‘She fell off the couch. But after I assured her I was cool with it, she was psyched.’
‘That’s good. Not surprising, though.’
‘Divya is a gem, yes, but she’s not our only gem. For sure, tongues will wag, and some will be covered in venom, but I can’t imagine any of the people whose opinion you value to think less of you. And if someone does, I’ll beat the living hell out of them.’
‘Once you’re done petty-grieving.’
‘Instantly. I’m allowed to bitch about my ex. No one else can.’
Charles twines their fingers together. ‘Please get over it quickly so we can be friends.’
‘I will. You weren’t that great. I had to share your affection with a Slovakian painter. But I’ll miss sleeping with you. And no need to “likewise” me to be polite, your honeymoon glow has been blinding me since you walked in.’
‘I love you so much.’
Charles slides his chair around the table and wraps his arms aroundElsy to hug her very tight.
They remain embraced for as long as they did when they sealed their pact by the river in Surrey. Charles can’t relate to the person he was back then, but the comfort provided by Elsy hasn’t tailed off.
‘Now, when are we beating the crap out of your parents?’ she asks, drawing back.
‘Never…’
‘You can’t let them get away with what they did!’
‘But I think I should. Fred lost himself hating them. I want to find myself in spite of them. They can’t define who I am anymore.’
‘I’ll beat them up, then. George will hold them still for me. I bet Loris would be happy to help us.’
‘It’s an entertaining idea, but for the time being I—’
‘You want to keep honeymooning. Fair. Then tell me more about how you’re finding yourself in Loris’ sheets.’
She licks cream off her spoon in such salacious fashion, Charles snorts out the tea he just drank.
When Elsy runs to the toilets ten minutes later, he reopens the chat with his friends.
18:24Are you free on Thursday? Let’s brainstorm lies for Spencer all together.
Charles is never the spearhead of a gathering, so this message should be singular enough to secure their attendance. He doesn’t want to advertise that he has news to share. They would speculate in writing, and he would rather avoid it, even if they probably won’t guess that his relationship with Elsy is over. That he has no intention of going to business school and that he’s finding exponential purpose on thegoalless path ahead of him.
That one afternoon, he entered a pub to retrieve his pen, weapon against the worst of himself, and discovered the best he had to offer in the eyes of a man who’s now turning his senses upside down.
***
When they were kids, Charles and his friends loved roleplaying wild adventures set in universes spawning from their favourite films.
George was the brain of the gang, Phil the fearless muscle, Alex a healing wizard, and Spencer enjoyed being rescued. As for Charles’ part, it varied depending on the mission. His main task was to stage them.
Fifteen years later, he would gladly invent new fantastic scenarios, but they would be short-lived. He can’t imagine his friends enacting his ideas anymore. And he’s still incapable of putting a compelling action scene down on paper, which drives him mad. His story is so vivid in his mind, he could ramble on about it for hours.
Perhaps he should just do that. Describe it to someone who could bring it to life for him. Not necessarily with words, but with… epic colourful plates. That could work.
A graphic novel.
Loris’ digital style would be perfect for—
‘Phil, can you please hit Charkespeare out of the brain-orgasm he’s having?’
