A Breath of Innocence

by K. A. Merikan

  Something wasn’t right. Griff felt it in his gut.

  He spent the next thirty minutes torn between sending Mark messages, calling his number only to clash with the voicemail again, and slowly changing into his day clothes. He’d even chosen his Christmas sweater with Mark in mind—one with a tighter fit, in sleek gray with a print of reindeer heads in Santa hats—because he wanted Mark to like the way he looked. Now the memory of Mark’s touch felt like lies.

  Still left without a single answer to his flood of texts and calls, he stumbled outside, wondering if by any chance he could get his hands on Charlotte’s anti-anxiety pills.

  His sister was already by the tree in the family room. Dressed casually in jeans, fluffy socks and a cozy sweater. She looked so comfortable, the antithesis of how Griffith felt.

  This was a private space, used only by family and close friends, and it bore no trace of last night’s party. The sun streaming inside lit up the baubles and transformed the space into an image from one of those Christmas commercials that never had anything to do with reality.

  They were alone. Well, almost. Allen was by the French windows, playing with a set of old-timey wooden vehicles, so engrossed in his little world he hadn’t acknowledged Griffith’s presence.

  “Hey, Griff,” Charlotte said and walked up to him with a smile, holding a steaming mug of coffee. “You slept well? I’m feeling much better. My headache was awful yesterday.”

  What was she playing at? She’d left after an argument with Mark. She’d hated Mark from the beginning, and now she was all ribbons and candy? There was no way she hadn’t had a hand in what must have happened!

  “Did you make him leave?”

  “Who?” She opened her eyes and mouth wide in an expression of surprise that was so obviously fake Griffith barely kept his hands on his hips.

  “You know who. What did you tell him? Why is he gone?”

  “Mark? He left early? You know I don’t like him, but it doesn’t mean I had anything to do with this.”

  The gaslighting was just astounding. “Do you think I’m an idiot? What did you do?” Griffith asked, raising his voice and stepping close so suddenly Charlotte spilled some of her beverage.

  “Oh, my God! What’s wrong with you?” She quickly put the mug away and grabbed some tissues. “I told you, you can’t trust him. What did he do to you?” She looked as if she wanted to continue, but her gaze darted to Allen, who stared at them, wide-eyed, and she whispered instead. “You’re scaring him.”

  Anger was like a chain explosion inside Griff, and he paced around the room, feeling his feet sink into the thick carpet. For once it didn’t feel cozy but like a swamp about to suck him in. “You were plotting against him from the start. Just last night you made a big deal of him talking to Allen. Now he’s gone, and you’re suddenly all relaxed and happy? You think I’d believe it’s just an accident?”

  “Do you even hear yourself? That guy’s got you all twisted up against family. I hope you’re more focused on uni in Bristol than on going out drinking with him or something. I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

  “What is this noise so early in the morning? It’s like you’re both little kids again,” Father complained, approaching from the direction of the stairs in a beige sweater featuring a reindeer.

  Griffith’s lips shut, and his throat once again filled with a physical manifestation of regret. He couldn’t cope with this. And most of all, he couldn’t take Charlotte standing between him and Mark.

  Charlotte walked up to Allen and pulled him up for a quick kiss as she rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, Dad. Griff’s throwing a fit.”

  “I’m not throwing a fit! I was just asking valid questions.”

  Father adjusted his glasses as he sat in his favorite plaid armchair by the window, next to the scattered toys. “And what questions are those? Is you friend not joining us, Griffith? Not a morning person?”

  Griffith squeezed his hands into fists, his brain becoming so chaotic he couldn’t keep still. Why couldn’t Mark be here now and hold his hand through this? “He needed to see to a family issue. He says he is very sorry he couldn't say goodbye to you and Mum.”

  Father frowned at him. “He could have at least left a note.”

  Griffith blinked away the tension around his eyes, feeling like he was about to just explode from the pain constantly stirring on the inside. Mark did leave a note, and it changed everything. “I think I will have to return to Bristol today. Could any of you give me a lift to the station?”

  “On Christmas Day? There won’t be any trains until tomorrow. What could possibly be so important?” Mother asked as she walked in with a tray full of drinks and snacks.

  Charlotte pouted and sat on the carpet by the tree, seating Allen in front of her yet ignoring the faces he was making at her. “Yeah, Griff. What do you want to do in Bristol? It’s important to spend time with family.” Her level gaze only made Griff more frantic. She knew something. She absolutely did!

  He exhaled and glanced at his parents, ready to pull out the heaviest weapon in his arsenal. “I forgot to hand in a project.”

  Mother watched him for several painful seconds, but then exchanged looks with Dad. They must have talked about him and uni often. Had it somehow reached them that he was skipping classes or that his results weren’t all that great?

  “Won’t the office be closed on Christmas Day? And can’t you just email it to the tutor?” Charlotte asked.

  Griffith cleared his throat, happy he’d made progress. Lying was a breeze. “No, they need a hard copy. And Dr. Glover specifically told us that he’s going to read through them over Christmas.”

  Father shook his head. “Maybe you should spend more time on things that are actually important in terms of your future. This is no longer time for indulging in hobbies.”

  Mother didn’t look impressed either, but Griff didn’t care anymore at this point. He needed to be in Bristol, with Mark, more than he needed air. Without Mark, the whole world seemed set on suffocating him.

  “You should have not come to the party then. Wouldn’t it have been so much better if you’d dealt with this yesterday and came home this morning?” Mother asked, but put down the tray. “You’re an adult, and since you don’t work, your studies are your only responsibility. I am very unimpressed by this, Griffith. Your father will take you to the coach stop. But book your ticket now.”

  Father exhaled and shook his head at Griffith in a gesture that was very well known to him. His behavior was a disappointment to everyone. He’d made his mother worried. His results were below expectations. Still, he could take all the complaints and chastising if it meant he would get what he wanted eventually.

  It was only an afterthought, but he noticed that the present he’d brought for Mark was absent from under the tree.

  *

  The next few hours were drained of all the joy Griffith usually associated with Christmas. Was this what being an adult felt like? Having the brocade veil torn off the favorite holiday to reveal grown-up problems that needed to be kept silent for the sake of everyone else? He liked the presents he’d received, but deep down they made him even more miserable, because he didn’t have the one thing he needed. When, after a drive filled with unwanted questions, Griffith finally boarded a National Express coach, it was as if some of the giant weight had fallen off his shoulders.

  His text messages were still left unanswered, and they echoed the emptiness within Griff’s chest. How could a person just flip their attitude like this? The whole trip to Bristol took forever, getting a cab in the rain on Christmas Day was hell, but all he could think of was that if he only reached Mark’s flat, if he could get to him and talk face to face, Mark would surely understand he’s made a big mistake. And if there was a misunderstanding at the root of all this, they could clear things up, and all would be good again.

  Maybe Griff had been too intense and overwhelming with his feelings? He could totally tone that down, he could chill. He wa
s relieved that he hadn’t told Mark he loved him just yet, because there would be no way out after that.

  Not even bothering to take his luggage home first, Griffith ran all the way to Mark’s flat and knocked. Knocked. Knocked again, and pressed his ear to Mark’s door.

  The whole building was so quiet, so dark, as if everyone who lived here had left to spend Christmas with their families elsewhere. But Mark had no family to visit, nowhere to go on Christmas Day, so why wasn’t he opening the door?

  “Mark, can we talk, please?” he asked in his normal tone, trying to turn the door handle, but it was locked.

  He took a couple of deep breaths when the tightness in his throat became unbearable, but it didn’t help. Tears streamed down his cheeks. At least there was no one to see his humiliation in the empty corridor. He’d worn the new blue jacket in hope of expressing how much he liked the gift, but now it was damp from the drizzle outside and there would be no way to give it back if necessary. He wouldn’t stop trembling from head to toe, as if flu was getting its hold on him.

  He couldn’t handle any of this anymore.

  Maybe, just maybe, Mark had gone out to have Christmas dinner at someone else’s place? Maybe he really wasn’t home? Maybe he wasn’t just ghosting Griffith from across the door.

  Griffith shuddered when the light in the hallway went off, drowning him in darkness dispersed only by the faint glow coming through the single window. He sank down and leaned against the door, sitting on the mat in front of it. His muscles hurt as if he’d danced for hours, and he had no more strength left to go across the yard and back to his own flat. The only hope lay in his phone, which still held no single answer from Mark.

  Griff swallowed and decided to call one more time. If Mark was indeed home, then Griff would hear it ring, and he’d bang on the door it until Mark faced him.

  Three rings in and Griff expected to go to voicemail, resigned about not hearing the phone inside the flat, but there it was.

  He held his breath, and his brain worked overtime on coming up with a new message. One that would make Mark call him back, one that would speak of his desperation.

  But then Mark picked up and Griffith’s heart might have stopped for a moment as he listened to the silence, at loss and not knowing what to say.

  This entire day had drained all of Griffith’s energy, and without anyone to confide in—as he didn’t want to spoil Nisha’s family time—his brain was barely functional at this point. Still, the quiet on the other side of the line finally made him speak, and voicing the question that had been eating at him for so many hours now chipped at the last of his self-control.

  “Why? What did I do?”

  Mark took a deep breath, as if Griff was a nuisance that needed to be confronted before it would finally go away. Just yesterday, Griff had been on the verge of telling this man he loved him. How was this happening?

  “Everything that needed to be said was in the note.”

  Griff had thought hearing anything other than ‘This is Mark, leave your message’ would have been a godsend, but it wasn’t. This was worse. Mark sounded so cold. As if Griffith were an annoying stranger, a telemarketer calling with yet another offer for the thing you already told them you didn’t want.

  Mark no longer wanted him.

  “Y-you didn’t think so in the gatehouse.”

  Mark had told Griff things no one had ever told him. How beautiful he was, how enticing. Could he have been lying all along? To gain what exactly? Mark was exciting, handsome, and interesting. He didn’t have to set up ploys to have sex with someone.

  “It’s not about that, okay? You’re really lovely, but I can’t do this right now.”

  Why? What else did he have on his plate that was more important?

  Griffith took a shuddery breath and hoped the tremor couldn’t be heard wherever Mark was. “You told me we were boyfriends. You did that yesterday. Nobody changes their mind out of nowhere!”

  “Well, I did. So just forget me, okay? Your sister was right, maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.”

  “She did talk to you, didn’t she? I knew it!” Griffith said, pressing the phone tighter against his ear. Energy flooded his body, and if Mark told him to fly out to Argentina for him right now—Griffith would.

  "I'm an asshole, okay? It's what I am. Can't help it. You need someone who can do better. I-I’m sorry.”

  “Where are you? I want to talk, and... I’m back in Bristol. Just point me to an address, and I’ll come over. You can tell me what’s really going on,” Griffith said, curling up by the door.

  “I won’t be back for a while. I’m not the guy you’re looking for.” And with that, Mark disconnected.

  “No...” Griffith tried to call Mark again, but this time the call went straight to voicemail, as if Mark had switched off his phone to avoid having to deal with Griffith’s bulshit.

  He just left. He’d lied to Griffith’s face for weeks until Griffith believed his every word, and now he left as if he didn’t even owe Griffith an explanation.

  Tears clouded Griff’s eyes, and the sob, that had been building up in his chest for the entirety of this day came out, echoing off the old walls around him.

  He couldn’t handle this. He would die, starve at this door, and when Mark finally decided to come back, Griff’s corpse would be waiting for him here.

  Chapter 20 - Griffith

  The next five days changed nothing.

  Cooped up in the flat, Griffith couldn’t bring himself to do anything productive and spent his days binging a Netflix show after a Netflix show. He made himself take a shower every day, but that was the extent of the normalcy he was willing to commit to. Without Nisha or any signs of Mark’s presence across the yard, the flat was like a huge box, its classy minimalist decor and tall ceiling no longer felt airy but oppressive in their emptiness.

  With his limbs stiff from lounging on the sofa, Griffith pulled himself up and walked to the kitchen, finding some consolation in the cool wood under his feet. For a moment, he almost felt like dancing the pain away, but the dull ache inside was too great to turn it into expressive movement. He’d been beaten down, a cracked shell left behind by hopes that Mark had seasoned for weeks, only to scoop up everything that was of worth to him and dump what was left.

  And still, Griffith wanted to feel Mark’s presence, so he wore the clothes Mark had lent him the day after Griffith’s birthday, with the blue coat serving as his robe and already crumpled from Griffith falling asleep in it. He hadn’t combed his hair since Christmas, and after days of neglecting the razor, his cheeks shone with golden stubble.

  He was such a pathetic human being.

  On the way to the kitchen, he checked his phone again, as if he could have somehow missed a call or text while holding the mobile in his hand all day. There was nothing. Not a single answer to the sorrowful voice message Griffith had left for Mark just last night. He had no pride to speak of anymore.

  The fridge was packed with an excessive amount of food, but Griffith found himself lacking appetite for those past few days, and so a number of the ready meals and perishable products were already approaching their best-before dates. He should feel guilty over such a waste, but there was no place in him for any feelings that weren’t betrayal and regret.

  The food he did eat—cookies, cheese, a family-sized pot of clotted cream—made him feel heavy and bloated, but with sugar and fat being his only remaining friends, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  He was halfway down a bottle of chocolate milk when the sound of the lock opening clanged in the corridor, and he looked that way, pulse thudding in his ears when Nisha walked in with a pink suitcase, all smiles and lush hair.

  “Griffith, you won’t believe it. My cousin introduced me to this hairdresser, and she is a-mah-zing. The salon’s in this lovely spa in a Victorian manor, and their services are just the best. We need to go together sometime,” she said, approaching the kitchen with a wide smile. “Were you going
out? Great coa—what are you wearing?” Her speech trailed off when she spotted the oversized outfit Griffith wore underneath, a pink stain at the front of the T-shirt and the coat to top it all off.

  Griffith left the milk on the counter and pulled Nisha into his arms, suddenly unable to keep in the emotions he’d thought had already drained out of him. “I-I’m happy you had a good time.”

  She hugged him back after a moment of hesitation. “Did our heating break down? No, it’s fine in here.”

  Griffith squeezed her harder when his chest compressed in anguish, as if the presence of a new person in his sanctuary of grief opened the floodgates all over again. “He broke up with me.”

  Her grip on his arms instantly tightened. “No. Oh, Griff… oh, no. What happened? Why didn’t you call me?” The way she stroked his back only made him want to cry again.

  Griffith took a shuddery breath instead and buried his face in her hair. It did feel and smell amazing. “I wanted you to have a good time. And I thought I could just deal with this on my own, but it’s been five days, and I’m still in pieces. I trusted him. Why would he lie to me?”

  “What did he say?” Nisha pulled Griffith to the sitting room and guided him to the sofa, her eyes focused on him only. Having someone to confide in instead of stewing in his own helplessness made Griff feel better and worse all at once.

  With a warm arm over his shoulders, he opened up, briefly describing to Nisha what had happened, all the way until the floodgates opened again, and he had to hide his face in a cushion to avoid embarrassing himself further with tears.

  He was pathetic enough without crying like a baby.

  She listened with eyes wide open and shaking her head over and over. “Un-fucking-believable. Griff? Look at me. He’s gonna pay, okay? We’re not going to let him sweep this under the rug.”

  He sniffed and pulled the coat tighter around him. “You think this is some kind of consolation prize? ‘Sorry, I just wanted to fuck you, but here’s this coat you liked’?”

  “Why are you still wearing it anyway? You should freaking burn it and scatter the ashes on his doorstep. I just can’t!” Nisha spread her arms in agitation. “How can a person be so two-faced? What the fuck?!”