‘Look, Ihearyou about this shop,’ Dougie said. ‘But I think you should focus on us.’
‘Us? Dougie, there is no us. You made sure of that.’
Silence. Quinn surprised himself, too. Perhaps it was the tanzanite. Would he have said that had Dougie been in front of him? Right now, Quinn couldn’t play whatever games Dougie wanted to play. It was exhausting, and he was exhausted.
‘You want us to end?’
This is what Dougie did. Quinn had only realised it three months after their breakup. Whenever there was an issue, it was Quinn’s fault. Never Dougie’s. Now, clearer than the crystal quartz on his bedside table Ivy gave him last Christmas, Dougie was doing the same thing again.
‘You broke up with me,’ Quinn said. ‘Remember?’
‘I had a lot going on,’ Dougie said. ‘You know, my mental health. But I’m in a better place now.’
Quinn had always felt for Dougie and his mental health issues until realisation dawned on him that those issues only existed when he didn’t get his own way. Such issues only ever cropped up as weapons, guilting Quinn into submission.
Not this time.
‘Look, Cardiff seems like it has been good for you and your…’ – Quinn paused – ‘mental health. I love that for you. You’ve moved on.’
And I’ve moved on.
Go on, say it.
Saying it would be final.
But he had known for a long time that Dougie couldn’t come back. Wouldn’t come back. Shouldn’t come back.
Quinn stared at the tanzanite ring.
‘And I’ve moved on.’ Quinn closed his eyes. Silence. It stretched out like a yoga pose. ‘And I think…’
Too much silence.
Looking at his phone, Quinn realised the call had cut.
‘Alright then,’ Quinn said.
He looked around his apartment, the ghost of Dougie walking around buck naked, his wavy black hair falling to his shoulders. The first man Quinn met hadn’t been good for him but he couldn’t see it. Now, after the texts, and that phone call, he could.
With a deep breath, he blocked Dougie’s number, seeing the ghost of him fade into nothingness. It was over. He was free.
So why did he feel like he’d done something illegal?
He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d made the right choice in cutting Dougie off. He had to make changes. For too long, he’d let people decide what he should do. Dictate how he should feel. Dougie always decided, and Quinn followed suit. His father’s death left him craving a person who could tell him what was right, what would make him feel safe. But in doing that, he’d compromised everything.
Now, through reckless choices and the suppression of his own desires, he’d hit a wall. Found himself in trouble.
Quinn moved the ring on his hand as he thought of all the things that were wrong in his life. The threatened closure of his shop, an ex that he kept letting back in, cutting off his mother despite her attempts to keep communication alive between them. All because he’d feared what would happen if he did what he wanted to do and said what he wanted to say.
No more. He couldn’t do it. Allowing others to decide resulted in him forgetting who he was.
He went to his wardrobe and got dressed in a knitted jumper and some jeans, and then booted up and threw a coat over his hoodie. Dougie would not disturb his thoughts anymore. The shop would always come first.
Seeming to float down the stairs as he thought of the viral comments and attention hitting his social media accounts, he headed out into the snow and almost expected people to swarm to him like he was one of the Kardashians. He expected to be asked his thoughts, how he felt, who he was wearing. Instead, the still silence of snow so close to Christmas welcomed him.
The real world still didn’t know what was happening. The bubble of social media struck again, and while it was great to have such recognition, he couldn’t help but wish that the community here knew.
If they didn’t know, then he should tell them.
