Broken Hopes Sounds like Bass Drum - Part Three

Seth's kisses clouded my mind. His transport was such as to make me lose consciousness of what was around me. And inside. The concern that arose towards Charlie became as inconsistent as the cotton candy after you put it in the mouth, and while Morgenstern pressed on me, I forgot his sweetness, the softness of his skin, the scent of the clothes he wears. Just like when you finish eating that colorful cloud, I felt like I never started it: I know it was there, but whether I swallowed it or not it doesn't mattered - there was nothing to remind me of it.

So, enchanted by the contentment of having pressed the lips of the boy to whom I had longed for, I let the hidden egoist prevail, making me run towards the hanger as soon as our mouths separated and ignoring the fact that I disappointed one of the most important people in my life.

Gliding along the driveway I felt light as a helium-filled balloon and, although it was difficult to understand what was holding me on the ground, I ignored the threat as I walked through the streets of London hand in hand with Seth. His fingers, intertwined with mine, for a while had appeared like the real anchors that prevented me from hovering in the sky: as firm as ever they had ever been before - also because of the fact that only when we children had happened an event so similar. For a few hours they had deluded me into being what kept me on the ground, but it was enough for Seth to get up from the table to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone after dinner, that that belief had shattered in front of my own reflection.

Now the smile goes out and the glass next to me is witness of it.

I've been a bitch.

And for this I have to remedy.

Then, seized with desire, I tap my fingers on the mobile phone display, illuminating a screen full of notifications from the multitude of social networks that have alerted anyone like alarm bells, from my aunt in Paraguay to my school friends to whom I have never addressed word, that is my eighteenth birthday today.

I stare at them just a few moments, then I begin to hide them in the maze of the applications that generated them and, finally, I go to private chats.

Under the last wishes, those of various relatives whom I haven't seen for centuries, I find Caroline, Jace and then Charlie. Next to their photos there is a green icon, yet another irrefutable proof of the fact that Seth catalyzes and appropriates all my attention, making me forget everything.

I leave the video of my brother and my friend's poem on hold to open the only chat that really interests me, where a "10 minutes and I arrive, I leave now" stands threateningly, reminding me of the mistake.

Damn.

He had even written it to me, but I was too busy making myself cute in anticipation of this date to worry about looking at a stupid cell phone. It would have taken so little, just a look, instead I wasn't even able to make such a natural gesture.

I play with this affair and stare at it for endless minutes when it is least necessary and then, when it is needed, I simply forget it as a child with his "much loved" toy.

And maybe I am a little girl, if I forgot to give importance to my best friend.

"Hey..." I type to delete immediately after, knowing it's the worst way to approach someone who probably doesn't even want to hear my name now.

So for those who seem to me to be endless minutes, I remain motionless staring at the colored screen, thinking. Who knows how Benton decided to occupy what should have been our evening: maybe he went to the cinema by himself, or he took refuge in some place to listen to emerging bands. It may even be that he went to the skatepark despite the time and the cold March, or in the worst case he returned to his room and started playing.

I imagine him alone to look for a way to make up for the time that had to be shared, which in his plans would not have been wasted - and the more I do it the more I feel guilty, because it shows how much my need for attention darkens the fact that for to have is also necessary to give and that human relationships, the real ones, are built on a continuous exchange of emotions and sensations, of caring for the other.

And I didn't. Not with him, at least.

Then my fingers start to press on the display and in less than a few blinks the text is composed.

"Sorry, I was an idiot. But tomorrow well catch up, right? I have to be forgiven" and as soon as I send it, my stomach starts to twist.

I wonder when he will see it, if he will answer me or instead decide to sustain a silence that will make me regret every single mistake made in the last ten years of friendship. I wonder if it will take so little to patch up the hole I made, or if it will take much longer, because in the end none of my gaffes had ever been so humiliating. Maybe I should introduce myself to him with a slice of cake, a rental DVD and a couple of beers by the arm, or maybe I should just beg him on my knees to understand the mind of a poor idiot in love... who knows.

Seth comes back and catching me off guard I find myself locking the screen in a desperate gesture of embarrassment. I am almost a criminal who is caught in the act of crime, but he does not seem to be surprised or annoyed.

«Charlie?» With his chin he indicates the phone that I hold under the palm, pressed between the skin and the table. I nod.

«Is there anything I should know?»

«Is there anything you'd like to know?»

Morgenstern smiles: «No, not now.»

But in reality I would like to talk to him, I would need someone with whom to vent all the frustrations that press on my chest - and in the end what harm would do it? At this precise moment he is the only person who can give me sensible advice, who can reveal the solution to the arcane mystery of "how to make me forgive". Seth knows me exactly as Benton, maybe more - in fact, the relationship with him is even more rooted and, moreover, they are both male. Who could explain how to act, if not him?

«I forgot I made a promise to him» I hiss, slightly embarrassed.

Put like this, it almost seems like a nonsense of brats, a quarrel between two little friends on the playground, yet for me the question is much more serious, it is a mistake that should not happen at this age. I've forgotten about Charlie on too many occasions lately: first because of the skirmish between my brother and his best friend, then because of Caroline's appearance in my routine - and what happened a little while ago is nothing but yet another, and I hope not least, disaster turned towards him.

My boyfriend frowns: «Was it about tonight?» he asks me as he starts tapping the cigarette filter on the edge of the table, perhaps preparing to leave the room to get some air and continue our date elsewhere.

I still nod, this time biting the lip. I am sure that there will be some unhappy jokes waiting for me, or a paternal one about how superficial I am - I expect it from him - yet from his reaction I understand that it will not go at all as I expected. Seth snorts from the nose in a sort of strange laugh, then grumbles: «He just doesn't understand...» He puts the cigarette between his lips, then some banknotes in the paperweight with the bill and finally sighs, making it clear that he would not have expected this answer.

«What?»

He returns to the present, smiles at me with malice. His blue eyes are fixed on my face and for a moment I feel my stomach contort and the heartbeat increase: «Maybe that I want some intimacy with you, Jay. Isn't that what couples do? They have romantic dates, they go out together, they stay away from other and if they want to stick their tongues in their mouths or have se-»

«Seth!» I scold him before the list of things we should do goes where I'm not sure I want to hear, and suddenly he starts laughing.

And the doubt that he might have made that annoyed comment on purpose creeps into my paranoid mind - after all he never missed an opportunity to mock the modesty in which I grew up, despite an older brother and the two of them in tow, so why exclude this possibility?

Suddenly I realize that on his face there is no longer even a trace of anger, only hilarity - and the more I look at him, the more my cheeks turn red. Morgenstern, however, continues undaunted to enjoy my discomfort, aware of how sensitive I am to the question; and I am so especially if he or one of the group is talking about it. Yes, because the fact that my brother or his best friends discuss about sex and various flirtations as if it is not a big deal is, for my virginal ears, already embarrassing in itself, let alone I get even more embarrassed when their speeches and jokes center in my direction. The idea that Jace might know certain sides of me is more humiliating than it might seem, and I would also like to prevent him from knowing with whom-I-do-what.

And now that Seth is my boyfriend he should be careful what he says, given the premises.

I grab the napkin, the only weapon left on the table besides the glasses, then I violently throw it at him: «You're an idiot!» I cross my arms in front of the chest in a gesture of evident closure. Does he really not realize how much his attitude bothers me? Doesn't he understand that in doing so a kind of insurmountable shyness is stirring in me?

«Come on! What's wrong?» he suffers the blow, but that doesn't stop him from smiling: «Do you allow it to be quite clear that, on your birthday, I want you all for me? That if I want to kiss you I don't have to worry about who I have around?»

«You had eighteen birthdays to be alone with me!» I mutter thoughtlessly without even listening to his comments, also unaware of what I just confessed to him, what secret I missed.

But he is a hound, he always has been, for this reason he receives it immediately and perhaps even too well.

His head bends to the side, the expression becomes curious. Approaching menacingly towards the center of the table and narrowing his eyes he asks me: «Have you been craving me for all your life?»

And I don't know where to hide.

Although I would like to avoid it, so that I can save myself from any reckless action is teasing his conscience, I cannot help but notice the bewitching light that illuminates his pupils, an interest that suddenly gives me the idea of ​​being like fire. Seth is now dangerous, exactly as I was told and as I had tried to imagine every time he had moved away from us over the years to flirt with a stranger. He is a hunter who studies his prey, who drinks his fear and basks in the idea of ​​having it in his hand - it is so obvious! Even a caecum would notice it.

And in this instant, while scrutinizing every facet of my expression, fascinated as never before by what I am, I find myself thinking about how beautiful and fearsome he is; to how the light, hitting him with a sinister, makes him even more winking and unattainable.

The tone in which he addresses me has a sinful, sensual note, and for a moment it seems to me that I am Tantalus in the face of ambrosia: I want a taste, one more, but I'm not sure I can have it.

Perhaps this is the subjugating charm of the first loves, those desired until wear and tear. Perhaps it is because of what I have secretly felt for him that now it seems to me he's an hal devil and half angel, enclosed like animals in a cage which is this fascinating human body of his.

What I should keep in mind, however, is the fact that I revealed to Seth the secret that for years I kept so jealously, intimidated by the idea that someone could use it against me or that he could laugh at me, get away in the most abrupt way - because after all I have never been anything but the sister of his best friend, the nice, innocent one who certainly did not stand out in beauty. Yet, despite what I have said, instead of bursting into yet another thunderous laughter, he seems to be flattered.

«N-no...»

And even if his reaction is far from what I would have expected, words still struggle to form in the mind and to get out of the throat.

What am I supposed to tell him, yes? I don't think that's the case, after all I don't want to show him how long I have suffered from the absence of his attentions - I have a pride, somewhere.

So I try to back off, to escape from this situation that starts to get a little uncomfortable, but he stops me. He grabs my hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses its back, then the palm and with his lower lip touches the wrist, generating a shiver that runs down the neck, from the cheeks to the base of the back. It is a new sensation, foreign to what I have experienced so far with any boy I have ever gone out, yet I like it, I feel addicted to it. Seth is like a box of chocolates: I take one, another, then I want to taste the one with the peanuts and in the end I want them all, finding myself with a full stomach and an empty box.

«Can we go?» He asks as he intertwines our fingers. His is a large, thin hand, marked here and there by the slightly faded tattoos that still fascinate me, even though I knows them even to well. On the side of the index, in a far from defined calligraphy, he wrote holy shit, while on the middle of the same side there is a stylized bone. They stand there a little to indicate his impropriety, that adolescence that he lived at the mercy of alcohol and punk-rock concerts. Then on the other there is an anchor and the pirate symbol, both extensions of an entire arm dedicated to that sea that he loves so much but to which he says he would never return. It is for his grandfather, a Cornish sailor who took him on a boat every summer as a child.

With these hands, the same ones that now touch me as I have dreamed for years, I have seen Morgenstern do a thousand things: play guitar, leaf through magazines and move the rebellious tufts, pamper Chucky, caress people, but also give pats to friends. I saw him squeeze bottles, say goodbye, then close and punch - despite this, however, with me they have the delicacy of the sea foam that runs aground on the beach.

I nod, lost in contemplation of what is finally mine. I have longed for it for so long that it still seems to me a dream, an illusion from which I pray not to wake up.

And so he jumps to his feet, leads me out of the restaurant while we put on our coats for better and better, protecting us from the cold and the light drizzle that has fallen on London, and we walk embraced along the roads leading to Camden, perhaps to reach some place that he has specially chosen for the occasion.

With his arms Seth tries to shield me, to safeguard the hard work that Josephine has done to make me presentable, pity that the more we advance, fearless under the drops of water, the more intense they become and, in the end, almost resigning, my boyfriend turns into a side street that takes us back to the heart of the Brent.

The building where he lives becomes our safe beacon in the midst of the storm that rages.

We move quickly on the increasingly wet pavement, drenching at every meter that we remove from the distance between us and the entrance, yet we never stop, even when some canopies try to take refuge. We could hide under the arcades or shop awnings waiting for a moment of respite, of course, but I don't like the idea of staying out here and suffering from the cold - for this reason, holding on to his arm to avoid ruinous falls, I give up at the promised after dinner.

A handful of steps from the door I hear Morgenstern muttering some curse. With his free hand he looks for something in the pockets of the coat, perhaps the bunch of keys that will lead us to safety and, when he finally finds it, he shouts a "Eureka!" completely unexpected.

It is pleasant to see him like this, certainly more than when he is pouting, and yet it is not a rare event, only strange.

Without hesitation, he goes to the front door, argues with what he has in his hand and finally, with a sigh, opens the entrance gates and it looks just like paradise - and to make matters worse, to increase this biblical vision , under the golden light of the entrance hall, Seth's hair sparkles, creating a sort of halo around his ruffled head.

My angel sighs again, then snorts, shakes his head and, leaning against the wall, says: «Sorry.»

But sorry for what?

I squeeze my fingers around the handle of the bag and ask him: «For what, exactly?»

He furrows his eyebrows, looking even more confused than me:«For this...» at first he indicates us, our soaked clothes, and immediately after his attention moves towards the outside of the building, where now the rain is falling down in little bowls.

And I laugh.

Is he really complaining about the weather? Isn't it one of those habits typical of old or megalomaniacs?

That London is gloomy is a fact, not something unexpected or that can be changed according to one's will, therefore it is useless to worry about such nonsense.

«I wanted to take you to a nice place, give you my gift and...»

I begin to climb the stairs, interrupting his useless complaints: «We are in a nice place» I point out. I dare say that his apartment is one of my favorite places, perhaps because it tastes like home, or because I only associate beautiful memories with it; he also furnished it in a completely different way than we would have expected from him. The pastel-colored walls have hung over them photographs of distant places, breathtaking landscapes of an itinerary that the boys planned as children. The light carpets and the worn, vintage sofas give a sense of warmth that would be able to put even the most grumpy person at ease - then there are the libraries full of vinyls, DVDs and video games, where every now and then some book that Jace gave him or that he forgot to bring back to the library pops out. In short, Seth's two-room apartment has its charm, it is imbued with a peace that even on the happiest evenings never fades - that's why I like it.

I jump on the last step: «And the gift, since there is and I would never refuses it, you can safely give to me together with a cup of hot tea» I conclude landing on the landing on the first floor, turning around and winking with complicity.

Surely to see me do these skits, however, I must seem ridiculous, a bit like the stereotypical protagonists who live within those series B scripts.

He looks at me from the bottom of the flight of stairs, he does it with an amazement that fits him well, then smiles and throws the head back: «Where did Jace find you? In a Korean soap opera?»

I stop.

What does he mean?

Before I can ask him, however, Seth detaches himself from the wall and with a couple of strides, making the steps two by two, he returns to my side: «Sometimes you behave in a strange way!» He says it by moving a wet lock from my face, then goes back to the keys and yet another lock.

He is peaceful now, but as soon as we set foot in the house his dictatorial side re-emerges, exactly as it did some time ago in Charlie's car.

Without words he orders me to go to the bathroom, take off my wet pantyhose, the soaked coat and anything that may have been moistened on the way from the restaurant to here - and obeying becomes natural, a gesture that I make immediately after trying to move some feeble opposition.

I go into the bathroom followed by some of his warnings, notes that I can't hear from beyond the door and, only then, I sigh.

It's all true.

I am here, still at the Morgenstern house, alone with the one who has been the protagonist of any romantic fantasy of mine and more often inappropriate, but despite the fact that it is now the second time, third if we include the night of the hangover, I can't believe it's true. I could pinch myself, of course, too bad I fear to find out that it's all a dream. How disappointing would that be? How much would I suffer at the idea of never having really known his kisses or captured his interest? I don't think I want to know, so I just take off my coat and turn to the mirror.

Let this remain real, at least for me.