by Zelda French
François, however, is stuck in a dark and revengeful place fuelled by cheap alcohol, and he seems to inexplicably hate my guts. He pulls Sacha by the arm and yanks her bodily away from me.
“Good job, Lou!”
What on earth have I done to this guy, honestly?
“Next time you’re not invited, make sure you stay that way, okay?”
He trudges toward the kitchen, dragging Sacha by the arm. She blows Michael and I a kiss. I remove Eugénie’s shades and, after closer inspection, decide they’re too dangerous and better left in their leather box at the bottom of a drawer. I tuck them neatly into my pocket.
Drunk Michael, up close, is a sweaty mess of curls and wide-eyes. I’m not saying he’s not hot anymore. I’m saying I think I’ve come down a little. I’m saying my little obsession’s about to cost me a price I don’t want to pay.
“What’s going on?” Michael asks, looking just as confused at Sacha.
“Chaos,” A bad feeling is growing in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll explain later.”
Michael takes another swig of Sacha’s disgusting-looking cocktail. “Can I help?”
His eyes are soft, earnest. He’s here, so close. The reason I’m not running after my friends right now. I could almost kiss him, right here, right now, in the middle of Sacha’s living room, and people might notice, but I’d least I would be able to understand all of this, and maybe I could move on.
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
Just one kiss, and it would all be over.
But here it is. He’s absolutely wasted. Taking advantage of him would simply ruin everything. I came here to save him, not molest him.
I drag him, smiling, across the living room, and throw the contents of his cup in the nearest plant.
“First, don’t drink this shit, it will give you a headache.”
“We were out of wine,” Michael says, following me diligently.
I hand him his coat, hooked neatly in the doorway above a passed-out Lars sprawled out onto the floor. Michael struggles back into his coat.
“Are we going after them?”
“Who?”
“Tony and your girlfriend.”
“I don’t think so.” Lucie’s angry face flashes in my head, twisting my stomach. “They wouldn’t want to see us right now. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“I’m drunk,” he says.
He attempts to button his coat but gives up after the first half-assed try.
“That’s okay. That’s why I’m taking you home.”
Wrapping his scarf around his neck, I gently nudge him toward the door, when Sacha calls Michael’s name.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” She comes trotting toward us, her face the picture of drunken disappointment. She shoves a plastic cup full of booze into Michael’s hand.
Michael kisses her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I think he’s had enough.”
Both Sacha and François glare at me, as though I have single-handedly ruined their night. Their anger somewhat amuse me.
“Look what you did!” I tell Michael, with a nod toward them.
Michael trips over Lars’s leg and the cup Sacha gave him tips over, pouring its contents all over his shirt. Michael stare at the stain spreading right above his heart and slurs:
“It’s not me, it’s you.”
“OK. I’m taking you home before we do anymore damage.”
A deep feeling of relief washes over me once we get outside. The sky is clear for once, and the stars glinting above seem to be watching over us.
Michael’s freezing, in his open coat. We stop in the middle of the pavement so I can button it for him.
“When I arrived,” I say, “Sacha said you were miserable. What happened?”
“I don’t like parties.” His voice is too loud. “Or, I don’t like people. No, that’s not right. I don’t know.”
The last button dealt with, I smooth Michael’s lapel and step back to admire my work. “All done.”
We slowly walk toward the nearest bus stop. Michael is silent a long time.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I didn’t think you were a drunk!”
He snorts and buries his fist into my shoulder.
“Sacha was really nice and kept serving me drinks.”
I bet she was.
Drunk Michael is hopeless. Soon enough, he almost slams into a lamppost. Catching his arm, I stir him back to safety. He clings to my side, his body warm despite the cold.
“Even drunk,” he says, “I wasn’t having fun before you showed up.”
“Really? But I stayed for five minutes, and I was fighting for four of them.”
“Were you?”
I can’t help laughing. At his drunken sweetness, at myself, at the situation.
Me and Michael. The best of friends.
We arrive at the bus stop. I drop his drunk ass on the bench and start pacing. Without alcohol to keep me warm, I’m quickly frozen to the bone.
Michael turns to me, his breath like little puffs of smoke in the warm light of the bus stop.
“I want to tell you something.”
My heart jumps in my chest. “Could you possibly…tell me tomorrow?”
This is about the worst possible time for confessions right now. Whatever he says to me drunk is not going to be of any use to me tonight.
Michael shakes his head. “I want to tell you now.”
“Fine.”
I reluctantly take a seat next to him. Michael takes a deep breath, stares down at his shoes.
“My parents are having problems.”
That… wasn’t what I expected. But it’s also not what I feared.
“What sort of problems?”
“I think they wanted to split up. That’s why she took the part, so she could come to Paris and, you know, put some distance between them.”
Michael’s perfect life isn’t so perfect after all. Even his parents got fed up with each other, just like mine.
“Did your mum ask you to come with her?”
Michael shivers in his coat. “No, not really. I just wanted to be with her.”
I listen, aghast. “You left all of your friends and your girlfriend just to be with your mum?”
I wouldn’t even leave Tony one afternoon to spend time with my mum. Hang on. That’s not exactly true. She wouldn’t leave her friends one afternoon to spend time with me. That’s more like it. Michael’s mum isn’t like that, though. She seems pretty great.
“I guess,” Michael says with a faint smile. “Anyway. Now, you know my secret too.”
I recall our time at the movies, when he said he owe me a confession. He remembered. That alone brings a smile to my face.
“How did she take it?” I ask.
“She was very happy.”
A cloud of fog snorts out of my nose. “Your girlfriend, I mean.”
Michael doesn’t answer at first. His gaze still locked on his shoes, he runs a hand through his curls.
“Louis.”
“Yes.”
“You know… my girlfriend?”
The sudden arrival of the bus smashes our little bubble and interrupts once again our conversation. I help Michael to his feet and we stagger together toward the entrance.
Michael gets in first, not so assured on his leg. The bus is crowded, noisy, filled with young people excited to go out for the night. My hand, flat on Michael’ back, helps stirring him toward the last available seats in the back.
“Are you and Lucie okay?” Michael asks, dropping heavily onto the seat.
I slump down next to him. “I honestly don’t know.”
The bus lurches forward. Michael and I are so close. A bump in the road and my mouth would be on his ear, telling things no one’s ready to hear.
Lucie and Tony are going to need my immediate intention if I don’t want to screw everything up. I’ve got to start thinking about what to tell them now.
“I’m sorry,” Micha
el says.
“I know.”
He’s drunk. His words carry not meaningful weight. Mine do.
He’s drunk. That’s why he suddenly rests his head on my shoulder. And his curls are grazing my cheeks. He’s drunk, but still, my heart start thumping in my chest, and I have to dig my nails into my knees to resist the temptation to bury my lips in his hair.
Michael moves his hand toward mine. His fingers brush against mine, my breath catches in my throat. He’s drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Still.
In silence, my fingers tentatively slide toward his, deaf to the barking orders from my brain to get my shit together. Two of my fingers intertwine with two of his. February makes way to June, the temperature rises. A hush settles on my soul at the same time my heart threatens to burst and jump out of my ribcage.
Very silently, very quietly, we rode the bus with locked fingers and tight lips, both unwilling to break the charm with words that would never give this moment justice.
Michael is better when he get off the bus. He doesn’t need my help stirring him anymore, but I deliberately keep close, just in case. At his door, he drops his keys. I pick them up and inwardly smile when our fingers touch. Again.
Michael scratches the back of his neck. “Thanks for taking me home. Really.”
“No problem. I live to serve.”
His smile freezes at the edges. “You’re funny, Louis. Everybody likes you.”
“Nonsense.” I can’t help laughing. “You’re still drunk.”
He offers me a shrug. Our laughter turns into silence.
“Can I ask you something?” Michael says.
Time stops.
My imagination gets carried away. I picture the scene in my head. Me, stepping closer. Me, saying Yes.
Michael worrying s his poor bottom lip, twisting and turnng his keys in his hand.
“Tonight? Did you come for me?”
“Yes.”
My heart’s doing cartwheels, thinking I might die. Michael leaning closer… our lips almost touching…
“What are you doing tomorrow?” The real Michael asks, bursting my little fantasy like a soap bubble.
I blink fast to recover. “Huh… Nothing important, I think?”
Tony and Lucie’s angry faces come back rushing into my mind. I screw my eyes shut.
Michael lightly touches my arm. “Can I text you?”
I don’t want to look at him. If I do, I’m lost. “Yes.”
We both want to say more, to do more, I think. We’re both afraid. We both abstain. We both turn our back to each other, eager for the safety of our homes, where we slip under the sheets, and surrender to the night, alternating between states of sheer terror and feverish exhilaration.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TIME OUT
WHEN I ENTER the coffee place, I do a double-take, because it seems colder in there than outside. Or it could be just from the way Tony and Lucie, sitting at a table by the window, are glaring at me.
Tony sent me a message this morning, shortly after I woke up, a little shaken, a little happy from a good night sleep, congratulating myself on a morning without a hangover.
TONY
We need to talk.
This being code for I’m going to break up with your sorry ass, I decided to pay real attention to it. My stomach began immediately to churn, and it wasn’t from hunger. I made a mistake last night, chose Michael over them, and here’s the reckoning.
I come to the meeting rendezvous, a coffee place between Tony and my own place, with the firm intention of apologising, and the naive hope to be able to go home early and wait for Michael’s text.
Oh, to be young, and stupid.
Dorian would get me.
I take a seat on a booth opposite Lucie. My mouth stretches in a yawn.
“Long night?” Tony asks, sarcastic, tearing a good chunk of the croissant laid in front of him and shoving it in his mouth.
Despite their hostile attitude, I choose to believe I’ll get out of this place unscathed if I just act like I haven’t done anything wrong. Which, technically, I haven’t. Apart from lying to their face about the party last night. I put my sunglasses, the ones Tony gave me, not Eugénie’s chick magnet, on the table before me and flash them a smile.
“I slept really well, actually. You?”
They don’t answer, but from Lucie’s tinge, I can assume she didn’t, in fact, sleep well. The cup of coffee and the croissant in front of her lay untouched, and the way she’s looking at me turns my stomach into a knot.
A young waiter arrives at our table, puts a menu under my nose, twisting his long neck to look at me.
“Can I take your order?”
I answer without blinking. “I just got this. I’m gonna need more time.”
“I’ll be back shortly, then.”
With a clipped smile, he spins around and walks off. Instinctively, Tony and I exchange a look.
“This guy looks like a bird,” I say.
Tony can’t help chortling, his mouth full of croissant. “He does, doesn’t he?”
Lucie gives a great sigh, reducing us to silence.
“What’s up?” I ask, pretending to read the greasy menu.
No answer. Looking up, I see they’re both looking at me intently. My anxiety rises. It dawns on my that I’m on the wrong side of the table.
“Look,” I say, in an effort to make things right. “I fucked up yesterday. I should have told you when I changed my mind and decided to crash Sacha’s party. But you didn’t tell me that you were invited. So, we’re even, aren’t we?”
I attempt to convey with my eyes how sorry I am but how reasonable this demand is. Tony looks annoyed.
“It’s not the same. We didn’t tell you we were invited because we didn’t want you to feel bad. You, on the other hand, just treats us like shit to spend time with your new friends.”
My new friends. Does he mean Michael?
“I left the party two minutes after you, I swear.”
Tony gives a dubitative smirk. “Sure.”
“I did!” I nod to add emphasis. “You can ask Michael.”
The mention of Michael is enough for Tony to toss the last bit of his croissant on the table and point a finger at me.
“That Michael What’s his deal? Is he gay or what?”
Wouldn’t I like to know! Take a ticket and wait in line, bro.
“What?” I nervously scratch my cheek. “Why are you saying that?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Lucie glances nervously at Tony, who tears another chunk from his croissant.
“You’re different,” she says. “You seem to want to hang out with them more than with us.”
“With whom?”
I’m seriously not getting it, and I’m not hungover.
“Seriously? You literally lied to us to party with Sacha and Michael.”
Oh, right.
I respect that she left François out of this, at least.
“Again, I’m sorry I lied, but I don’t understand what’s the big deal about it.”
“You don’t see it, that’s good for you.” Lucie puts her head in her hand.
Tony takes a deep breath. “It’s this Michael. I know it.”
My blood freezes. What do they think they know? They don’t know anything. I don’t know anything, so…
At the same moment, my bird-like waiter comes back, all smiles.
“Have you chosen yet?”
We all stare at him, bewildered.
“Give me another few minutes please?” Ignoring the scandalised expression of our waiter , I turn back to Tony. “What’s wrong with Michael?”
Tony tilts his head. “Ever since you’ve started hanging out with him, you’ve been acting really weird.”
“I haven’t been… hanging out with him.” I clear my throat. “I’ve been doing homework with him.”
“Last night didn’t seem like homework,” Lucie trims her fingers along the edge of her un
touched plate.
My pulse quickens. What have they seen?
“What do you mean?” My voice comes out strangled.
Tony picks at his croissant until it’s ripped to shreds, sending pieces flying everywhere.
“What? Were you planning to do homework with Michael at Sacha’s party?”
“It’s not just that.” Lucie chimes in, her expressed determined. “Since New Year’s Eve, you’re just different. You’ve cancelled on us half a dozen times—”
“To work on the essay.”
Tony gives a mocking laugh. “You’ve never gave a shit about homework before.”
I put on a brave face. “I never had my father making threats before.”
“Threats? Of what? London? You were never serious about London.”
This is starting to get on my nerves.
“Oh yeah?” I say, holding my ground. “Sorry, but for a second there, I really thought you really wanted me to go.”
Tony leans back in his chair, lips pinched. I’ve touched a nerve.
“You’ve changed your clothes,” Lucie says.
“I haven’t.” I shake my head. “I wore a stupid shirt to go to Sacha’s party. Big deal.”
“You wash your hair,” Tony adds.
“You can’t be serious. You can’t hold that against me.”
“We’re not,” Lucie says, voice trembling. “We’re just saying, something changed you.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. What can I say? Some of it is true.
Tony leans forward, looking to make eye contact. “It’s always Michael this, Michael that. And every time I’m talking to you, I have the feeling you’re somewhere else.” Tony says.
Lucie nods. “You don’t listen to us anymore.”
“You act like you’d rather be somewhere else.”
“Like last night. You hang out with The Golden Fork. On a Friday night.”
They exchange a look that shows how much they think of that.
For a moment, no one speaks. My gaze hops from crumb to crumb scattered on the table. I’m starting to understand where this is going, but it’s so ridiculous that I can yet admit it to myself.
“Okay, so you don’t like Michael.”
Tony scoffs. “Michael doesn’t like you, Louis.”
My heart thumps. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”