↠73↞

The truth

Another few days dragged for what it seemed like eternity. Will has been shunning me again, this time more effectively than ever before. His phone was probably in the airplane mode or simply turned off because each time I tried to ring him, I was sent straight to the voice mail and my messages have not been delivered. During the lectures he was hiding amongs other students, and regardless of his poor attendance, he still ditched some classes, like the one today, for instance. Nevertheless, he achieved something. His previous remark about rating our poems must have really gotten into the professor because she decided to renounce the idea of giving us grades for this specific task.

“It’s your last day to present your poems. Any volunteers?” the teacher asks.

“Actually . . .” I mutter, getting up from my seat. “I’d like to recite mine.” I shoot her a weak smile, and encouraged by the nod of her head, I make my way down to the centrally allocated space.

“What’s the title?” she asks, intrigued.

“The Olympics,” I murmur anxiously, my eyes fall upon the group of students. My face falls because of Will's absence.

I really wanted him to be here and listen to my work. I wanted him to understand how tired I am of his inability to give himself a chance to love and move on from his awful past. But he’s somewhere else, and it only proves how true are the words that I’ve written.

“Whenever you’re ready, Davina,” the professor utters, her tone is warm.

I fold my fingers behind my back and take a deep breath. My lips stretch into a faint smile when I notice Sheila, the girl whose work I adore, giving me a thumbs up. Then a waterfall of poetry comes out my mouth.

“I was walking down a bliss path, wearing chains and heavy boots, but the spell you put on me, summoned me to the rings of the Olympics. And you made me dress in latex, redder than the tartan track. And I might have lost the race, outrun by the past that isn’t mine — being chased by her ghost, chasing the one who it’s been haunting. So I stop, and even the past gets tired as it also stays behind. And I watch you run your endless laps, and no matter how much I’d love to bask in the glory of winning, I cannot compete with the world’s greatest runner. And I watch the confetti of bay leaves fall upon your head as you’re being crowned by your fears. Your baton — your brush, so alike to the torch that the Statue of Liberty holds. But you don’t know the taste of freedom, so I walk off to the locker room, wanting to put my chains and boots back on . . . but they've been stolen. So I lie down in the shower, naked and vulnerable. The cheering of the throng echoes for you winner, but guess what? When this game is over, and the lights at the stadium finally go off, you’ll still be there . . . but this time with no crowd . . . You’ll be there . . . alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

 
On the same evening I came up with a plan. An idea that could possibly change Will’s decision as to running away from me and the feelings that he’s developed. It might occur to him that I’m using his own generosity against him, but at this point I really don’t care. It feels as if I’ve already lost him anyway, so with nothing else to jeopardize, I shall put my plan into action.

I quickly pull the drawer of my bedside table open and take out an elegant, grey box that I’ve gotten from him for my birthday. I grab a hold of the pen that was inside it and quickly scrawl something on the tiny piece of paper.

Done with writing my birthday wish down, I dig my phone out of my pocket and dial Will’s number, but as I assumed, he’s still unreachable.

Left with no choice, I fire up the browser and search for his father’s art gallery website, beyond pleased as I find his business number. Then I wrinkle a brow, suddenly realizing that I’ve never gotten to know this man’s full name before. It’s Conrad Reyman.

Excited about implementing my idea, I dial the number provided on the Internet and patiently wait for someone to answer the phone — if anyone does answer, considering it’s late Friday.

“Good evening. Thank you for calling The Midnight Soul Blossoming Art Gallery, it’s Conrad Reyman speaking. How can I help?” he greets me with this professional utterance, his voice is smooth and polite.

“Good evening, Mr. Reyman. It’s Davina,” I mutter, quite nervous now.

“Oh, hello. Are you okay?” he asks, obviously concerned, because why would I even call him?

“Yeah, thank you. I just wanted to ask if you know where I can find your son? I tried to contact him but his phone must’ve died,” I lie, biting on the inside of my cheek. “It’s very important,” I add, hoping that he won’t dismiss me.

“I’m sure he’s home. Just go there and use the keys to get inside. You know the cartouche design on our front door?”

“Um, yes?” I mutter, bewildered.

“It’s actually a fake. You can remove it. The keys are inside it.”

“Oh.” Is all I can muster, surprised by his willingness to help me out. “Thank you,” I mutter, and after he says that it’s not a problem, I simply hang up.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

When I arrive in front of Will’s house, or rather the palace in disguise, I stride along the driveway, my eyes involuntarily land on the window of his room. It looks like he’s in, but even though there are no sheer curtains, I still can’t see anything apart from a bright, almost neon light glowing inside his place.

Since when does he have LED decor? My subconscious frowns.

I reach the front door and with a strong pull of my fingers, I remove the cartouche design. A jingle of keys resounds in my ears as they drop abruptly.

I gather them up, relentlessly trying to match different keys with the slot until I find the right one. Then I put them back to where they belong.

I step into the enormous but beautiful vestibule, and walk further inside, finding myself at the sumptuous foyer of Reyman’s family.

I dash up the stairs, my heart is at my throat, the grey, gift box safe and sound in the pocket of my jacket.

My chest expands in a deep breath as I inhale the air into my lungs, the possibilities of what might happen next ebb and flow in my mind in the form of images — some of them are pleasant, some terrifying.

Eventually, I pull myself together and regain my courage, knocking on the door to Will's room.

After a good minute of silence I try again, this time feeling a wave of nervousness flush over me as I see the handle briskly go down. Will appears at the threshold, his face first distorts in exasperation, but once he notices that it’s me, his eyes widen. He seems petrified.

“What are you doing here?” he rasps, stepping outside his room and shutting the door behind him.

“Why are you shirtless?” I respond with a question, my voice is small, almost pleading, as if I was begging the universe to be only joking.

“I was exercising,” he explains confidently, but the way he guards the door spawns a demon of uncertainty in my mind.

“Show me,” I demand, my tone turns cold.

“You turn up at my house and think that you can give me orders?” he questions with a scorn tinting his voice. “I asked you, what are you doing here?”

“I–” I tail off, my forehead creases as I notice a familiar redness on his neck. “Is that a lipstick?” I ask, my stomach twists in pain.

“What are you talking about? Where?” he murmurs, but instinctively touches the right spot — a proof that he’s lying.

“Let me in,” I demand coldly, trying to walk past him, but he briskly blocks my way.

“No.” His tone is assertive.

“Why?” I mutter, my voice breaks. “Because you’re fucking someone in there!?” I involuntarily scream, my vision becomes blurry thanks to the tears that my eyes brim with.

My question renders him speechless. His face contorts in panic — another proof of me being correct.

“Just get out of my way,” I growl under my breath, pushing him aside, quickly opening the door to his room.

I can feel my chin uncontrollably tremble, scalding tears rolls down my burgundy cheeks. The way my chest gets instantly heavy can’t compare to any weight in this world.

“What the?” the girl on the bed says, taken off guard, her arms and legs are tied up with ropes, her body clad in a black, leather outfit.

“Davina, wait,” Will entreats, penitent.

“Screw you,” I mutter faintly, dashing towards the stairs, waterfalls of tears cascade from my eyes.

“Wait!” He runs after me, his fingers clasp around my arm. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t need your explanations!” I bellow, my lungs feel as if they were on fire. “You confessed your feelings for me and then ignored me again just like you always do when you've got a pro–" I gasp for air. “Oh my God.” My hand flies up to my mouth in sudden realization. “You said that I wouldn’t understand . . .” I murmur, tears keep oozing from my eyes. “Every single time you haven't spoken to me . . . this is what you’ve been doing,” I say in a brittle voice, my chin trembles even more now. “Dealing with your problems.” My stare is murderous, holding his frightened one.

“It’s not the way you think it is,” he responds, his words are rushed.

“Is it not!?” I holler. “So you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked a girl every time something bad happened to you!?” I question, my nostrils flare.

“I have, but listen–”

“How many!? And how old is the one in your room!? She looks much older than us!” I yell, all my blood rushes up to my face.

“You don’t want to know the number, trust me. And she’s twenty-seven,” he says, suddenly deciding to be truthful.

“Wow. Just wow,” I mutter, incredulously shaking my head.

“You don’t understand. I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Will, you’ve been fucking some random girls whilst seeing me! There is nothing to understand! You’re such a hypocrite!” I shout, yanking my arm from his clasp. Then I dash down the stairs.

“Wait!” he pleads, running after me.

“You couldn’t fuck me in your shitty, repulsive, giving-you-a-hard-on clothes, so you did it with other girls, I get it!” I yell, striding towards the door.

“No. I did it because it took my mind off Beverly and my parents,” he explains, blocking my way to the exit with his half naked body, and before I get to shout at him again, he continues, “How do you think I’ve learnt how to fight, huh? After everything that had happened in my life I had to find a way to defuse my anger. I was constantly starting arguments just to beat someone up! I lost control over it and only got accepted to uni under one condition; that I wouldn’t cause any more trouble. So yeah, having lost my way of letting my anger out, I had to find another one.”

“You had a therapist.” I hiss.

“Yeah, cause fucking painting stuff surely helped me, Davina!” he growls, as infuriated as me now. “One night I was mad as hell, and then I fucked a girl, and I mean, I fucked her, so hard that you can't even imagine, and I liked it. It calmed me down, okay?” he spits, his torso expands in the rhythm of his unsteady breathing. “I tried it with you, and you hated it. But I still fucking fell for you, ages ago, long before we even did anything kinky,” he mutters, his voice softens. “I saw the way you looked at Nathan at your birthday party. You were so happy. I’ve never seen you so pleased before. That’s when it hit me hard. The realization that I wanted it so badly to be me that night. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him. But I've already fucked everything up right from the beginning. I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t deserve you.”

“But you deserved to use me this whole time!?” I holler, shooting daggers at him. “Who’s that girl up there anyway!?”

“I don’t know her name. Not the real–” he pauses abruptly, fear re-bounces into his eyes.

“Not the real . . .? Oh my . . .” I whisper in disbelief, the name of the sex phone company rings out in my head.

“I really wanted to go to uni, Davina. As soon as I turned eighteen I started to use that app to fuck some random girls. I needed to stay calm,” he says, his voice is apologetic. “There are many different contracts. They’re all just one night stands.”

“And you think that it changes anything?” I snort, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration.

“I’m not saying it does. I’m just explaining everything to you.”

“I told you that I don’t need your fucking explanations!” I yell, feeling my throat become sore. “I thought you only used that app by mistake, and . . . no . . .” I mutter, my voice breaks. “You lied to me even then.” My eyes refill with tears. “Kai’s never found that business card in a pub, has he? You had it this whole time. It belonged to you,” I whisper in a sorrow voice, even my chin is wet from crying now.

“I’m so sorry, Davina. I never meant to hurt you, nor fall for you.”

“Hurt me?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Look at you! You’re heartbroken. I don’t want to end up like this.”

“Heartbroken!?” I half-laugh. “I was heartbroken when Nathan and I fell apart. Now I’m just disgusted,” I growl, pushing past him.

“Davina, please–”

“No! I gave my all to you! To a man who is so broken that he can’t help but give each piece of his heart to some random girls rather than offer all of its bits to one person, so she can make it whole again!” I shout, my fingers clasp so fiercely on the handle that it painfully digs into my palm. “And as for your gift,” I growl, stuffing my hand into the pocket of my jacket. “Here’s your fucking answer. I hope you’ll feel the bile rise at the back of your throat when you read it.” I force the box into his hands. Then I open the door, and once I leave, I shut it loudly behind me.

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Thank you for reading!