He hacks the skin of his thumb apart and counts to six. He’s so confused, he feels helpless. Then to twelve. He’s so helpless, he feels nauseous.
Eighteen. Twenty-four. Thirty.
His phone vibrates again.
Charles collects the shoes and cardigan dropped by Elsy on her way to the bathroom. His room was spotless, and he’s in dire need of control. He swaps his dinner clothes for a clean t-shirt and falls onto his bed with his phone, his pen and a splitting headache.
21:00 WITH ONE LI’m not reading because I want to renegotiate the deal
When it comes to control, this is a step back, yet the spinning slows down. Unlike his brother’s past, this is a mystery Charles can solve.
21:05Renegotiate how?
He opens one of his comfort playlists – made of songs from artists with alliterative names – and decides to shuffle it. A bit of music suspense will fit the mood considering he has no clue what to expect from Loris. An acceptable condition? A worthless bargaining chip? An outrageous—
A voice note.
Charles turns his Bluetooth back off before hitting play, to prevent the message blasting from all speakers.
‘Hey! Sorry, I’m too lazy to type. So, I came up with a new concept for another drawing, and I’d like you to pose for me. For real this time. What do you think? My shift starts at four on Saturday if you’re free before that and up for it. But if it’s too weird, no worries, I’m gonna find another way to renegotiate, because as things stand you’ve got nothing to do. Let me know! Hi, Sir, what can I get—’
Charles rolls on his back and returns to the main menu of hismusic application to select a recommended unknown playlist, because even the messier shuffle of his saved songs wouldn’t match the impending mind storm.
It is weird, yes, but what’s weird is that he’s not floundering for a way to express an outright refusal. He should be racking his diplomatic brain. Or straight up play his secret Olwinski card to regain the upper hand. Or give up on changing Loris’ entrenched opinion on the book. He should, but somehow the prospect of posing for Loris isn’t nerve-wracking. It’s… exhilarating.
What’s happening? Have the magnetic poles shifted in Charland, that he mistakes anxiety for thrill?
‘Stab me…’ Elsy comes to curl up in a ball against Charles. ‘What are you ceiling-staring over? Distract me from the aliens fighting with lasers swords inside me.’
‘I was wondering if… If I were a good painter, would you pose for me?’
‘I’m bloated and disgusting.’
‘Not now. In general?’
Elsy shakes her head, entangling her hair in Charles’ stubble. ‘Posing sessions are always a nightmare. Catriona blows a fuse whenever I blink.’
‘I’d make it less strict, more fun.’
‘I can’t see any fun in that. Unless it’s something you actually want to do? Then of course, I’d—’
‘I don’t. I was just curious if you’d find the idea weird?’
‘Weird, no, but tiresome. Can we Netflix? I need inspiration for my next conversation with our fans.’
Charles hands her the remotes. ‘Do you mind waiting until the end of the song?’
‘Who do you take mefor?’
He smiles and reopens his chat with Loris, where he brushes the keyboard without typing. Posing in the flat wouldn’t be tiresome. But it would inevitably make it harder to hide what he’s made of.
‘What’s wrong?’ Elsy wraps her hand around Charles’ fist that’s wrapped around his pen. ‘Chips?’
‘It’s just… those evenings. They take a toll.’
‘Do you need a whisky? A massage? A blowjob?’
‘I appreciate the offer, given how shitty you feel, but I’m alright.’
