11. Answer Me
11
ANSWER ME
A lberto wasn’t the sort to cry. The last time he wept was years ago, and since then, there had been no need for grand effusions. In any case, it’s not like he could produce rivers of tears. Just like the rest of him, his lacrimal ducts were all dried out.
For days, he had waited patiently for Mathias to get himself together, to at least talk to him, but he received nothing but silence. Yet he remained master of himself, not even letting one sound out when what he truly wanted was to beg Mathias to let him know what he’d done wrong, at the very least so he could apologise and make it better.
But about what Mathias had seen the other night… Alberto could apologise for it a million times, but he surely couldn’t make it better. He would have never thought that Mathias was the prying kind, the sort to go through his things the second he left him unattended. Despite years of practice, it seemed Alberto couldn’t figure people out a hundred percent after all. It was impossible.
People were made of secrets and wouldn’t boast about their least endearing traits. Mathias’s rummaging tendencies at least had some charm to them. It beat being a bully like Kayvin or a wimp like Alberto. And it’s not like Mathias wouldn’t have found out Alberto’s secret, anyway; it was bound to happen. Secrets, like ancient artefacts, were supposed to be dug up, excavated.
The silly part was that Alberto had begun thinking — no, hoping — that Mathias would just… accept it, take it in its stride. Oh sure, Alberto’ s broken, but isn’t he handsome? That’s all that matters in the end. That would have been better than this sordid little scene in the school lavatories.
And how could Alberto convince Mathias he wasn’t so pathetic after all? If what he’d discovered last weekend wasn’t enough, witnessing how easy it was for Kayvin to wipe the floor with him this afternoon wasn’t about to do the trick.
No, Alberto wouldn’t cry. He was past the point of crying, wasn’t he? Except that now that he was alone in his bedroom, things appeared different. Little by little, the reality of what his future would be like closed in on him like the sides of a coffin, and if he couldn’t cry, he found himself gasping for air, his fingers clawing at his chest.
He had no one, truly no one.
Months ago, the thought wouldn’t even have made him pause, even less reflect on it. Today, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. This, and those things people said about him, how soulless and uninteresting he was.
The truth was that Mathias had been way more than a hook-up this entire time. For almost three months, they had been not only each other’s secret, but also each other’s companion. They had definitely been there for each other, in their own ways. Wasn’t that the definition of friendship? To lose a lover wasn’t such a bad thing, but to lose such a friend… Alberto feared that loss like he feared opening the secret drawers he kept shut in his mind.
Mathias had given him something to do, someone to be, a reason to get up, and a reason to be beautiful, for once. Mathias had made him interesting. Without Mathias, Alberto was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
“Oh god, what have I done…?” Fighting against the pain swelling in his chest, Alberto bit back his tears and slumped at the foot of his bed. The family pictures on the corkboard above the desk caught his eye, his gaze sweeping over the picture of his father before falling on the reassuring face of his mother.
There was no point running to Mamma. He couldn’t seek comfort from her. First, she would worry so much, she’d make herself sick. Then, even if she were able to hear him, she wouldn’t get it; she couldn’t remember love. Dimitri was just another man she’d allowed to be close for comfort and protection. The latest one was always bigger and badder than the one before, with one exception: they couldn’t be like Alberto’s dad. They should be a better example to him, and with some luck, they might teach him how to be a good man.
There were no good men, Alberto was now convinced. Only honest and dishonest men. Alberto was dishonest, whereas Mathias was the opposite. Without him… what would happen to Alberto without him? Alberto wanted to swallow the lump in his throat, but it felt like concrete; he gave up and drew up his knees under his chin.
“Don’t you look a picture…” a voice called softly from the open door.
No point looking up; Stasia always knew when he was at his lowest. Now that she had caught him already defeated on the floor, Alberto didn’t even have the will to get up. He wrapped his arms around his knees and waited.
“What happened to you?” She drew closer when he didn’t answer. “Is it about that friend, the one you were trying to hide the other day?”
At the memory of Mathias’s earlier parting words, sobs rose up Alberto’s throat.
Stasia fell on her knees in front of him. “He ditched you, didn’t he?” Though he didn’t confirm nor deny, Stasia could draw her own conclusions. Her eyes were burning with excitement. “Let me guess: I was right. You brought him home, like a fool, and now he knows how much of a loser you are.” Alberto, hugging his knees, let out a shuddering breath. It only got her more excited. “Poor Albertino. Now you’re all alone again.”
Alberto buried his face between his knees. “Stop it.”
She crawled a little closer. “It’s kind of your fault, you know that, right? What did you think? That you’d have a little boyfriend? You? In your state?” She laughed. “Oh dear, did you actually think he… liked you?”
The closer she got, the more stifling it felt in the room. Alberto struggled to fill his lungs with air. “I… I’ll fix it. You’ll see…” He met Stasia’s eyes. “I’m going to be a model, and I’ll leave, and?—”
“Yes, yes, you’re gonna be a model. You’ve been saying that for months now. modelling’s all you can do, anyway. You and I both know you’re too dumb to do anything else.” Stasia leaned away from him with a thoughtful expression. “It was always going to be that or high-end escort services. Don’t you glare at me, I said high-end. I personally know creepy old guys who’d pay good money for someone like you. And you wouldn’t scare them away like your boyfriend, because they actually prefer their toys to be brainless.”
A brief silence ensued where Alberto became painfully aware his chin was trembling and Stasia could definitely see it. He lifted his head in an effort to defy her, but one look at her face was enough to convince him he’d never win against her. He gripped his hair with both hands.
“I can’t… I want to… I want to…”
“What? What do you want?”
“I want to change…” His voice sounded so small, especially drowned by Stasia’s ensuing vicious laugh.
“Albertino, don’t make me laugh!” She leaned forward and slapped his knee. “You don’t have the guts to change. If you had any backbone, you wouldn’t be sitting here weeping like a beat dog.”
He slipped and let out a sob. A small, idiotic part of him forgot itself and even sought comfort from Stasia, searching into her face for a hint of softness, of regret. Her eyes were glistening, but there was no compassion in them.
“Poor lamb,” she said. “Take my advice. You should stop worrying about school and photoshoots, and you better start getting ready to peddle your ass on the streets, because let me tell you something: modelling won’t last forever. Sure, you’ll do a few shoots here and there, but eventually, you know you’ll screw up. You’ll start acting up again, you’ll become a bad sport, and they’ll stop calling you. How could you be able to keep a job? Look at you, you couldn’t even keep one friend.”
By then, Alberto was shaking. He already knew all of this. That monster was always right. She knew him as though she were a festering disease, intimately acquainted with each of his cells. However much he hated himself for feeling the weight of her words, he was still powerless in avoiding their pain. He finally let out a cry of anguish as though she had stabbed him in the heart.
“I can’t— I can’t live like this anymore!”
Stabs of self-hatred rocked him like a ship in a storm. He hid his face between his knees, and soon after, he felt Stasia’s hands on the back of his head.
“What’s happening? Are you crying? Look at me.”
She forced him to raise his head. Her smile waned at the sight of his tears, but the light in her eyes brightened. Her voice lowered to a gentle whisper. “Shh… that’s okay. Think about it: you still have a few good years! You should make the most of it while you can. And I’ll get you a number, right? I swear, it’s a very clean business.” He let out another sob. Her face was so close now, he could almost see into her black soul. “Oh no… does it seem unbearable? Does it?” The light in her eyes flickered. “Answer me.”
He gave a weak nod .
Stasia let out an affected sigh. “Then… there’s still the other option.”
“What… what other option?”
“Haven’t you ever thought about it?” Stasia asked, her voice soft. “I know you have. I saw you staring down at rail tracks, hoping the answer’s down there.”
Alberto shivered ostensibly. Stasia tut-tutted him.
“Don’t look so shocked now. I’m not suggesting anything that drastic. I wouldn’t want you to suffer.” She glanced at something on their left. Alberto followed her gaze toward the bathroom sinks. “Think about it. It would be painless.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “They say it’s like falling asleep.”
The room became quiet as the two of them stared in the same direction, contemplating exactly the same thing. Alberto grew numb as the idea took shape in his mind.
Stasia gently squeezed his shoulder, bringing her lips near his ear. “You wouldn’t need to be afraid, I’d be with you all the way. I would hold your hand, even. Am I not your best friend after all? I’m the only one who cares. You wouldn’t need to worry about the future, about disappointing your mother. What else are you going to do, anyway? Even looking like this doesn’t make you happy. Imagine what will happen to you once your beauty fades. With the way you are, you’ve got five, maybe eight good years left, and then what? You’ll just be a fading slut. Worn out like one of those tourist horses, dragging your tired limbs all over town and letting the worst kind of people ride you.”
Forced to contemplate this image, Alberto gave in. Gushes of tears flooded down his cheeks, filling his mouth and his throat; the sobs he had pushed down for too long felt like painful kicks in his ribs. Stasia drew closer, held his face between her hands, and watched him with a ravenous expression. He thought at first she was about to kiss him, but her lips stopped at the corner of his eyelids.
She was drinking his tears.
Alberto recoiled in horror, cracking his head against the bed frame. Stasia didn’t move. She licked her lips, an eery smile on her face.
“You’re so cute when you’re hurting… How can you blame me?”
His vision swimming, Alberto crawled away from her. “Get out,” he gritted out. He could barely move; like every ounce of energy had been drained from his body. “Get out, get out, get out.” Repeating the words to himself like a protection spell to ward off evil, he painfully dragged himself to his bathroom and locked himself in .
“Get out,” he repeated weakly, resting his head against the door.
Through it, he heard Stasia’s laughter as she walked herself out. She didn’t believe in defeat. How could she? She was as confident as she was patient. And she was playing a long game, Alberto knew it now. She had always known when he was at his lowest. She had always known the words to say as well. He always thought she was… magical, almost. But she had just shown her hand.
With heavy steps, Alberto shuffled to the sinks and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. Ignoring the drawers, he stared at his own face in the mirror instead.
Stasia was right about many things. She was right about his flaws, she was right about his fears, and she was right about one last thing: just like his mother, he was beautiful even when he cried.