Chapter 33

I can't help wrinkling my nose as we walk into the apartment that smells of damp mold and moth balls. To no surprise, the dishes in the kitchen is stacked high enough to prove that nothing must have been washed in at least two weeks, and the couch seems to have seen better days with the sponge sticking out at weird angles like a rat, or rats might have gotten to it.

"There's only the one bed," Chris says, gesturing to a bed behind a washed out curtain hanging from nails in the ceiling. The entire apartment seems to not be much more than the room we are standing in, with curtains and a counter partitioning off the different 'rooms'.

"You can sleep with me on it. Head to toes or something. The couch is the other option, but it's lumpy," Chris makes himself heard again before I can even answer him. "Not much to look at, but it's warm and dry."

I eye the double bed, which seems to be the only thing in the apartment that looks kinda clean, and at least a little comfortable.

"I think I'll be fine on the couch," I say as I wipe away a few crumbs from the once-upon-a-time-pink material of the couch that seems to have become a weird mauve colour over the years of its plain existence.

"Suit yourself. But like I said, it's lumpy," he answers walking into the idea of a kitchen to get two beers out of the fridge before returning and taking a seat in front of me on the coffee table, holding out one of the beers to me.

"I don't drink," I almost whisper.

"It's just a beer buddy," he mumbles, pressing the cold tin into my hands before taking a huge gulp from his own. "So, you and E.J. going steady then? I should have known he would want someone with a damaged face. Maybe if I'd known I would have melted my skin away as well."

I look at Chris, trying to see if he is joking, just honest, or trying to insult me, but nothing in his face gives him away. His stare has been blank ever since he picked me up at the park. Stone-cold, as if he has no emotions at all.

"I really love E.J. It's the only reason why I am helping you," Chris offers up another sentence.

"I appreciate it," I mutter, pulling out my phone, whilst simultaneously putting the beer down next to Chris, checking if I have maybe had a text again, but apart from a few notifications from YouTube and Instagram, there is nothing noteworthy to see.

"Well, my house is your house now I guess. The geyser is on the fritz, so it's cold water for the time being. The kettle broke a while back, so you can cook the water on the hotplate. And I leave at seven in the morning for work. Need to be there for all the hot guys coming in for their coffee before and after gym," Chris says with a grimace, getting up from the coffee table and making his way over to the makeshift bedroom.

He tosses a pillow to me which I catch, and then a blanket which I miss and have landed on the carpet next to me.

"Is there something I can do to thank you for your help?" I ask.

"Like what? Suck my dick?" Chris says with yet another grimace.

"I was more thinking getting us some takeout for tonight or something?" I answer, trying to ignore Chris' smug words.

"Sure," he answers before falling down on the bed. "This is fucktup you know."

"What is?" I ask as I order us some pizza, only looking up in between to see Chris emptying his can of beer and walking over to the kitchen to get another one.

"This entire fucktup situation. You know, I've known E.J. since forever," he mutters, opening his second beer and taking another deep gulp before putting it down and pulling off his shirt. "I have tried everything. Told him since forever that I love him. But he keeps on picking the creeps. Guys who can't love him the way I do."

I look Chris up and down. Without his shirt he looks almost like a fashion model. I almost can't understand how guys won't be able to fall in love with him. His black hair, blue eyes, and his body that seems to leap off the pages of a high end fashion magazine.

"You think I can't love E.J?" I ask, this time looking Chris straight in the eyes. "Because he has saved my life. In more than one way. I promise you I can love him."

"I never said you didn't love him. I just said you can't love him the way I can," Chris answers, this time taking off his shoes and his jeans as he is talking, leaving him standing barefoot in his boxers, before he falls down on the bed behind him. "I know him in ways nobody can. I knew him before all the shit happened to him. I knew him while. I know how it feels to stand in a puddle of his blood. I know how it is to wake him in the middle of the night from his nightmares. I know him dude. I know him inside and out."

I try my best to be sympathetic towards Chris. It's no secret that he has a drinking problem, just like his mom, but I have heard all the stories from E.J. I have heard how Chris had treated him, and I am not the biggest Chris fan on Earth to say the least.

"When my mom died E.J. was here. In this apartment, helping me move in. He was the one that picked out the bedding. I was so sure that it was all for real. That he would be picking it out because he knew he would some day share that bedding with me, and then you come around again. Little mister perfect, with the sob story, and the sad face, and the horrible foster parents. PLaying the sympathy card for all that it's worth, and then getting the boy to boot."

Chris sits up on the bed and sighs before he empties the second tin of beer, before he gets up from the bed, walk over to me and take the beer that he gave to me and opening it, this time emptying the entire contents of the tin within seconds, never coming up to breathe.

"But you know what the worst is? This fucking life that I've got. Just fucking waitering on rich assholes, bringing them coffee, being paid less than what they would give a homeless person on the streets, because they all think I have a pretty face, and therefore probably come from money or some shit. They don't stop to ask. They don't even look up, apart from when they try and get my phone number. I don't have the face for a sob story you know. Not like you. You can probably do the same things I do and get paid more... Get away with so much more, all because of your face. It's hard being pretty you know."

His face is inches away from mine. I can smell the beer on him, see the slight tinge of yellow looming on his otherwise perfect teeth. If I were to just sit slightly forward our lips would meet.

"I thought that E.J. said you had a boyfriend," I say, trying my best to keep my voice in a monotone.

"Had... Had a boyfriend. We broke up," Chris answers, the grimace that ruins his otherwise beautiful face sporting a return. "I wasn't what he imagined when he met me. It was fine when we fucked at his place. And then he came here. One look and he was running for the hills. The normal 'it's not you, it's me' routine, almost like I couldn't see that my poverty didn't fit in with his ivy league college sweater."

"Maybe guys should stop being so supervisual," I answer in a lame attempt to make conversation, hoping above all to be saved by the bell of the pizza delivery.

"Have you boned E.J. yet?" Chris asks, this time leaning in almost close enough to kiss me, but I don't back down. I have dealt with guys like him before. They look for any kind of weakness, and you can't be the one to back down.

"You mean, have we had sex?" I ask. "Because the answer is no, we haven't."

For a moment it looks like he is going to lean in even more, but then Chris gets up and starts laughing like a maniac, walking over to the fridge and getting himself another beer. Even after he takes his first sip he is still laughing.

"Well dude, you might want to get used to wanking for the rest of your life. E.J. has issues. A lot of them. He and his stepdad... Yeah, let's just say, they didn't have the normal father-son relationship if you catch my drift," Chris chuckles as he walks over to the bed again.

"I know," I answer, trying my best not to leap out of the couch and attack Chris. I know he is just waiting for some type of reaction. Some reason to break his word to E.J. in letting me stay here.

"So, what is the plan? Wait until your birthday and then have E.J. run away with you? Away from his monster mother, gone to where nobody can ever find the two of you again? Maybe get married and then live happily ever after? Adopt a few babies from Africa and live the perfect gay suburban life somewhere in the country?" Chris keeps on laughing almost like he is making insanely funny jokes.

I try my best to stay calm, but I can feel my blood boiling, and I know that if he says one more word I will get up and punch him so hard that his face will be so screwed up that he will also have a sympathy card of an ugly face to play like he obviously wants. Yet, just before I can feel my body going into action my phone makes a noise, making myself grab for it in order to remain sane.

"Our food's here," I mutter as I walk over to the door, which I open and close behind me before Chris can say another word.

It takes a few seconds to grab the pizzas from the delivery guy, and yet I don't go inside. I allow the cold air to whip around my hair as I call E.J's number, but I give up after the third try. He is obviously not answering, and there is no way I can try and make another plan at this very moment. The best is just to hope that Chris drinks enough to pass out soon and leave me in peace.

When I finally decide to go back up the pizza is already cold, and another few attempts to contact E.J. seemed futile.

"Pizza is here," I state when I walk into the apartment, but Chris doesn't answer back. Somehow in the while I was gone he added another four beers tins to the four he had already emptied, the last one still in his hand, a thin stream leaking out onto the rug in front of his bed, but an unmistaken snore when I pry it from his hands make me realize he is already way too drunk and long passed out.

I can't help myself feeling sorry for him as I pull his duvet over his body that is missing his boxers as well, leaving him naked as the day he was born. Maybe if I didn't know him and saw him like this he would have been attractive, and even a little bit sad, but some part of me feels like maybe this is justice. Maybe bad things do sometimes happen to assholes like Chris for a reason.

"Goodnight jackass," I mumble as I make my way over to the washed out couch, trying to find the most comfortable spot on the lumpy monstrosity.

I'm not sure when I finished the cold pizza, or when I actually took off my shoes, but when the light finally reached my face through the window with its curtains drawn open, I noticed that Chris must have already left for work. Also that he returned the favor in making sure that I was warm underneath a blanket that I last remember being next to the couch on the ground.