Chapter 8 #2
Jonah narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t stay up late eating ice cream and crying.”
Omari cocked his head to the side then patted Jonah condescendingly on the head. “Good. Ice cream gives you mucus.”
Jonah watched as Omari lost himself in the crowd, and when Jonah could no longer see him, he pulled his headphones out of his bag and placed them over his head.
Usually fans, if he could call them that without sounding terribly pretentious, respected their space when it came to the stage door.
If an actor skirted away quickly, they left them alone, and the unspoken rule of someone wearing headphones meant they no longer wanted to be disturbed.
That night, however, a man grabbed Jonah’s shoulder as he tried to walk away, the soothing sounds of Efterklang already floating in his ears, and pulled him back hard enough for Jonah to stumble slightly.
The man’s fingers dug into his shoulder blade, possessive, righteous, as if Jonah owed him something.
“Hey!” the man said, voice so loud Jonah could hear it over his music. “Let’s have a photo, mate!” He wrapped his arm around
Jonah’s shoulder and held his phone out to take a selfie as Jonah blinked in confusion. He didn’t smile; he didn’t have a
chance to even register what was happening, let alone slap on a look of happiness.
“Thanks, man,” the stranger said, clapping him on the shoulder as he let him go then lost himself in the crowds of Shaftesbury
Avenue. Jonah watched after him, unsure of what exactly just happened and why he couldn’t help but feel slightly taken for
granted in the situation. He stood dumbfounded, his heart racing at being caught off guard. Sherrie made her way toward him,
pushing through the crowd by the theatre, pink crimped hair bouncing as she walked.
“You okay?” she asked as he took his headphones off. “I saw that, what a dick. Some people have no respect for others, huh?”
“I’m fine,” he said, but the way his knuckles were turning white from how tightly he gripped the headphones told another story.
“You sure?” Her eyes scanned his face, looking for signs of distress, but she found none. When Jonah nodded, she cleared her
throat and her lips stretched into a smile. “Um, while I’ve caught you, it’s my birthday Sunday, so I’m arranging drinks for
after the show Saturday. You in?”
“Oh, yeah, of course, sounds good.”
“I’ve invited the new cast.” A shy smile tugged at her lips. “Including Romana.”
“Oh?” Jonah thought back to the day he met the cast for the new photos and recalled the woman with the long hair Sherrie was
blushing at while adjusting her hemline.
“I might have . . . you know . . . been slowly seducing her.”
“Of course you have.”
“You know me, babe, can’t be waiting around for love to come my way.” She paused. “I’ve also invited Dexter,” she said. “I hope that’s okay. I’m getting the impression you two aren’t fond of each other despite the rather hot making out onstage tonight.”
Jonah shrugged. “No, it’s fine. I mean, he’s fine, we’re fine. Um, yeah, Saturday night, sounds good.” He forced a smile.
“See you later, yeah?”
Sherrie leaned forward and pressed a cotton candy pink kiss to his cheek. “Love you, darling, get home safe!”
Shaftesbury Avenue took him into its arms and sheltered him from the rain falling lazily from the sky. He’d been grabbed before,
it was no big deal; he kept repeating it to himself as he walked to the tube station, keenly aware of anyone who looked like
Edward or Wes, but to his relief he only saw unfamiliar faces who all blurred into each other and paid him no attention. As
he boarded the train on the Northern Line, he saw a flash of orange and red flowers on the platform, only for them to vanish
as the carriage doors closed and Castle Road called him home.
Jonah kept glancing at his phone as he brushed his teeth. The incoming message from Dexter loomed over him, an axe waiting
to fall. The time inched closer to midnight, and he expected him to have been texting Jonah eager for feedback the moment
he left stage door, but the message never came. Instead, as he peeled off his clothes and pulled the T-shirt he wore for bed
over his head his phone lit up with a message from Bastien.
Omari told me you made out with the penis destroyer tonight?
Jonah glared at the message. Fuck off.
The little dots signaling Bastien replying kept disappearing then reappearing on the screen, and Jonah could only imagine
how much his friend was likely enjoying how traumatizing the evening had been for him.
Heard it looked rather steamy on stage. Did he get you all hot under the collar?
Jonah scowled.
Leave me alone. Traitor.
How am I a traitor?
Getting the flu and leaving me to perform with the devil is traitorous behavior.
But I’m a faithful, Jonah!
Don’t make me call Claudia Winkleman to escort you from the theatre next time you come in.
Seriously, though, I hope it was okay?
He bit me.
Bastien took a moment to respond.
No, he didn’t.
Yeah, he did.
What the fuck?
My thoughts exactly. Please say you’ll be back tomorrow? Don’t make me kiss him again.
Probably not, I’m on my deathbed.
I hate you.
Love you too.