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The number of times I’ve had a mental conversation that is different from what I say out loud… all the acerbic wit and dark humour I keep hidden to come across as pleasant…
“I’m asking if you are pretending to me about tonight," he says.
“And if I was?” I askjustto ask.
His expression hardens. He looks down at his hands. I notice them agitated and flexing…
He notices too and utters a soft but harsh, “Shit.”
This throb inside me reacts. I like how upset he is over my pain. That it pushes him to lose control. Is he also like this in the bedro?—
Okaaaaay, I’ve got to get out of here.
“I’m good,” I insist. “The only issue I have with my trip overall is wondering if I am doing enough. That’s it. I’m afraid I'm not going off-script like I am supposed to. This is my chance to be anonymous and completely free, and yet, I’m in my head about everything. But that isn’t a problem to solve tonight.” I make myself yawn. “Tonight, I’m drained and ready for bed.”
Huan nods and gives me space.
I don’t hesitate.
Turning the knob, I rush out of the bathroom.
Because I clearly have not masturbated in way too long, and need to find privacy to take care of myself, so I don’t keep thinkingthrobandHuanin the same sentence because he’s my bodyguard. Off-limits… and disturbingly insightful. Like he knows my actual personality. The one he shouldn’t understand. The one nobody should see, for I've trained myself to keep it hidden from prying eyes.
ELEVEN
Rachel’s hostel is sandwiched between pubs which are beyond capacity, or the street has become the communal living room for everyone as they drain their last pint.
In the cool, somewhat windy air, Huan and I are surrounded by laughter, curses, and frenetic voices. People sayingI got absolutely lamp shaded tonightandSorry, can I just squeeeeze past you?andLes! Les! Oi, Les! LES, YOU DEAF CUNT! Want another pint?
A man in his underwear waves his pants in the air. It has a splotch that needs drying. Beside him, a couple makes out, their fingers sneaking under each other’s skirts. Others huddle and eat chips from a bag. Some people queue in a line I’m not sure leads anywhere. Football jerseys, mesh tops, weird liquid spilled on the road, shattering light reflections at us, perspiration, and kebabs. It's an entanglement of life and desire and a desperation to stretch taunt against time. Let it not end. Let it end. Let it not end. Let it end. Standing there, and watching from what feels like an endless distance, pangs go through me.
“You got quiet,” Huan observes from beside me.
I rub the centre of my chest, trying to soothe… something. That feeling of missing out? Of jealousy? People look so blithe.They look like they can choose to be. And me? I’m desperate, still trying toSwallow Every Part Of This Trip Until My Jaw Hurts Because It’s Now or Never.
It hits me again, somehow harder right now.
My reality.
After this trip, everything changes. Life turns different. It becomes something responsible, formal, and unrecognized. People will know my face and my name. They will want interviews, and there will be red carpets. Everything becomes like my mother’s life. My future is a replication of hers.
Huan says something in an insistent tone.
It’s rude, but I’m barely listening to him.
Undeterred, Huan wraps his arm around my shoulder to get us away from the crowd. He is determined to find a spot less noisy and cluttered, as if it will help. It won’t because my crisis has no easy answer, and it has never hit me as hard as it just did.
Less than three weeks is all I have left.
A man with wire-framed glasses sticks out an arm in front of us. “Sorry to bother you”—he’s an American tourist—“but either of you got a lighter? I lost mine in the pub or maybe at the pub before. Somewhere.”
I shake my head no. A woman with voluminous blonde hair ruffles through her bag, losing a grip on her beer. It smashes at our feet.
Without warning, Huan lifts me in the air. I'm saved from minimum glass carnage and carried off in his arms. Someone whistles.It’s enough to jerk me out of my thoughts. “Put me down.”
“I have you.”
I wriggle in his arms. “You don’t have to have me.”
