Did Loris finish this passage before his reading was interrupted by Enzo invading his flat, then by Charles bolting out of it?
He takes back his phone. To check that his alarm is set. No reply.
He turns it upside down and moves on to his favourite three pages, in the sixth chapter.‘Once, someone told me…’Someone was Matthew. He showed Pavel all the poetry he could find in his fears and the many colours he could draw from his traumas.
Of course people are scarred and even more beautiful and interesting because of it.
The echo of Loris’ voice blows through the room. Charles grips his book tighter.
He reads the whole chapter dedicated toKaunasand counts nine mentions ofSofia. He knew there were nine, he just loves counting them. He would count thirteen mentions ofKaunasin theSofiachapter, but his eyes are getting tired. His focus harder to maintain. The weight in his stomach impossible to ignore.
He puts away the book and flips his phone over. It’s almost eleven.
Loris isn’t replying.
FOURTEEN
Two days later, Charles is running out of ideas to explain why Loris isn’t texting back. His favourite theory was an alien abduction, but Loris would never appear online on various applications if he were travelling through outer space. Charles had to let go of a scenario including such a plot hole.
He counted on an afternoon jog to fuel his imagination, but nothing he saw on the Heath triggered a convincing synopsis.
As a result, he has no choice but to go back home with a single option to dwell on during his two-week holiday: the strong possibility that Loris is telling him to get lost.
A well-deserved consequence that Charles is having a troubled relationship with. He goes from accepting it when his reason is in charge, because it helps, to refusing it with every fibre of his heart the next minute, because it hurts. The bully who threatens this plate of spinach is getting dizzy.
Charles exits the park, blowing through his gloves. It would snow if the crepuscular sky weren’t so clear.
If only it snowed. A treacherous storm, plunging the city into chaos. A storm, hitting right now, compelling Charles to seek refuge in the closest familiar shelter, which happens to be the North Haven. If onlyhe had no choice but to go to—
‘Damn it, Charles, grow a pair!’
He slaps his forehead and makes a left, to go find out if Loris wants him to get lost forever.
He races down the street, trying to outpace the sudden alliance between his reason and his heart. The former is warning him that he can’t be proven wrong, the latter is screaming that he doesn’t want to be proven right.
Charles’ confidence plummets as soon as he arrives in front of the pub. He doesn’t have his pen, so he starts clicking in thin air, looking for a constructive goal to zero in on. Like suppressing the desire to kiss Loris until he passes out, for example. Charles’ level of success will determine whether or not they can salvage their relationship. Their platonic, artistic, non-hazardous relationship.
Providing that Loris doesn’t instantly tell him to get lost, which would cancel the need for any goals.
Who knows, he might not feel like kissing Loris. One look at him might demonstrate that his impulse in the flat was just the unfortunate outcome of a moment of complete turmoil.
And Tottenham might win both the Premier and the Champions League this year.
Hope springs eternal…
His palms sweating, Charles walks into the pub, where the buzzing atmosphere instantly throws him off. He hadn’t seen that many customers since the first time he was here with Elsy, getting drunk on tequila and grenadine. Even Jack the illustrator has brought friends today. Behind the bar, a woman is pouring two pints at once, and a young guy is gawking at the quantity of dirty glasses lined up on thecounter.
Loris isn’t on shift.
Naturally. Charles wasn’t going to find him the moment he decided to. The luck that allowed him to always find Loris abandoned him when he acted like a—
‘What have you lost?’
Charles snaps out of his pity party and turns around, scratching the wool covering his thumb. Patty is sitting on the left side of the door, erasing with a sponge a list of drink prices from a chalkboard lying on the table.
‘Hello… Nothing, I was just hoping Loris was working today.’
‘You and I both,’ she grumbles, glaring at her young employee. ‘Loris went home.’
