Chapter 14
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Kilian
As I finished the last bites of my salad, my father poured more wine for my mother and Yael. After placing the empty bottle back in the kitchen, he sat down again between Ma and me.
Since my last super-high, I’d pretty much stopped drinking alcohol. A beer or two now and then was fine, but anything over five percent had a disastrous effect on my brain. At least, the last time it triggered a war in my head that I couldn’t escape for weeks.
In fact, my family didn’t find out until the police informed my father I had been admitted to the psychiatric hospital. Even then, I still felt like I had everything under control.
It wasn’t until I was released four days later from restraints and isolation, and my mind finally cleared, that I realized I had been completely out of control. That was three years ago. Since then, I’ve mostly kept the monster in check.
“And?” my father asked, taking his glass in hand. “Any new projects coming up?”
“Hamlet,” I said, wiping my mouth with the napkin. “It’s going to be really cool. Something totally different. You should definitely check it out.”
“I’m looking forward to the light show,” my mother, the sweetest person on earth, said. “Too bad we couldn’t make it to the opening.”
She wore her chestnut-brown hair in a modern bob just above her shoulders, which suited her perfectly.
Yael looked like her, with soft features, while I took after my father more.
He also had angular features and dark hair.
I got my height from him too, while Yael and my mother were about half a head shorter.
“Did the trip go well?” I asked, taking a sip of water.
“Wonderful! We had fantastic weather,” my mother gushed. “The Alsace is always worth a visit.”
“Next time, just make sure the opening night doesn’t fall on our anniversary,” my father teased.
“I don’t know anyone as traditional as you two,” I groaned, which made Yael chuckle beside me.
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s horrible,” I said.
“One day, you’ll find someone,” Yael said, taking a sip of wine.
“Leave me alone with that,” I shot back. “You can tell yourself you and your Ken live in perfect harmony and celebrate every damned anniversary, but don’t try to fool me.”
“Kilian,” my mother scolded.
“What? It’s true. Good grief!” Slightly annoyed, I turned back to my older sister, who was gaping at me with wide eyes, completely stunned. “When you finally come to your senses, my door will always be open to you.”
“You’re an asshole, Kil.”
“Better tell your Ken that,” I sang back in a mocking voice. “Or should I do it? Just tell me when to show up.”
“Enough now,” Dad interjected. “You’re not teenagers anymore.”
But I felt something brewing inside me, and it was hard to stop. Before I knew it, I was anxiously bouncing my leg and biting my thumbnail.
“Do you have a lot on your plate?” Ma asked, concerned. She was like a hawk, noticing every little sign.
“It’s been a tough week,” I replied.
Yael helped Dad clear the dishes, while Ma scooted over to Yael’s seat and took my hand. “You shouldn’t take on too much,” she said, both concerned and gentle. “You’re tense, and it’s not good for you.”
“You know I don’t have that luxury during the lighting rehearsals.”
As a dramaturg, my mother knew all too well that 12-hour days were the norm in situations like these.
Maybe that's why, after my diagnosis, my father did everything he could to ensure that I would follow in his footsteps as an architect, but there was nothing that could stop me from following my mother into the theater.
With a few lighting designs for his new buildings, I had hoped to show him how versatile my job was, but all he saw in my packed schedule was how much I was overworking myself.
“Why choose the theater if you could have it much easier elsewhere?” he would ask me after every completed project.
Maybe I was taking on too much. Sometimes, for sure.
But once the plays were rehearsed and my lighting concepts were in place, I could hand things off to Tim, my right-hand man, or an intern during the performance season—though that just meant I’d use my free time for other projects, like the exhibition with Alex and Lucien.
“Are you okay?” my mother asked, still holding my hand.
“Yeah,” I replied, blinking a few times. “What’s the big deal?”
At that moment, Yael placed both hands on my upper arms from behind and leaned in close to my shoulder. “Kili’s met someone.”
“I meet lots of people,” I said coolly, shrugging her off.
“A man,” Yael said almost ceremoniously, reaching for her wine glass.
“So what?” I crossed my arms and bounced my leg faster.
“So what?” Yael repeated, leaning forward. “This is a big deal! When was the last time you were so interested in someone? That has to mean something.”
The truth was, I was someone who got bored easily. But with Dominic, it was different. He was a challenge I just couldn’t tire of. It was strange how connected I felt to him.
Did he feel the same?
I had no idea.
When I said goodbye to him last Saturday, I couldn’t help myself—I made out with him in front of Nico and Hector. Not because I wanted to prove something, but just because I felt like it. Just shaking hands and walking away would’ve felt wrong.
The kiss visibly unnerved him. Before he could ruin my good mood with unnecessary words, I stepped back and gave him a Shakespearean bow.
“Sorry. No offense to your resolution. But a little kiss has nothing to do with sex.”
“What are you doing?” Dominic had hissed, while Nico and Hector grinned.
I hadn’t seen Dominic since then, but my mind was overflowing with ideas on how to seduce him.
“So who is he?” my mother asked as my father served her a steaming cup of coffee and kissed the top of her head.
“Hamlet,” I replied, shooting daggers across the table at Yael because she had started it.
She raised her wine glass in a smug toast to me.
“Hamlet?” my father asked, sitting back down at the table. “The actor?”
“No, the Prince of Denmark,” I answered in a snarky tone.
“And what’s his real name?”
“Who cares?” I groaned and stared at the ceiling.
I wasn’t ready to share Dominic with my family yet because I had no idea what was going on between us.
It was definitely “something”—even Dominic had acknowledged that when he referred to “us” in the café bathroom.
But I had to admit, this whole celibacy thing was like a huge, well-lit monument in the room, leaving me confused.
Of course, I had googled erectile dysfunction to understand it better.
Even though I—like probably every man—had experienced the issue at some point, I was pretty sure that Dominic’s problem was more than just stress-related impotence.
There was something deeper going on; otherwise, he wouldn’t be in therapy.
Or would he?
Either way, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his erectile issues were part of something much bigger, but Dominic completely shut down when discussing it.
“That’s great, Kilian,” my father said, sounding proud.
I had no idea why he was making such a big deal out of it. The last time I thought I was in love—or at least had convinced myself I was—I scared the girl off with one of my phases, and she dumped me on Instagram. After half a day, I was over it and had to admit that it couldn’t have been real love.
“We still have some cake left from yesterday,” Mom said. “Linzer tart. Who wants some?”
While my father and I had a slice, Yael told us about her orchestra rehearsal and how she’d been granted the privilege of playing on a valuable cello belonging to a patron.
Dinner at my parents’ house never lasted long, and by eight o’clock, I was already on my motorcycle, heading back to the city. Yael preferred the train, claiming she was afraid of speed. She was probably just scared of riding on the back of my bike with me.
For me, the faster, the better. Plus, I could feel the darkness creeping inside me. My bouncing leg was a sign of a phase I could fend off with a ride.
About an hour later, just before Bern, I noticed a police car tailing me. I glanced at my speedometer and shook my head.
I wasn’t speeding. Well, maybe a little, but not excessively. Reluctantly, I pulled off at the next rest stop and parked near the restroom. I hopped off the bike, removed my helmet, and set it on the seat. That’s when a police officer approached.
“Was I speeding?” I asked.
“Just a bit,” the officer replied, and I expected him to give me a ticket. “But that’s not why we stopped you. One of your taillights seems to be out.”
“Really?”
“Can I see your ID?”
“Sure.” I searched for my wallet, but it wasn’t there. “Shit! Did I leave it behind?”
“Where do you think it is?”
“I was at my parents’ place; I must’ve left it there. Honestly, it wasn’t intentional.” I slammed my hand against my thigh. “Damn it!”
“Are you sure it’s there?”
I patted down my pockets and found my phone. To my surprise, Yael had sent me a photo of my wallet. “I’ll bring it by later this week.”
Without saying a word, I showed the officer the screen. “Here it is. My sister has it.”
The officer, who looked to be around forty, surprisingly seemed to be in a good mood. My past encounters with cops had been different—ones I only vaguely remembered.
“So, where are you headed?” he asked.
“To Zurich.”
“You do realize you’re going the wrong way, right?”
I nodded and cracked my knuckles.
“Okay,” the officer said, then pointed at my motorcycle. “And get that light fixed.”
“I will,” I replied, feeling annoyed with myself. How could I not have noticed it? Me, the lighting designer.
The officer turned around and hopped back into his vehicle. Shaking my head, I sent Yael a thumbs-up emoji to thank her for the info, then saw that Dominic had changed his profile picture. It was a new photo, bathed in red light, probably taken at Red.
The thought of him lifted my spirits, and I felt a yearning for the grumpy bear—although I had to admit he wasn’t acting as gruff with me as he had at the start. Without thinking much, I texted him.
“What are you up to?”
“Not much,” he replied right away.
“Don’t lie to me. I thought you had a packed schedule with planned activities?”
“Tonight’s all about chilling.”
“Can I chill with you?”
The three dots moved up and down until finally he sent a response.
“Can’t.”
“I need more than that, or I’m just coming over.”
“Nico’s here. We’re watching a movie.”
“What movie?”
“Batman.”
“Christian Bale or Ben Affleck?”
“Robert Pattinson.”
“You’re mean! I wanted to see that one too!”
It went quiet on his side.
Was he planning to leave me on “read”?
Not a chance.
“I know where you live. I’m coming over.”
It didn’t take long before my phone rang. I answered with a smile.
“You can’t come over,” he hissed into the phone. “Got it? It’s not happening!”
“Hi, babe,” I said casually.
“Kil! Please!”
“I don’t know what your problem is. You’ve seen my place. What’s the big deal?”
“Too soon,” he said sharply.
“What? That I saw yours, or you saw mine? Seemed like my bed was just your type.”
“I just don’t want to rush things, okay?”
I sighed loudly and paced around. “Fine, if you’re going to make a drama out of it, it’s not even fun anymore.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Where are you? I hear cars in the background.”
“Uh … I don’t know,” I replied, scanning my surroundings. “Some rest stop near Bern. The cops just pulled me over.”
“What? Are you in trouble?”
“No? Don’t worry. Aww … You’re worried about me!”
“What’s wrong with me?” he said, playing it off. “I must be crazy.”
“See you tomorrow? At rehearsal?”
“Yeah. Drive safely.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, but deep down, I was happy that he cared about my well-being.
Feeling a surge of energy, I headed back to Zurich.