Page 15 of Seen
No warning, no build up. Nothing but his calm, quiet question dropping my truth into the stale, hungover air between us. Heat flares in my chest as a flush crawls up my neck, my skin recognising the game’s over even if my brain refuses to acknowledge it. For a microsecond, my entire body debates whether to deny, deflect, laugh, or cry.
“Why…why do you say that?”
“Because it fits,” he answers, simply. “But I don’t understand why you’re hiding it.”
“What do you mean?” Is thatmyshaky laugh, sounding as if it’s held together with duct tape? “I’m not hiding anything, Luke. Can’t a guy get pissed up every now and again?”
He gives me a final look as if I’ve confirmed everything, then slowly rises to his feet.
“Sure. Yes, of course you can. But I have to go. I…um…can’t do this. It stresses me out.” He tugs down his rumpled hoodie then stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets. His eyes are fixed tothe floor. “Moorfields Eye Hospital is a good place. It has a great reputation. You’re in safe hands.”
After he’s gone, the toast tastes like ash. The coffee still slips down easily, but an hour or so goes by before I summon the strength to peel myself off the sofa and brew another. Beans, water, mug. A splash of milk. The ritual is muscle memory. A benign, normal activity. I could do it blindfolded.
Afterwards, I linger in the shower with my forehead resting against the cold tiles, not washing, simply letting the scalding water hit my shoulders. Maybe if I stand here long enough, it will rinse away more than just the sweat and booze. Such as Luke’s parting words, bouncing off the walls of my skull.
I try to rid my mind of the certain, unbearable calm of his hazelly-green gaze. I’d hate him if he wasn’t right, if he hadn’t pieced everything together. But he bloody has, hasn’t he? I don’t know how, but there are subtle clues everywhere if you know what to look for. Even in here. A shampoo bottle with a hairband doubled around the neck so as not to confuse it with body wash. A bottle of lube with a strip of textured Elastoplast stuck to the lid.
I’m refusing to acknowledge the depressing truth, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t read a few articles to make my life easier, whilst I still can. After all, no one wants toilet cleaner up their arse.
Earth Bar doesn’t open on Wednesday lunchtimes, except during the height of summer. I keep myself busy all morning with routine chores: ordering bar snacks from the wholesaler, updating our social media pages with forthcoming gigs. Anything to distract from my real problems. Even my thumping headache is a welcome diversion. When the only outstandingtask is to get down on my hands and knees and scrub behind the cooler, I garner the courage to have a long grovelling phone call with Jess. I use every ounce of Fake Neil’s charm, backed up by an order for an expensive bunch of flowers. A much shorter phone call with Alaric follows. Thankfully, he’s up to his eyes at work. He tells me I was an arsehole, he loves me anyhow, and I need to show him how to pour a decent pint. Oh, and next time I go on a bender, he wants an invite. And finally, he tells me I should check in on Luke, that the guy had health issues and is trying to take things easy.
I shelve that piece of advice, not quite ready to face up to someone who knows the truth about me. Instead, I scuttle back to the solitude of my flat and my bed. A snooze is followed by an unsuccessful wank, which I try not to read too much into. Then I stare at the white ceiling above me, something I waste a lot of time doing, lately. The centre is clear, sharp enough to track a tiny crack in the paint. Everything around it, though, is shadowy and blurred at the edges, as if the room’s dissolving from the outside in. If I wanted a metaphor for my own miserable bloody future, it’s right here; I don’t even need to climb out of bed.
No wonder I can’t fucking maintain much of an erection.
I wallow on another hour or so, drifting in and out of sleep. After that, there’s nothing for it but to head over to the nearest garden centre.
Luke’s gentle probing follows me around all day. Right there, he offered me a lifeline– so delicately– and I was too proud to grab it. Deny, deflect, dismiss, repeat. Dodge, downplay, distort. I’m still contrasting my cowardice with his quiet courage as I ring his doorbell for the second time in as many weeks.
“This isn’t a good idea.” Today, Luke’s hoodie is light grey and swallows him up. The sleeves hang down over his hands. “I’m tired.”
“Sorry about that. It’s my fault—you spent an uncomfortable night in an armchair. I hope you’re okay. Alaric mentioned some health problems.”
“Alaric’s got a big mouth.”
“He didn’t say what they were.” I hold out my gift. “Anyhow, I brought you another peace lily. By way of apology.” I attempt a smile, but my throat feels too full. “I’m doing a lot of that lately.”
Like it’s no big deal, I hand the plant over. It’s slightly bruised after being jostled on the Tube, the paper-thin leaves drooping. Honestly, right now? I’m feeling the same way. “I don’t expect you to let me in, I’m just…well, doing what’s right by everyone. And you were on the list. At the top of it, actually.”
Luke scuffs the toe of his trainer against the doorstep, hands gripping the plant. His grey hood frames his face in shadow.
“Okay. But you didn’t need to bring me anything. And I’m sorry I poked my nose in your affairs. It’s not my business whether you like a drink or two to unwind or whether you have…um…health problems of your own.”
He shuffles back a step, one hand on the door handle, the other still clasping the stupid plant.Just tell him,a shrill voice inside my head screams.Tell him he was right.How hard can it fucking be?
But the words… don’t fucking come. “Well, I’ll try not to bother you again. And next time you come to Earth, drinks are on me. For helping me with my head injury, the accountancy thing, and…uh…last night.”
I step away with a nod. A prickling in my throat tells me that maybe I shouldn’t trust myself to say anything else. If I’m emotionally all over the place, then my hangover’s to blame. I’ll go home, throw some dinner together and maybe lose myself insomething on Netflix. And failing that, I can always haul out my guitar and go over a few chords.
Luke’s voice cuts through. “Neil?”
I turn back. “Yeah?”
“I’ve had some serious…um… health issues over the last few years. They have affected my ability to work and to…to cope with other people. I try to keep everything on a level, you know? No highs or lows. But if, you know, if you are really struggling with something, then I’ll do what I can to help. Alaric and Ezra have my number. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”
A second lifeline, offered in the space of twenty-four hours, as if that doesn’t hit deep. Against all my instincts, I nod, too quickly.
“Thanks,” I manage. He’s still in the doorway, flicking the band at his wrist and not trying to hide it. That offer of help must have cost him a lot. “And sorry the lily looks a bit wrecked. The Tube was busy.”
