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Theodore’s body presses flush against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. “She’s just making sure you’re good enough for her boy.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
Resting my head against his, I close my eyes, the warmth of his skin travelling through my body. “And am I?” I whisper. “Am I good enough for you?”
You know you’re not.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
He sounds almost frustrated and, honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m not only fucked in the head, I’m insecure, too, and it’s something I only learned about myself after meeting Theodore. I’ve never been afraid of losing anything before because I’ve never allowed myself to become attached. The funny thing is I didn’t allow myself to get attached to Theodore. I was simply powerless to stop it.
“Are you okay, James?” he asks, gripping my waist and slowly turning me around. “You seem a little distracted lately.”
Am I? I must try harder. “It’s just the business. I need to let some people go.”
“Why?” His eyes widen.
“The deal I lost has cost us. I’ve been left with no choice but to close the design department and sub-contract out to freelancers.”
My explanation is partly true. The magazine deal has lost us money – something which Gerard, my father’s, and subsequently my, business partner is not happy about. He’s a silent partner who doesn’t deal with the day-to-day running and decision making, but he owns forty percent, and so in situations like this, I’m forced to validate his opinion. But truthfully, my reckless spending is responsible for pushing Holden House to almost breaking point.
When I met with my accountant last week he presented me with a mountain of invoices and contracts that I don’t even remember ordering, yet there’s no denying the signatures on the documents are mine. Agreements for office furniture, building work, and a new Beemer, which is arriving next week, stared me in the face and I have no recollection whatsoever of arranging any of them. Worst of all, profit figures for the last quarter are the lowest we’ve seen in six years and I didn’t even notice.
My personal accounts show I’m not poor, by any means, but the balance is no longer growing which means I need to make some drastic changes before I’m, eventually, left with nothing.
My father must be so disappointed with me.
“I had no idea,” Theodore says.
I shrug. “It doesn’t affect you. Your department is safe.” For now…
“It affects you, and you affect me.”
Silence follows and I start to feel nervous…or is it guilt? I can’t decide. All I know is that I’m, suddenly, acutely aware of every breath I take.
My fringe, usually swept to the side and held in place with wax, has fallen slightly. Reaching up, Theodore combs it back into place with his fingers. “And this is what’s getting you down?”
“I’m not down. A little stressed, but I’m fine. I promise.” I’m a lying bastard and I hate myself for it. We’ve had a few similar conversations over the last couple of months, where Theodore asks how I’m feeling and I lie through my worthless fucking teeth. A relationship shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t be constantly worrying about me. It’s a burden he doesn’t deserve.
I miss his smile. It’s radiant, it heals me, yet I’ve barely seen it in a couple of weeks. He’s a fun person, positive, and I’m sucking it out of him. I want to romance him, take him to dinner, on adventures, repeat the magic of the funfair…but, right now, leaving the house, even to go to work, fills me with dread. The fact I can’t do that for him is testament to how selfish I am.
It’s time to see the doctor. You know it is.
I can beat this on my own. I’ll start taking my meds again.
It’s too late for that. Talk to someone. Max, Theodore…just open your mouth and be honest.
“I’m okay, Theodore,” I say, lie, palming his cheek. “Come to bed with me. Help me forget about the real world for a few hours.”
Smiling, he presses his lips to mine. “Lead the way.”
**********
Two weeks later…
“…uncertainty. I demand to know what your plans are!”
Mike has been chewing my arse off for half an hour now, and I switched off about twenty-five minutes ago. I’m rarely in the mood for Mike, but today my patience is wearing especially thin since my mother’s impromptu visit this morning. Gerard, my business partner, has found out about the financial mistakes I’ve made and, instead of being an adult and discussing it with me, he tattletaled to my mother.
‘Why are you so irresponsible?’
‘Your father trusted you. What do you think he’d say?’
‘If you’re not cut out for this, then I’ll get Gerard in full time.’
Those are just a snippet of the things she had to say while I did nothing but stare at the light switch over her shoulder and pretend to listen. On another day I might worry about the points she raised, especially the one about my father, but today…today I’m too tired to give a shit. She has no shares in this business, something I know pissed her off when my father decided to leave his entire stake to me, so it’s none of her fucking business.
Briefly, I look up from the document I’m reading and make eye-contact with Mike. “You’re not in a position to demand anything. You work for me, not with me. Your department is safe. That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Well that’s all you’re getting. Now, is there anything else? I’m busy.” I’m not, I just want him to fuck off. I want everyone to fuck off. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend for. I’ve tried the breathing exercises that are supposed to quell anxiety…and they do nothing. They don’t take away the boulder in my stomach, the nervous flutter in my chest, or the feeling that everyone can see that I’m losing it. All they do is make me feel fucking stupid.
