Tell me about yourself

I woke up with a loud thud. Pushing myself up, I noticed a maid cleaning the room. Slightly annoyed, I cleared my throat. The maid abruptly stopped humming whatever it was and bowed, her face flushing. In another moment I realised the reason for her embarrassment. I was still in my boxers; even though I have a sheet wrapped around myself, she could probably see every line of my body. I smirked. I knew what effect I left on people around me, men and women, regardless of their age.

"Good morning, master Arin." The greeting sounded just too familiar to ignore. I stared harder, keen to find signs that would help me remember whether I knew her. "I apologise for the intrusion. You were soundly sleeping. I knocked many times, and when I didn't receive any response—"

"You thought you should barge in?" I sighed. "It's fine. Have you seen Max?" There was a restlessness building in my chest. It could be the presence of the maid, finding an empty bed, or the majestic room I found myself in. I recalled it when the man in reception had mentioned, this was one of the best rooms in the hotel.

"Master Maxime just went out. He said he will return with breakfast."

Maxime. Was that his actual name? What else did was there about him that I didn't know? I told myself, I didn't know anything about him. His family, his occupation, his likes and dislikes, the small things people eventually learn about each other throughout a long period, the small fights and bickers, and the long nights of satin, I never had those with him. And I wanted to.

I left the bed with a grimace. Suddenly, I wanted to leave this place.

When I came out of the shower, the center table was loaded with food. There were two cups of steaming liquid, and Max waiting for me near the tall French windows. My heart skipped a beat. I eyed him hungrily and feigned anger. "You still remember me?"

"Your memories are all I have," he said. The flirtatious smile brightened my room. I unpacked my bag and fished out a clean denim shirt, all the while thinking how to respond to that. Flirting was not my style, as it had always been me to be in the receiving end of such exchange. Should I just continue feigning anger? Stay mute and see what happened? Was I trying too hard?

"Come, have your breakfast. Then I will take you to show my town."

'Shouldn't you ask me out first, you know, properly?"

The electric feeling rushed back when he touched my shoulder. Without saying anything else, I dressed up and joined him. "When I saw the empty bed, I thought you had left." The confession came out of nowhere.

"Were you anxious, worried? Did you miss me?" his impatient questions resembled those of a child who just had met a very interesting person. It made me laugh again. "Why do you laugh? Did I say something funny?"

I did not tell him what I felt like. I could not tell him how restless and suffocating it was to be here without him. I felt as though it was him I came here for. He was the reason. He was the question, and he was the answer. No, I couldn't scare him away with something strange or out of place. Instead, I said, "You're cute." I touched his face, his lips as his smile faded away and something else took its place, and his eyes told me he was there, feeling the same as I did. "And very sexy," I whispered before leaving a small kiss on those cute lips.

The small kiss soon turned into a deep one as he kissed me back and our tongues danced for dominance. All the noises around us faded away. Tiny sparks of fire ran through our veins. Our bodies started melting, our skin glowed. The sweet smell in his hair begged me to continue, my beating heart demanded we should stay like this, waste away the day just like this, if not forever. Unaware of my delirium he broke the trance we were in and smiled again. "I have something else planned for the day."

"What if we cancel the plan?" I gently removed his shirt and placed small kisses on his shoulder. We could stay here forever.

"Would you like that?"

I stared at his eyes for a while. What did he have hidden behind that smile? That perpetual smile probably hid his anger, frustration, irritation, depression or even heartbreak. Suddenly I could see him, standing alone, his heart breaking into pieces and eyes brimming with tears. His body is filled with bruises, and I knew he was starving for my affection. Yet he smiled and bowed his head to me, saying, "Master Arin!"

I shook my head and forced myself into a similar smile to hide the pain that vision caused me. "No, I want to see what you have planned for me. Is it something special?"

"I have listed the places I wanted to show you in this town. You may like these places." He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the table filled with food. "I also tried to arrange everything you like." He paused and looked at me, as if trying to search something on my face.

There were different types of cakes, sandwiches and a bowl of porridge placed on the table, along with fruits and two cups of tea. "I love this. My father would often have this tea, he would say it calms the nerves. It has been so long that I don't even remember his face, but since the past couple of weeks I have been craving this tea."

The coincidences stroke me when I admitted this to Max. Right before I met him, I had started noticing these changes in my behavior. I had started missing the good old days, even though I didn't have much of them in my memory. How long had it been since I had a decent coffee?

"Eat up. I will ask someone to prepare a car."

"Let us just walk," I suggested. I wanted to walk, like I was walking with him in my dreams.

The young man in the reception looked bright and happy. He flashed a smile and jumped out of his seat behind the counter. He was going to say something before he was stopped by Max. a tiny gesture of his hand had toned down his enthusiasm a notch.

"Relax, I will not pry." He narrowed his eyes and said, "My brother here thinks I am an idiot, you know."

'It's because you are an idiot, and sometimes an ass."

'You two are brothers?" I asked. No wonder they shared similar traits. They looked very similar, tall, muscular, long fingers like those of an artist, eyes twinkling like stars, although the receptionist seemed naughtier than Max. There was another trait they both share, that gaze, intense and invasive. My eyes fell on his neck, where I felt like leaving a mark. There was a man in my life once, of his age and appearance. I remember ravishing him, although not his face.

And the recollection brought me shame and guilt. The number of men and women I had been with, the things I had done to them, with them, everything brought a sense of remorse that crawled through my skin like a nasty reptile. I couldn't look back Max's face.

"We are brothers, but not by blood." He pointed at an old photograph of two young boys standing close to each other in front of what seemed like this same building. What startled me were the outfit and the age of the photograph. It just didn't work out somehow. The photograph should be old, very old, and too old to be their childhood photograph. How old could they be? In their twenties?

"Don't worry, he will tell you everything." He winked.

The hotel was at the end of the road. Once we stepped out, I realized how deserted this area was. There were old mansions and gardens bearing signs of the years they had weathered.

"There was a time when this street was full of lights, wonder and everything posh. Everybody wanted to be here. People from my community would come to work here. It was a dream for them, to have a job in one of these mansions." Max said as we walked on the age old, broken pavement.

I thought he lived here.

"Many people think I come from this house," he continued, as though he heard me. "The master of this house found me half dead near the river and brought me home. Eventually I became one of the house members." He gestured me to take a left turn. There was a small market ahead.

"So, you're like a son to them?" I asked him loudly so that my voice wouldn't get drowned in the cacophony of the market.

"Being one of the house and being a son, they are not same. Even though I was treated like one, the truth was always there, that I was a lowlife abandoned by his parents to die. You can say, I was one of their most trusted men."

And just like that, I could see him in a different light. A teenage boy, wide eyed with surprise, shock, and something else. He stood, stark naked, bruises covered his thin body. Blood trickled from his lips. He shivered in cold. He should have been crying, but instead of tears there was hope in his eyes. He said the words, not to me, but to himself.

"Master Arin has come for me."