Chapter 18
NEIL
Feeling so much better after offloading all my dramas onto Luke, I jog back to the bar.
Sharing my secret with him is the best thing I’ve done in a while.
Him being so cute helps, all snuggled up in his hoodie and curled into a ball.
Adorable. Last night as I lay in bed thinking about him, I even managed a wank, sort of. Well, mostly.
One thing for sure. I’m sacking off those Fighting Blindness meetings.
Derek can get to fuck unless he wants me to fight him.
I’ll sort things out on my own, the same way I’ve arranged my flat so I never lose stuff and don’t trip arse over tit.
The other day, I went online and bought a pile of scannable stickers.
Attach them to the cheese and ham in my fridge, run my phone over the QR code, and a posh woman’s voice tells me I’ve got two days left before I’m eating mould.
Even better, the stickers are so discreet, even if one of my mates helps himself to a cheese sandwich, he probably wouldn’t notice.
I don’t need the stickers yet, but it’s good to be prepared.
And I’ve had no recent mishaps. My blue-tinted, John Lennon style sunglasses help with the cataract.
If anyone else is around, I don’t wear them indoors—I’d look a complete tit.
But outside on a sunny day, as a fashion statement? For sure.
When the rewind button in my brain finally slams down and informs me I’m a bloody idiot, I’m close enough to the bar to make out our funky neon light. Under the weather? Switching off his phone? Who the fuck does that unless something is seriously wrong?
Or…what if I’m seriously wrong for him, and he’s letting me down lightly?
“You’re not always the main character, Neil!” I shout into the leaden skies like a lunatic. Fortunately, hardly anyone is around.
Luke. His duvet in a pile on the sofa. A vague, musty, unwashed scent.
I could barely see a fucking thing, but my man sat as far away from me as his cosy snug allowed, wrapped up in his own arms like he was protecting himself against a hurricane.
AKA me. And did my whiskey-addled brain pick up on it?
Did it fuck. Oh no. I barged in, dumped all the crap I should be man enough to get to grips with on my own, then fucked off again.
I smack my palm against my forehead. I have one good thing going for me right now, and I’m trying my best to blow it. Do better, Neil.
I thumb a hurried text to Jess. Close shop for me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Something important has come up.
I knock on Luke’s door again, more softly this time, praying he’s not gone straight to bed. I send a text too, telling him the idiot hanging around his doorstep and needing to apologise is me.
Because he’s Luke and he’s nice, he answers the door, eyeing me warily as if waiting for the catch.
All washed out, he moves like it hurts, as if the life in him flickers low.
His clothes look slept in. For fuck's sake. Why didn’t I notice all this the first time around?
I swear I have the emotional intelligence of a brick sometimes.
“Hi, it’s me again.”
“Hi.”
“I brought you this.” I thrust out my empty hand.
Weighing it up, his deadened eyes hold something unreadable. “Did you forget something?”
Yes, my own fucking brain. “It’s an imaginary peace lily. The garden centre isn’t open at this time of night. This one’s a beauty, though. Cute and serene and calming.” Like you.
“Um…okay?” He chews the inside of his cheek, assessing me. His lips look cracked and sore. Still pretty, but he’s like a washed-out sock.
“Can I start tonight over again?” I plead. “But better? I fucked up earlier, and I’ve come to say sorry. You’re really not well, are you? I didn’t notice.”
“I’m okay.” His gaze slides to the floor. “Tired, that’s all.”
Reaching out, I lift his chin. His skin’s cool, dark shadows cup his eyes. “Hey, it’s me, rash whisperer. That idiot, Neil. You don’t need to hide stuff from me. You’re feeling low, aren’t you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. And you’ve got a lot on. You should be at work.”
“Fuck work.” I shake my head. “And fuck my eyes for a night. My best boy needs a fat dose of TLC, and I didn’t notice.”
This time when he lets me in, I switch on a second light and glance around properly.
Luke tugs his hood tighter around him.
“It’s not that bad, honestly,” he insists, rubbing his face. “It will pass. I occasionally have a run of days like this. And if I take things easy, then the chemicals in my head sort themselves out and I get better again.”
He shuffles back into the sitting room, dropping to the sofa. I trail after. “Do you feel a need to pull your hair?”
“God, no. I haven’t needed to do that for a long time.”
He’s manipulating his beads, though. White-knuckled. “Sure?”
“I’m fine. I’ll shake it off in no time. I’ve probably been overdoing things, that’s all.”
Part of me remains a tad sceptic, but Luke knows far more about mental health than I do, his own in particular. “Have you eaten something today?”
He looks as if he’s trying to remember. Not good enough.
“Okay. Can you manage some toast? And do you have hot chocolate?”
“Really, you don’t have to do this. You should be working at the bar.”
“I know. But they can cope. And you should know, Luke. I’m not one to run when things get ugly.”
“And I’m not one to share when they do. Listen, I was planning to text you. I’m going away tomorrow. My mum has a place in Wales. I’m spending a few days there.” He rubs at his drawn face. “I just need to hunker down, catch my breath, and then I’ll be fine again. I promise.”
A stormy knot builds in the pit of my stomach. “Are you giving me the brush-off, rash whisperer? Is that what this is?”
“No. I’m…no. Why would I?”
“Because…” Wow. Asking him this hurts a lot. “Because maybe you don’t like me as much as I like you?”
Luke’s eyebrows lift in a flicker of surprise; the words hang there between us. I feel another quick beat of panic before his face softens and he shakes his head.
“I’m not giving you the brush-off, I promise. Putting distance between us, between me and my life here, isn’t rejection. I’m…this is what works for me when I’m low. It’s just a phase, a rough patch. I have them. And…I don’t know how much you like me, but I like you a lot too, okay?”
His greeny-brown eyes stare into mine so guilelessly I give him the benefit of the doubt.
But still, him preferring to nurse his low mood all on his lonesome in Wales instead of being cossetted by me, lodges in my craw.
Somehow, this sweet man slipped into my pocket alongside my wallet and my house keys, and the idea of him not being a ten-minute walk away does things to my insides I don’t entirely want to dissect.
And, man-child that I am, it also leaves me feeling a little pissed.
I need him here. Having him at the end of a phone line or a short stroll away helps me cope.
“All right.” I give him one of my best smiles. I’ll grind out my frustration later, in private. “But how about you take a quick shower whilst I rustle something up?”
The tiniest of smiles creases his mouth. “Are you saying I smell?”
“I’m saying you’re wearing the same hoodie you wore the last time I came over, and though you’re cute as hell in it, it looks as if its chemical balance might need a little adjustment too.”
Finding stuff in Luke’s kitchen is far easier than I anticipated.
He’s pared down his cutlery drawer since I last visited, which makes me feel as if hot chocolate is running through my veins as well as heating up in a pan on the stove.
Like fridges, his food cupboards have internal lights which come on when the doors open.
Very cool. I make a mental note to see about installing them in my own place.
I sense Luke’s not hungry, but I make him eat anyway. Given that I’m not seeing him again for a while, I draw out being here for as long as possible. I praise each mouthful swallowed like he’s a toddler, until he rolls his eyes at me.
“What’s the problem?” I cut another piece of toast, slathered in butter, into soldiers. “I’m new at this situationship business, okay? Give me some slack.”
“I thought you didn’t do situationships,” he observes around a mouthful.
“I’m making an exception for this guy I met recently, who keeps diva plants alive and has the sweetest-tasting dick. And who is a little bit stubborn, a little bit shy, even a bit self-conscious, but way cooler than he thinks he is. He also cures flaky rashes. Anyways, he’s turned my head.”
Not yanked or tugged. Just made me look. Made me want to look again and again.
“He’s also quite flaky himself some of the time.”
“Thus he makes me feel useful.”
I take Luke’s empty plate away, then stand over him until he’s drunk every last drop of chocolate. Turns out I’ve developed a nurturing side. Perhaps it was there all along, waiting for the right reason to reveal itself.
“Right,” I say, satisfied he’s adequately nourished. “Sleep time for you, young man. Hop into bed, lie down, and don’t move until morning.”
“This sounds like a robbery. My watch is a fake, you know. Not worth stealing.”
I’d say something corny—the only thing stolen tonight is my heart—but I’d make myself feel unwell, never mind Luke.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, holding his cool hand in mine.
“I’m sorry you had a rubbish day,” he murmurs sleepily, tilting to look up at me.
“Shh. It doesn’t matter at the moment.” His hood has slipped a bit, and I tuck it back into place with a surge of protectiveness. I guess he’ll remove it when I’ve gone. One day soon, I hope he’ll trust me enough to not wear it at all.
“If I text you every day, will you answer? If only to remind you to ensure you water my lilies? Especially the imaginary one. He’s a delicate flower, needs a lot of pampering.”
“Is that what you want?”