lonely. But I wanted to live. I wanted to try again. How hopeless must he have felt and for how long that he simply couldn’t make it another day?

WHEN I calmed down enough to eat again, I bought a burger and a beer. I spent the day walking through the winter streets of old town Basel, trolling museums, cafés, and restaurants. I watched people.

Somewhere along my way, sometime during the past seven odd years, I had stopped looking at people. I only noticed figures with my peripheral vision, like stumbling blocks to avoid or crawl over. In my confusion, I watched them today. I stared into their faces until they looked back funny, until I felt like a creep and moved on to the next subject.

I watched couples huddling together in the nasty Swiss December weather, people with dogs, with kids. I tried to figure out what I felt looking at them. Not hate, not disgust. I felt a little bit of envy. Only a little. And then came the longing, self-pity, sadness. Fear.

I was afraid.

I’d thought of fear a lot since I met Jamie. A lot of things about him, about the past few days, made me terrified.

Sitting in another café, closer to the cathedral, I watched a young gay couple holding hands covertly under the table. I realized I was not nearly disappointed enough to give up on that. I wanted that again. Fear made me pretend I didn’t need it. Jamie made me acknowledge that I didn’t need to be alone anymore. So even if I lose him—when I lose him—at least I’d stop pretending.

I CAME back to the hotel after ten at night, thankful that Jamie was already asleep. I stripped and took a quick shower. Seeing him like that, tranquil and vulnerable, made me feel helpless. After I had spent the whole day fighting the unreasonable amount of power he had over me, as soon as I saw him curled in a little ball under the covers, I was lost again. In a T-shirt and boxers, I climbed behind him and hugged him to my chest. He stirred briefly, mumbled something incoherent, and then snuggled deeper into my embrace, intertwining our legs and pushing his ass into my lap.

I was defeated, crushed, and flattened. As I had done for the past few nights, I fell asleep much later with my nose in his hair.