29. Say the Word
29
SAY THE WORD
T he nights were too long, the bed too empty. Clinging to Alberto’s pillow, Mathias had conversations with the dead. Yeah, really . He had reached the point of having imaginary talks with his mother. One sided tirades, questions unanswered. Mom, I met a guy. Mom, only you could have understood, because I remember the intensity of your love. You loved me and Ella more than anything in the world, you told me so many times. And when you needed me the most, I betrayed your love. Throwing the covers over his head, curling into a ball, he would turn Alberto’s little lock between his fingers. I did it again, Mom. I betrayed him; I betrayed myself, too . He would fidget under the sheets, stuff them into his mouth to swallow back tears. Mom, I wish I could cook for you again. You always said, ‘This is the best, you are so good, I love you, Mati’. You always said the right things, always. He would kick back the covers, hit his own chest with his fist when air failed to fill his lungs.
When he was calm again, pulled by exhaustion toward a fretful sleep, he would press the lock to his lips, to his heart. Mom, I met a guy. You would have loved him, too. And I’m sure he would have loved you. Five minutes around you, and he would have laughed with you and told you all his secrets. And then you would have told me… told me how to take good care of him, not ruin it as I did. You always knew everything. Tell me, is it too late?
That one night, she spoke back for the first time. It was going to be okay, she said. He was ready to talk now, ready to admit it. Ready to beg? There was no need for that. “Remember, he’s alive,” Mom whispered as his damp eyelids quivered shut. “He needs you. He’s not me.”
He slept that night, but in the morning, he felt like shit again. He hated ghosts, he hated secrets. He hated everything and almost everyone; most of all, he hated himself. He took refuge in his kitchen, tried to make something beautiful. It was Elodie’s birthday. Eric asked him to make a cake, so he would make a fucking cake. He’d do anything for Eric, who loved him. How long until Mathias fucked that up, too? Did it even matter? Eric would be off to Lyon in a couple of months, and he would shine there. He’d make a million new friends; he’ll be too busy to keep in touch. Life would go on for him. Only Mathias would cling to the memory of him, the best friend he’d had since Daphnée. There might have been more than eggs, flour, and sugar in the base of Elodie’s cake; he couldn’t say.
Mathias tossed the cake in the oven and watched it rise, his heart in his throat. Was it too late? Was there a chance? Did Alberto even care? His heart racing, he pulled out his phone and called his number. He thought about what he should say. Hey, pick up, I need to tell you I’m sorry. Like, really sorry. I know I’m an asshole, but is there any way we…?
The call went straight to voicemail, as it always did. Mathias was blocked, and that’s what he deserved. What the hell was he thinking? Alberto deserved better than an apology over the phone anyway.
When the cake was ready to be packed, Mathias gave it a long inspection. It looked decent, great, even. He really was good at this when he could be bothered to try. Mathias recalled how he’d started learning how to make maki after the holidays, when a certain someone confessed he loved them. He was caught by his sister and fed her a lie about opening his horizons. She was right to smirk. She knew how old-fashioned he was. Just like she knew the mini marshmallows in the cupboard were only for Alberto’s special cappuccinos, but she kept his secret. She’d stopped complaining about Alberto a long time ago. She liked him. She liked him, indeed.
Without thinking, his palms sweaty, Mathias called Alberto’s number again, thinking of maybe leaving a message. Can we meet? I need to tell you something. That night after the club, I should have told you I’m jealous as hell, and I hate your other lovers, and I’ll come pick you up every time you’re drunk even if you don’t like me, because I want you to be safe, always. When it got to voicemail, and he heard the beep, he chickened out. He thought he’d hit the gym tonight, whatever Alberto might say .
His mother had said it last night: he was ready now. Today was the day.
They had set a green picnic blanket in a corner of the playground, to overlook the fact they weren’t sitting on grass but on a slab of cement. Everyone was there, pretending the day was warmer than it was. Eric and Zak, Xavier, Charles-Henry, and the twittering Melissa and Joy, all of them surrounding Elodie as she blew the birthday candles on her cake. When Mathias brought it out, Elodie, visibly moved, asked why.
“I wanted to say sorry.”
“To me? What for?”
He shrugged, she smiled. What for? Because apologizing to her was easier. She wasn’t Alberto; he hadn’t hurt her the same way at all. It would never go down so easily with him. And baking him a cake wouldn’t do. Baking a cake was enough to tell the girl who had a crush on you, “Sorry I didn’t notice, and sorry I rejected you. Please, let’s be friends.” It was his own way of making up for his lost friendship with Clément. How on earth was he going to tell Alberto what he needed to tell him? Hey bro, remember the holidays? It was the best time I had in years. I really regret the way I treated you. I was frightened, because, in truth, and maybe you know it already, but just to be sure, you need to know ? —
“Cake?” Eric was pushing a paper plate under his nose.
“Thanks.” Mathias took it and absently passed it to Joy. He couldn’t focus on the impromptu birthday party. He was too busy twisting his neck in every direction, looking for Alberto, to no avail. It had been three weeks already since they parted outside his home, and he hadn’t seen him since. Mathias had tried to keep an eye out between classes, but Alberto always succeeded in eluding him. It wasn’t a surprise; Mathias knew how good he was at hide and seek.
What would happen it Alberto refused his apology? Because he could apologize for being a grouchy ass, but what about those times he failed to protect him? And the time he actually hurt him? How do you get forgiven for that? Did he even deserve forgiveness, after everything that happened? No, Mathias decided. It didn’t matter. Whatever the consequences, he would apologize. Alberto deserved it, and he deserved the truth. Mathias would respect whatever he decided after hearing it. He could be there for him from a distance. Was that creepy? It sounded creepy, come to think of it. The best outcome would be Alberto agreeing to resume their affair—the secret, sweaty one. Then right after the act, Mathias could lay it on him. A combination of three words that only worked when told in the right order, in the right tone.
Mathias jerked his head impatiently. He was ready—as ready as one can be. Where on earth was Alberto?
Joy tore him out of his thoughts when she leaned into his space. “I hope you’ll make one for me, too.”
“One what?”
“Cake! Maybe I could go to your place, and you could teach me. We’re neighbors after all?—”
He turned away from her with a grunt. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of Alberto and froze, but it was V.B., who, from having grey hair to being about six times bulkier than him, couldn’t look less like Alberto even if he tried.
Hovering at his side, Joy gave a sigh. “I don’t know what happened to me,” she said in a dejected tone. “I keep backing the wrong horse. It’s maddening.”
Mathias ignored V.B.’s attempt at a wave, his gaze falling back on Joy. “Are you talking about me? Am I ‘the horse’?”
“It’s an expression. I know you’re not really a horse! I’m just saying, this year, it feels like I can never get the things I want.”
Mathias huffed. “Perhaps if you stopped thinking of people as things or horses, you’d have better luck. I don’t know, have you thought about that, or are we just here to make you feel special?”
“You—” Joy stepped back. “You sound like Alberto.” Her lip was trembling. “Congratulations on being an asshole, too!”
“Thanks. It’s rewarding, you should try it.” Mathias smirked. “Oh, wait.”
Eric slipped between the two of them. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” He pulled Mathias away from the others. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”
Watching Joy’s eyes brimming with tears, guilt welled in Mathias’s chest. He broke free from Eric’s grip and took a steadying breath. She was right; he was an asshole. But today, he felt nothing but resentment toward Joy and the likes. All those things people said about Alberto, he had listened to them all. Desperate as he was not to see the good sides of him, he had been quick to believe every little nasty rumor said about him, without any care for the truth. But then it became clear Alberto wasn’t the asshole people portrayed him to be. Bitter, yes, and weird, so weird. But that arrogance, that selfishness people loved to talk about, it didn’t make so much sense anymore, especially after the Christmas holidays. Not after seeing the soft side of him, or how funny he was in his dark, morbid sort of way. As for his sweetness, hiding inside like the most delicate filling... He was a vegetarian, he “didn’t want to be a bother,” he only remembered the bad memories. All alone at the museum, so small on the bench, and later in the shower, his body black and blue.
“You’re so cool.”
Mathias closed his eyes. He could still see them, the cheap angel wings fluttering with each of Alberto’s moves, spinning around in the bedroom, mischievous as a cherub. In fact, whenever he closed his eyes, Mathias saw him standing amidst a snowfall of feathers, dreamlike. Mathias’s chest constricted painfully from his longing, his heartache. That day...
That day, he already knew he loved him.
He loved him, and he couldn’t stop time. He thought he didn’t know what love was, and it’s true he had nothing to compare it with. But it was love, it was. And he knew it still later on, during Eric’s party; his love threatening to burst out of his chest, he had wanted to tell him one way or another, but he didn’t know the words. He should have gone on his knees and shown him, shown him the way he had failed to at the museum but succeeded later at home, to tell him it never mattered that he was a guy, but it really bothered him that he was Alberto. The most frightening human being Mathias had ever met, the only person in the word capable of crushing him under his indifferent gaze, mocking him, laughing at what—and who—was precious to him. Mathias always thought he was special and maybe a part of him felt a little superior, because his cock, like his heart, weren’t easily stirred, unlike everyone else around him. The one time he felt something, it had to be for Mr Model, the handsome face everyone dreamed of. In truth, he could never forgive Alberto for the crime of being so magnetic that he had to resort to extreme measures just to spend a minute alone with him. He would have done anything , that was the truth, he would have done anything if that meant obtaining his heart, including hiding the worst parts of him. But he could never hide, in games or in matters of the heart. His mother always found him.
Mathias’s chest was so heavy now. He lifted a hand to his throat and found the new chain around his neck. His fingers traced it down until they felt the lock under his shirt. He squeezed it to give himself some fortitude. “Anything,” he whispered to the wind. I would have done anything for you. You only had to say the word, and I would have done it. If you’d told me you cared for me, I would have fought, robbed, killed. I would have ripped your stepdad to shreds, I would have kidnapped you and hidden you somewhere safe, in my home, in my bed, in my chest; I would have taken care of you. I would have stopped being so empty inside. I would have lived; I would have lived again.
He feared if he didn’t tell him soon, he would simply be pulverized, crushed under the weight of the words. One more chance, just give him one more chance. Where the hell was Alberto?
“Matt, you okay?” Eric asked. His expression was too serious. When he was like that, he looked five years older.
“Yeah...” Mathias appraised him with a frown. “Are you okay? Did I accidentally step on your toe or something?”
“No.” Eric gave Zak a long look, then he turned back to Mathias. “It’s just...” he spoke in a strange, strained voice.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just...” His lips stretched into an awkward grimace. “My butt. It hurts, this morning.”
Mathias lips immediately tightened shut.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Waving his arms in the air, Eric bounced on the balls of his feet. “My butt hurts. I’m very happy being of service and all, though honestly, I prefer the other way around, you know, with me on top, but Zak was determined to have his way with me, and it sounded fun at the time! But now, my butt hurts a bit.” He slapped his hands on his ass with a bashful smile.
Mathias stared at Eric in silence. All the romantic thoughts and feelings that were filling him to the brim a second earlier had vanished, replaced by the image of his friend holding his own butt.
“You are joking,” he said, scowling.
Eric gave him a strange look of frustration. “What, what? You can’t relate?”
“... No.”
“Really?”
“ Really .”
Eric crossed his arms over his chest with a sneer. “Oh, so you’re saying it didn’t hurt Alberto the first time you stuck your dick in his ass?”
Just like that, and with a metaphorical crack, the ground split open between Mathias’s feet, and he had to cling to Eric for balance. “W-what?”
All traces of a smile had vanished from Eric’s face when he slammed his hand on his shoulder. “Drop it, Mathias. I’ve known all along.” He paused, his lips pursing. “I mean, depending on when it started, I’ve known all along.”
“Wha—”
“Enough with the what! You a parrot?”
Mathias swallowed the brick that seemed to have been jammed in his throat. Then it occurred to him he didn’t care. None of this stuff mattered. He simply didn’t give a shit anymore. Shaking his head, he gripped Eric by his shoulders. “Do you know where he is?”