15 - Lucien
15
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Lucien
Aside from the night with Steven, where we got completely wasted, I managed to get through the next few days without any major incidents. I felt a bit bad about giving Jonah and Martin the cold shoulder on Friday, but it had been to everyone’s benefit that I hadn’t sat down with them. Who knows what would have slipped out when I was drunk. I had also resolved not to push Jonah any further.
I couldn’t get the way he looked at me when we had dinner together last Thursday. On one hand, there was almost a sense of panic, as if he feared I might reveal our secret to someone. Yet, there was also a glimmer in his eyes, as if he silently pleaded for my attention. And when he lowered his head, there had been disappointment, probably because I had ignored him.
It wasn’t as if that had been easy for me. Jonah exerted an attraction on me that I found hard to resist. His eyes attracted me like magnets, and as distant as he was, his whole body radiated a warmth that I couldn’t resist. I longed to talk to him, even if it meant talking all night long. It deeply bothered me that we barely had a meaningful conversation yet. But even if we had managed to pull ourselves together after the disaster I had caused, and even if Jonah had been gay—which I didn’t doubt—he wouldn’t have allowed it. His faith was the only thing standing in his way. But I was definitely not in a position to tell him that.
Before I drove myself crazy with the confusion of thoughts, I made an effort to refocus on my studies. The preparations for the exhibition had taken up more time than I had expected, so I had to postpone some of my work.
Fortunately, I had understanding lecturers who allowed me to submit assignments later. And because I didn’t want to get lost in the studio again, I worked at home in my room and enjoyed the peace and quiet of having the apartment to myself.
So a quiet week passed, and I was able to concentrate on what was important again. It wasn’t as if my thoughts weren’t revolving around Jonah or Phil, but working on sketches and charcoal drawings was enough to keep me on track.
On Friday morning, I moved my workstation to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, where I was still sitting. Just before twelve o’clock, I heard someone arriving home, although neither of my two roommates was expected to be back at this hour. The door closed, and shortly afterward, Jonah appeared in the kitchen.
We stared at each other motionlessly for a moment. He was probably just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“Hello!” he said, placing the bag on one of the chairs.
I immediately bundled the sketches lying around into a pile and placed them on the magazines.
“I forgot something,” he said, disappearing into his room. A moment later he came back and stowed a book in his bag. “So I thought I might as well eat here. Are you joining me?” He stood at the fridge, looking at me with a smile so sweet it warmed my heart.
If he can be normal, so can I.
“Um … yes, I could eat something.”
Stay cool!
“My cooking skills are modest,” Jonah explained and stroked his hair mischievously. “But how about … an omelet?”
“That sounds good. Do you want me to help you with anything?”
“You can set the table,” he said and retrieved eggs, ham, and tomatoes out of the fridge.
He seemed so sure of himself. I didn’t know him like that. And I hadn’t known he could cook either.
“I’ll return the favor as soon as I master an edible dish,” I said and grabbed two plates from the cupboard. When I turned around, Jonah suddenly stood in front of me. He immediately took a step back and raised his hands.
“Oh … I’m sorry. I just wanted to get a bowl.” He let me pass and went to the closet. I leaned back in my seat so as not to be in his way.
“Don’t you ever cook?” he asked, returning to the kitchen counter.
Watching him crack the eggs was proof enough that this was by no means his first time cooking. He cracked them almost casually with one hand, and as he swung the whisk, I realized it wasn’t his cooking skills that were modest, but him.
“I’m not that …” I tried to pick up the conversation again.
What was he asking again?
“I’m not that demanding when it comes to food.”
“Oh, okay, then I’m glad.”
I laughed. The fact that he also tried to maintain normality between us reassured me. Of course, we would have to talk about what had happened at some point, but not today. I was also glad that he was the one cooking. Even though I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Jonah all the time, and he would surely notice sooner or later, at least I wasn’t making a fool of myself in the kitchen. While he poured the egg mixture into two different pans, I got cutlery and filled two glasses with water on the table. I found some leftover bread in the bread bin, which I cut into slices and put in a basket on the table. Jonah retreated with two plates and placed my omelet in front of me, which couldn’t have looked more professional. He had even found some parsley and sprinkled it on top.
“It looks like something you’d find in a fancy restaurant.”
Jonah laughed and put some pepper and salt on the table. “I doubt that.” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been to a fancy restaurant?”
I would have liked to respond more than once , but the truth hurt too much, so I simply grimaced. “Thank you for the food.”
“Bon appétit!” he said and got started without further ado.
There’s probably no time for a prayer, I thought with a quick glance at the clock. It all seemed totally surreal to me. Not even the silence at the table felt uncomfortable but somehow familiar. Trying not to show my irritation or growing joy, I ate the delicious omelet.
“What are you working on right now?” Jonah asked out of the blue.
I followed his gaze to my sketches. “I’m working on a term paper.”
“And what’s the assignment?”
I regarded him with a hint of suspicion. So far, he hadn’t shown much interest in my art. Or at least he hadn’t shown it to me. In fact, Martin was the reason why he had been at the last two openings. “It … is supposed to be a critical examination of migration.”
“And how are you getting on?”
I stopped with my fork halfway to my mouth and frowned.
“If I remember correctly, you tend to deal with other topics in your work.”
“Yes … it … is progressing. I have a few ideas. But you’re right. That’s not my subject at all.”
We looked at each other seriously for a moment and then laughed before returning to our food. I slowly thawed a little. “Tomorrow is your birthday. November 12th. Twenty-one is something special. Are you looking forward to the concert?”
“Yes, as special as I am,” Jonah joked. “When is your birthday?”
“July 1st. But it means nothing to me.”
“Still a nice date. There’s a much better chance you’ll be able to celebrate outside.”
I picked a few tomatoes from the omelet and pushed them to the edge of the plate. When I realized he was watching me, I grimaced and smiled crookedly. “I’m sorry. A few too many tomatoes for me.”
“No problem.” He laughed again. “Now that I see it, I remember. You also picked out the big chunks in the spaghetti sauce. I guess everyone has their quirks.”
“Is there anything I absolutely mustn’t include in my revenge menu?”
“Eggplant. Absolutely not.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can’t stand them either.”
Sometime later, when Jonah shifted back and forth in his chair and took his first nervous glance at the clock on the wall, I was surprised at how quickly lunchtime had passed. We had actually lost ourselves in conversation and were still sitting in front of our empty plates.
“Don’t you have a class this afternoon?”
“No, Seeger’s drawing class is canceled again—and I’ve already finished the drawings for it.”
“I’d really love to chat more, but unfortunately, I have to go to class.” He finished his glass and made a move to clear away his plate.
“Just leave it. I’ll clean up.”
“Thanks.” The way he looked at me was thanks enough. And before I knew it, he was hurrying out of the apartment. I stood there a little lost for a moment, listening to the thumping noise from the stairwell. A smile flitted across my face, and I had to admit that it had gone better than expected. It was actually fun to have lunch with Jonah, and I learned things about him that made me smile. Like how he hated eggplants, for example. And he made great omelets.
Just like Phil …
My mind must have momentarily shut down because when I snapped back to reality, I found myself standing in front of the sink, fixated on the wall. A sense of dizziness washed over me, accompanied by a deep exhale. The stack of dirty dishes lay before me, and as I reached for the dish soap, I noticed my trembling hands. Disregarding it, I started washing the first plate.
But my vision blurred and pain throbbed behind my forehead. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate.
Breathe, damn it … in … out …
It didn’t help. Suddenly, my hands were covered in blood. They shone a dark red, as if they were gloves.
“Woah!” Gasping in shock, I dropped the plate and recoiled.
For a brief moment, I found myself in the darkness, trapped, blinded by bright light, my bloody hands pressed to bare skin. Loud breathing. A groan.
And I was back in the kitchen, my hands full of white foam. My whole body was shaking.
Bloody hell!
Another attempt to do the dishes failed. A storm was raging in my head. I dried my hands and lit a cigarette. The shaking just wouldn’t stop. My heart was racing as if I had just run a sprint. The familiar darkness spread within me, and as if a single small thought had opened a door, the demons within me rose again and tormented me from all sides.
What kind of fucking hypocrite are you?
How had I let myself be tempted to spend lunchtime with Jonah? I should have vanished! The more time I spent with him, the more confused I became.
And then he cooked for us too! Just like Phil!
I had made a mistake. Jonah was like an angel; I wasn’t worthy of him at all. I’d proved enough in the last year and a half that I was scum.
I paced back and forth in the kitchen like a tiger in a cage, nervously dragging on my cigarette. But even inhaling deeply didn’t help me calm down. So I headed for the fridge and took out a cold beer.
Come on, get a grip! It’s probably just this damn anniversary. It has nothing to do with Jonah. We just had spent a peaceful lunch and he wouldn’t stayed and certainly wouldn’t have smiled at me like that if he loathed me.
But all the persuasion was in vain. Over the next few hours, my day darkened more and more. My thoughts were racing, and a terrible storm was raging inside me. The very possibility that Jonah might like me seemed so far-fetched that I tried to find comfort in the theory that it would be best for him to have nothing to do with me anymore. But how was I supposed to get through all this without him? Now that he had left the apartment, I felt emptier than before. He had acted as a counterbalance to me and had kept me sane, and now that he was gone, I was drifting further and further into darkness. But there was one good thing about the abyss: They awakened my inspiration. And so, between beers and cigarettes, like a man possessed, I put ideas on paper that I later wanted to put on canvas in the studio.
In my delirium, I didn’t even notice how time was passing, and my cigarette almost fell out of the corner of my mouth when Jonah returned to the kitchen. With wide eyes, he scanned his surroundings. My sketches were scattered everywhere—on the chairs, the sideboard, and even on the stove. Three empty beer bottles were on the table, and the ashtray was full to the brim.
His presence snapped me out of the spiral I was trapped in, and I realized how far I had fallen in the three hours of his absence. Jonah opened the window, let in some fresh air, and turned to me. His look spoke volumes. He watched me, stunned, as if I were no longer the same person he’d had lunch with. Admittedly, I wasn’t. He had already tried to say something twice but obviously didn’t have the words.
I froze, and my breath hitched. I would rather be anywhere than here. It was impossible for me to continue where we left off at lunchtime.
I gathered my sketches and shoved them into the folder, packed up my cigarettes and lighter, went into my room to get my coat, and fled the apartment … or rather, from Jonah.