Chapter Twenty-Two Always Something There To Remind Me #2
His rational mind told him this was a perfectly logical request considering that he’d nearly killed him.
Yet the anger swelled in him unbidden, dark and unrelenting.
Where did this little tart get off, judging him?
Him? As if he had no control over himself.
This skin-and-bones cockney whore. His fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass until he heard a crack.
He breathed. In and out, nostrils flaring.
Get a hold of yourself, he inwardly commanded.
Do we have control over ourselves or not?
He glanced back at Julian to find him no longer looking at him but picking at his nails instead, some peeling nail-varnish in a reddish-black colour.
Though Michael had managed to momentarily quell his more violent impulses, he couldn’t stop the barb that shot forth, his instincts still intent on finding a way to wound him.
“So where’s Rahul, then? Still living in your shadow? ”
“He’s all right,” Julian replied affably, not rising to the provocation.
“We got a new flat together. In Dalston. He’s come out to his mum and stepdad and everything.
We go round to theirs for tea every other Saturday.
His little half-brother’s tops. And they’re well cool with it, him being gay.
Wish I had parents like that. I mean, he hasn’t told his dad, but he doesn’t really keep in touch with him.
He keeps saying we’re gonna get married or something one day, when it’s legal, but I keep telling him he’s mental.
No way they’re ever gonna legalise that.
Can you imagine? Gays in the streets, throwing bouquets and kissing and holding hands?
There’d be riots. Total anarchy. Doesn’t matter, though.
When Rahul’s on to something, he doesn’t give up.
I’m a perfect example, aren’t I? Probably end up getting married one day just to shut him up, eh?
” The fondness in his expression as he said this turned Michael’s stomach. He fervently wished he’d never asked.
He’d been thankful to Rahul for bringing him the pain he’d been unable to bring himself, and he’d hoped in an abstract way that he would take care of Julian for him.
But it was one thing to hope and another thing altogether to be faced with the reality of their love, so enduring it might even culminate in…
marriage. The resentment boiled anew, stronger this time.
It was just unfair that Julian should have everything he ever wanted while Michael suffered in stoic silence.
Had they not both been through a terrible, traumatic event?
Michael had hated hurting Julian just as much as Julian had hated being hurt, surely.
So why should one flourish while the other withered away in the dark? Had he not repented enough?
Then there was Rahul and Julian. Julian and Rahul.
Best friends, lovers, soulmates. Husbands even, if they managed it.
They’d danced around each other since their childhood, only to end up in each other’s arms like a sickening romantic comedy.
And where did Michael figure into this? He was a supporting character in their story at best. A road bump on their path to Happily Ever After.
A momentary distraction. Here Michael was, throwing himself upon the cross to atone for his sins, while the two of them had played him for a fool, using him as a tool in their little cat and mouse game.
To hell with begging for Julian’s forgiveness.
Julian should be prostrating himself before Michael, begging for mercy for having used him so callously.
“Did you ever love me?” Michael asked blatantly.
Julian sighed as he contemplated his answer. Michael bristled.
Instead of answering, Julian turned his torch-light eyes back on him, leaving Michael nowhere to hide. “Did you?”
“Yes” was on the tip of his tongue, yet his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth and he could do nothing but swallow and avert his eyes.
Julian nodded, as if expecting this.
Prickled, Michael ground out, “I thought I did.” Just to try and head him off.
But Julian countered effortlessly, “Wanting to own somebody isn’t love.”
It was the easy way in which he said it, the matter-of-fact tone, which sapped the fight from Michael like a magnet erasing a VHS tape.
Because it was true, really. He hadn’t loved him.
He’d coveted him. He’d never been a person, he’d been a trophy, a toy, a possession.
Which is why he couldn’t abide someone else wanting him, playing with his toy.
He was an only child after all. He didn’t share.
Was it a crime, though? To want to keep someone for yourself?
To protect them from the world, from the prying eyes of others?
Couldn’t possessing someone look a lot like loving them, if you did it right?
This just went to show that Julian had never been the right one for him, because he didn’t appreciate Michael’s ownership, the protection and affection he offered, regardless of the form it took.
A calm washed over Michael then. It had just never been meant to be.
That was it. It wasn’t his fault, or Julian’s for that matter.
Destiny had other things in mind for them both.
It was out of their hands. For Julian, it was Rahul and that rough-and-ready band of theirs.
For Michael, who knows? His fate had yet to be revealed to him.
He no longer had to force himself to feel guilty for his actions.
He no longer had to resent Julian, or Rahul, or anyone really.
Because it wasn’t meant to be. How simple!
How elegant! What a wonderful relief. For the first time in months, he could breathe easy.
Julian pushed his empty pint glass forward and hopped off the stool. His brows furrowed, he gave Michael an inscrutable look before saying, “Goodbye, Michael. Get yourself sorted, yeah?” And he took off without so much as a backwards glance.
Michael didn’t watch him go. He didn’t have to. That wasn’t where his destiny lay. Julian was his past. His future was ahead of him. He merely had to find it.
A clatter drew his attention to the far end of the bar.
A young man there had just knocked over his glass, luckily without breaking it.
As he was mopping up its spilled contents with a clumsily bunched wad of napkins, Michael could’ve sworn he recognized the boy from somewhere.
It was as the boy stumbled to his feet and swayed past him towards the door that his features locked into place and it dawned on him.
He was that boy, the French one. Rahul’s erstwhile companion.
The one he’d shared such an invigorating conversation with that one night.
Well, he was truly the worse for wear now.
He was staggeringly drunk, hardly able to make it to the door of the pub in one straight line.
Now that Michael thought about it, really gave himself allowance to consider it, Henri was rather handsome.
Beautiful, in fact. He should really be careful, being as pretty as all that and walking home alone in such a state of inebriation in such a rough neighbourhood.
He could get himself mugged, or worse. It couldn’t hurt to follow him for just a few blocks, could it?
Just to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Just to make sure he made it home all right.
And if he stayed and watched him a little longer, from the shadows and far from the sunlight, it was only to ensure his safety. Just in case.