Chapter eighteen: You can't do that

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𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩

Celebrating Cami's seventeenth birthday in London was exhausting.

She never failed to let everyone know of it, complained about having no free time to do what we liked, and demanded special treatment during the activities we were doing. When a cake was brought out in the restaurant we were all eating at for dinner, she even went as far as acting surprised and embarrassed, despite the fact that she was asking teachers if they were going to do it all day.

I let her off. It's her birthday. I wouldn't do the same, but to each their own.

Having said that, I feel utter relief now that I'm safely in my hotel room. I'm alone as Alex is hanging in his friends room until we're forced to be in our own rooms, and I have just come back from Cami's room after Lucy announced that she wanted to go to sleep without disruptions. I reel in the alone time as I watch Eastenders on the crappy hotel T.V.  after changing into pyjama bottoms and brushing my teeth.

I'm woken up by the sound of the door opening. Alex is back. The last thing I recall is watching T.V, so I must have fallen asleep while that's on as I'm not under the covers, but when I look at the T.V, I see that it's off. I'm not sure how long I was out for, but it's still pitch black outside.

"You know what's frustrating to me?" Alex says as he removes his shoes, leaning against the wall by the door. I give him a questioning look and shrug. "Having to share a room with you."

"Why?" I ask.

I know I asked, but I think I already know the reason. I would feel frustrated having to share a room with someone I liked. I also feel some frustration sharing a room with Alex too. I think it's the not knowing; not knowing if he's going to kiss me, or ask me out, or try to have sex with me, or anything. It makes me anxious.

It's still so weird to think that Alex likes me.

He gives me a look as if to say 'isn't it obvious?'. Yeah, it kind of is. He removes his hoodie and my breath catches in my throat because he chose to wear a tight fitting top today. He rolls his eyes, "Because we're in close proximity, and I have to see your face every time I go to sleep and every time I wake up."

"Is it because you like me?" I question, surprising myself at how straightforward that was. I've never been like that.

"No, it's because I fucking despise you." He spits, now stood still and glaring at me.

I've fully sat up now, the momentum of this statement hitting me. I'm silent of a few seconds, waiting for him to crack a smile and say he's joking so then I can scold him for scaring me like that. Yet, it never comes.

I hesitate, "You said on the plane—"

"That was all crap!" He cuts me off, laughing mockingly, "I can't believe you actually fell for it! It really goes to show how pathetic you are. It's hilarious. It was fun while it lasted, but I couldn't carry on pretending."

But yesterday, when he woke up because of that nightmare he had, he let me hold him and wanted me to sleep in his bed with him. What was that all about? Was that part of the trick or did he momentarily let his vulnerable side show? That's so cruel. Did he even have a nightmare at all? All he wanted was to prolong his lies and make me definitely believe them, right? What a fucking actor.

This makes sense now. Of course he wouldn't like me. This is Alexander Montgomery. How could I have fallen for that?

More importantly, how could someone be so inhumane?

A ball of frustration and anger hits me in the stomach, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What wrong with you, Mr. Oh my God, I have an anxiety disorder, give me attention? Look at me, I'm shaking. I'm so fucking special." Alex taunts me, putting on a disgusting British accent for effect.

"What have I ever done to you?"

Nothing. I've done nothing to him. Ever. I can't understand this. He's a fucking seventeen-year-old and he still thinks this is acceptable? How old does he think he is? Ten?

"Answer me this, why do you think I would ever like you? You're ugly, you look like a stick, you're an attention seeker, you're annoying, and you're insanely dumb. Literally no one
likes you apart from Gomez. You're a loser."

Alex lists each and every one of my insecurities, as though he can see into my thoughts and he knows that these are the things that I don't like about myself. It's funny how he knows all of them. I can feel a lump form in my throat as my eyes prick with tears.

Why am I crying?

I had gotten my hopes up about this so much. I've been so desperate for him to change, like he said he was going to do. I believed him, and I can't believe I was so stupid in doing so. All my thoughts from when he kissed me under that tree comes flooding back.

"Why are you so cruel to me?" I ask him, trying my hardness not to properly start crying.

"Oh great, here come the waterworks," He says, and he rolls his eyes for the second time tonight. "Thanks for letting me know that you're a definite queer, by the way."

My eyes widen. Holy shit, how could I have been so mindless as to tell him that I think I'm gay? I'm digging my own hole here. How the hell do I get myself out of this?

Maybe I could lie and say that I've been doing the same to him. I said I think I'm gay as a joke, perhaps. But that sounds entirely dumb. He'd never fall for that, and it would be so obvious that I'm copying him. So maybe not.

"You know what would look good on your face?" Alex asks me. What is he talking about? I don't respond. He does so anyway for me. "A punch."

He's walking towards me now. Then he's pulling his fist back. Then it's travelling towards my face.

The hit never comes.

I startle awake.

I sit up instantly, and that's when I realise that I'm under the covers. The T.V. is off too. Alex is switching off the bathroom light and walking towards his bed. The main light is off and the curtains have been pulled closed. The room is illuminated by the orangey-yellow glow of Alex's bedside lamp. He smiles at me.

"I hope you don't mind that I pulled the covers over you. I didn't want you to be cold," He tells me, getting into bed. "Interesting show you were watching. A lot of shouting, though."

I can feel my heart beating heavily in my chest. My eyes feel wet too, but I don't think Alex has noticed. It's not so greatly lit in here. I quickly wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.

"Eastenders," I say, telling him the name of the show. I wait a little bit, preparing myself for more insults from him, but he never says any. His facial expression is calm, no hint of disgust or anger as he removes his jeans under the covers. He's wearing the same tight-fitting shirt. "So, you don't despise me and think I'm ugly?" I ask him.

He gives me a weird look, "Um...no. I think you're far from ugly. Do you still not believe that I like you?" He questions. He's so casual.

I let out a breath.

It was a dream. Oh, thank goodness. It felt so real; like a memory and not a dream at all! I was so certain that he was going to punch me. I genuinely thought that at some point after him saying those things about me, I fell asleep and woke up again. But it never happened. I was asleep the whole time. A dream.

What a stupid and completely unrealistic dream, too. Alex has never really laid a finger on me. He has pushed me into a locker before, but it's never been more violent than that. He's never mentioned my body either, or my anxiety. My looks, however—he has, unfortunately. Not in a really bad way, though. Just a passing comment like he thinks I look like a maggot. Childish things.

"No, it's not that. It's just a dream...I had," I say truthfully, feeling awkward at the fact that I'm telling him that I had a dream about him.

He grins, looking awfully excited over the prospect of me dreaming about him, even when I have just told him that he called me ugly and that he despised me. Interesting.

"You dreamt about me? What happened in it?" He asks, so I tell him. When I finish my tale of woe, he scoffs. "I would never say that. What the fuck?"

"Yeah, I—I don't know why I dreamt it."

"Maybe it was your brain trying to translate that you don't fully believe that I like you. Are
you scared that I'm lying?" He guesses. "Well, not scared—you know what I mean."

That does make sense. Even after our talk on the plane, I still have my suspicions, naturally. I have every right to, anyway. This is all happening so quickly. I guess I was trying to avoid that and focus on what I've been told, and my brain doesn't like that, thus making the dream. How merciless! I blame the anxiety.

"Yeah, I think so."

"I get it, it's OK." He smiles. "Anyway, it's getting late. We should go to sleep. We have to get up early for that Thames boat thing," Alex says. I agree with him, so he reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp so we're submerged into darkness. "Goodnight, Matthew."

"Goodnight."

"Are we going to the Tower of London tomorrow?" He asks as I shut my eyes. I can hear him shuffling around, and I assume that he's removing his shirt.

"Yeah, after the boat ride," I respond, not bothering to open my eyes. I turn to my side and hug a pillow to me.

"Oh, cool. I've always wanted to see where people have been beheaded." Alex laughs.

"That's gross."

"You're gross," He teases. "Anyway, sleep tight."

"You too."

"I—"

"What?"

"Nothing."

After that, we go to sleep. Or, at least, Alex goes to sleep. I toss and turn for hours after this, my mind going into overdrive, thinking of things that I'd rather not think about. It's the early hours of the morning when I decide that I won't be getting any sleep like this at all.

The room is quiet, the only sound being Alex's shallow breathing as he sleeps peacefully. The silence of the room is piercing, and it painfully crashes with the aching noise in my head. The buzzing of constant thoughts mainly consisting of Alex and the dream. I think about our kiss, Alex's lips on mine. I hate this. I want it to be silent. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

He shouldn't have kissed me. It's not the dream that's making me think this; he should not have kissed me, regardless of whether or not he liked me. It was completely inappropriate of him to do so, and it's only now that I'm properly thinking of that. The thought shouldn't even cross my mind. It was so easy hating him, but now...now I might want to kiss him again. The absolute arsehole.

I need some air.

I get out of bed and walk towards one of the windows in our room, opening it to let in the chilly air. Looking out onto the peaceful street, I suddenly have an urge to go out for a walk. It's still quite dark out, but it's nothing I can't handle, I tell myself before anything else can convince me otherwise.

I hurriedly tiptoe to my suitcase and put on more covering and cosy clothes, pull on some slip on vans because they're easy, then head over to the coat rack to grab my jacket, shuffling around in the dark and trying to make as little noise as possible so to not wake the Sleeping Beauty up.

In my haste, the coat rack falls to the floor. I shut my eyes and hold my breath, as if that would help anything, and slowly incline my head to where Alex is sleeping. Sure enough, he is sat up and staring at me with a 'what the fuck?' kind of look. He turns on the bedside lamp and we both squint in the sudden
brightness.

I smile sheepishly at him, turning to grab the coat rack and keeping it right.

"What are you doing?" He asks. Mission failed.

"I just thought I'd go out for a walk," I mumble, placing Alex's jackets back onto the rack so they're not left lying on the floor.

"Not so fast, Jenkins," Alex says as he reaches over to his phone and the screen comes to life. He looks at me like I'm mad. "This late? Do you not see what time it is? You think going on a walk at this time is a good idea?"

"I can't sleep, OK. I just have to clear my mind," I tell him, going into no more specific detail and praying that he doesn't ask for more, grabbing my phone and room key. I shove them into my pocket. "Just—I'm going."

"Well, I'm coming with you." Alex announces, sliding off his bed. I gulp at the sight of him in only his underwear. Why, of all bedtime clothing, does he have to sleep like that?

"What?" I say, but he was already in the process of pulling on clothes, not paying any heed to my protest. "No, you don't have to. I kind of want to be alone."

I can already tell that if Alex comes with me, the thoughts in my head would only become more rapid, him being the subject of them. It's sweet that he wants to come with me, it really is, but it's not necessary. To others, yes, but to me it's not, given the circumstances. I even feel somewhat annoyed at him. So many questions. Maybe he can answer some?

Then...I guess he could come. We haven't spoken of the kiss like we should have done. We've sort of just lightly touched on the fact that he likes me on the plane and that's it,'no word spoken of it since then until tonight. We do need to talk about it for me to come to terms with it. If not, it may be weird to be around him, now that I'm thinking of all these things. A talk would be good.

"It's, like, pitch black out there, and if you think I'm going to let you go that easily, think again. There would be all kinds of murders out there waiting for someone like you. I don't want you getting hurt."

I almost forget that I'm skinny, weak, and 5 foot 9, and I frown, "Someone like me?"

He gives me a sort of exasperated look, like the obvious has been pointed out. I don't blame him. "A teenager on their own. Have you practiced self-defence?"

I watch as he grabs his own phone and shoving it into his pocket. He looks around for his shoes, soon finding them, "Not really."

Alex pulls on the shoes and does up the laces, "Then I will definitely accompany you."

"Have you practiced self-defence?" I spin the question on him.

"Does it look like I can defend myself?" He responds, eyebrows furrowed. With those muscles, definitely, but I don't need to say that.

I sigh. Another person being there would make me feel better, even if it is Alex. We need that talk. "You know what, fine. Try not to talk, OK?" I tell him because I want him to know that I'm annoyed even though I do want that talk. I open the door of the room and walk out. I can hear Alex closing it behind me, followed by his heavy footsteps. 

We're soon out of the doors of the hotel, not having said a single word to one another. It's cold outside, and I regret not putting on a proper coat to 'feel the cool wind' or whatever I wanted to do to feel better. The wind isn't cool, it's freezing. I pull the sleeves of my thin jacket past my fingers, hugging my body.

The only people out are a group of chavvy teenage boys on bikes and a few drunk people which I assume are coming from a club very near by. Their bodies are illuminated by the artificial lights from buildings and there is the faint sound of music playing, coming from said club. The scent of cigarettes fill the air.

I can hear the sound of Alex's feet hitting the ground, and it feels strangely comforting. Safer. My anxiety would have hated me being on my own, owing to the fact that I do like to spend my time watching Bailey Sarian's Murder Mystery Monday videos.

I evidently shiver and Alex looks at me, pulls off his coat, and places it gently on my shoulders. I don't bother fake protesting as it's pointless, and instead whisper out a thank you as I pull it properly onto me. I'm immediately engulfed in warmth and it smells like him. It smells nice. Expensive, really.

We walk for a while, my head going crazy. About Alex, of course. There's nothing else I can think of. He liked me, but hated me? Does that even make sense? Oh my God, Lexi Taylor. Isn't he in a relationship with her? That's what she said earlier—well, yesterday, at this time of day. I don't get it.

"I think we should talk," Alex says suddenly before I can. I had even opened my mouth to say the exact same words.

"About what?" I ask, playing dumb, an attempt to see if he mentions the same things as I want to talk about and so I don't make a fool of myself when he starts talking about tutoring or something and not the kiss at all.

"About me kissing you." He states. Bingo. I see you're having the same thought process of me, pretty boy. What is going on inside your head?

"What about you kissing me?"

I need specifics and an explanation and to know what he's thinking, I really do, because this doesn't make sense. I know he likes me, but what made him think that was OK? What made him think that under that tree after having the conversation that we had just had was the right time to do that? Sure, the setting was aesthetic or whatever, but the situation was not the best. Right place, wrong time.

"What did you think of it, now you know I wasn't trying to out you? You never told me during our talk on the plane." He questions. Seriously, he was going to ask me that? Not an apology, not an explanation. He wants to know how I thought of it? What a dick.

"I think it was a dick move," I say my thoughts aloud and I can hear Alex scoff.

"But I'm a good kisser, right?"

I can hear the smirk in his tone and it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. He's bad at this. I have no experience in romance, having never even been on a simple first date before, but even I know that there are much better ways in approaching this.

I'm starting to think that he thinks this is all so funny. Not a prank or joke or anything like I used to think, but still amusing.

Alex is so...disdainful. Where's his consideration to how I'm feeling right now? This isn't entirely about him. Of course he has no negative feelings; he kissed someone he likes and that it for him. He assumes I'm alright with it. For me, it's so much different. I was never aware of all this going on with him and he sprung it on me with absolutely no warning at all and that's apparently all good. No warm up, no hints, nothing.

"As if."

"Right." He chuckles.

Now I'm more annoyed. This guy kissed me out of nowhere and is now teasing me about it, when clearly he's the one in the wrong. This isn't funny at all.

"Look, I know you're bound to be angry about it." He says after a moment of silence. Oh, so he does think of me in this situation? Yet he still asked how I thought of it? Nice.

"You're an arrogant arsehole, you know?" I snap, letting my emotions get the better of me. I hadn't intended to snap, but I guess he needs to know what I'm thinking.

I expect him to retort, but with a bitter nod, he says, "I know."

"No. No, you don't know." I say, even though I did say 'you know?' moments earlier. "How

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