Page 65 of Sweet Thing

CHAPTER 33

REAlity

The insistent ringing of his front doorbell roused Bastian. He tried to ignore it, hoping that it was just a drunk chancing entry into the apartment complex, but the incessant ringing continued. Reluctantly, Bastian rolled out of bed, and on glancing at the alarm clock, he saw it was 2 a.m, Monday morning. He cradled his heavy head in his hands and groaned, wondering where the weekend had gone as he wedged his feet into slippers and then shuffled through his dark, chilly apartment.

Bast turned on his wall mounted tablet screen to see the view at the front door. To his surprise, Pieter Bayer was downstairs glaring into the security camera. His eyes were bulging, bug-like. The expression on his angelic face was a scowl as he continued to press the damn bell. A dart of fear ran through Bastian’s body. Pieter had been to the apartment a few times before when he and Sim hosted dinners for Emily and him. Bast hadn’t spoken to Pieter since the last one, so why was he was standing outside in the early hours of the morning? He pressed the screen button to let Pieter in and headed to the front door to meet him.

Bastian stood in lounge pants and a gray tee, hugging himself in the frigidly cold hall outside his door, waiting for the bird cage elevator to arrive. His brain was sleep worn and muddy. The elevator cage door was roughly dragged open, and Pieter stalked down the hall toward Bastian. The murderous expression he wore was full of thunder and disdain. Bast knew immediately it was aimed at him, but couldn’t think what he’d done to deserve such a look. Before Bastian knew it Pieter’s palms were planted flat on his chest, pushing him through the apartment door and against the wall, narrowly missing the coat stand. When they were inside, Pieter kicked the door shut.

“How could you do that to him?” Pieter snarled his eyes wide and his tone furious. “Do you have any fucking idea what he’s been through? Jesus…” he said, exasperated and agitated. “Sim’s in love with you man, and you’ve just tossed him away like a piece of trash.”

“WHAT? NO!” Bastian exclaimed in alarm, horrified by what Pieter was accusing him of.

It took a lot to get Pieter angry. His temper was not the blind, slappy rage of Simeon Duchamp. Confused by the reply, Pieter pushed off of Bastian and took a step back to take the man in. Bastian looked like shit. It appeared that he had not changed his clothes or shaved in days, his blond hair was lank and greasy and his skin sallow. There were huge dark rings around his eyes, and he stank of stale sweat.

“What do you mean no?” Pieter retorted sharply.

“I haven’t tossed him away. Why the fuck would I do that? Sim and I are a couple, and that won’t be changing. Not if I have a say in it.“

“Simeon said you dumped him.”

“That’s not fucking true. Why would he think that?”

“He was going out of his mind with grief.”

“There’s obviously been a misunderstanding,” Bastian insisted.

“Bast. Sim was drinking last night. I found him curled up at my door. His lips were blue, and he was unconscious. I’ve just come from St Hedwig’s. They’ve admitted him with alcohol poisoning”, Pieter announced flatly.

The sudden weight in his chest constricted Bastian’s breathing. The blood pumping in his veins grew icy. What the hell? He was stunned to hear that Simeon had been drinking after being sober for so long. The name St Hedwig rattled around in his brain for a moment before it ping-ponged to the forefront of Bast’s mind. He grimaced. It was a Berlin psychiatric hospital that focused on the treatment of personality disorders and addictions.

“Noh…” Bastian exhaled in alarm. Simeon would hate to be a patient there. Bast threaded his fingers through lank hair, and his heart stuttered. “Scheisse” He spat furiously, his face etched with concern.

“Is he okay? I need to see him. Give me ten; I’ll shower and throw some clothes on.” Bastian was overcome by a heart-stopping feeling of terror, helplessness, and… Déjà vu. Was he going to lose a second lover because he was too blind to see that things were going terribly wrong? Why had he not seen this coming?

“He’s on intravenous fluids and sleeping. And there’s no way I’m letting you near him. Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on. Why does Simeon think he’s been dumped?” Pieter roared. “FUCK! We all trusted you with him, Bast. We told you he’s fragile. Gah. We even invited you into our little family.” Pieter let out a breath of deep disappointment. He glared at Bastian for a long, uncomfortable moment then, needing space to breath he turned from him and strode into the darkened lounge. He flicked the light switch. When the spotlights blinked on Pieter inhaled sharply. The lounge area was a complete mess. Pieter rounded on Bastian and roared “Were you fighting? Is that it? Did you guys get physical? I swear to God if you hit him again….” Pieter’s gaze roamed the colorful rainbow of discarded candies, smashed glass, and popcorn littering the timber floor. In the open plan kitchen area, he saw the splintered remains of a smashed timber chair and the jagged shards of broken blue crockery.

“SERIOUSLY? What kind of man do you think I am?” Bastian interrupted in outrage. He had no idea what Pieter was talking about. He pushed himself off the wall and joined Pieter in the lounge. He saw what Pieter had seen and stopped dead, and again, shock forced the air from his lungs. His eyes took in his once-pristine apartment as if seeing the carnage for the first time, and he doubted himself for a split second. The place looked like it had been ransacked by burglars. What the hell happened? Had he and Simeon fought? Bastian looked at his hands, and his eyesight blurred and then came back into focus. His knuckles were scraped, bloodied, and bruised. He started shaking. Bastian wracked his brain, trying to work out what the hell was happening here. And then it hit him. Max Schloss had visited him on Friday night and—Flashes of memory flooded into Bastian’s mind, and tears welled in his eyes. Matti, how could you?

Bastian had canceled all engagements and given Lewis the weekend off. He’d spent the days in a fugue state and hadn’t spoken to Simeon, or in fact, to anyone at all. He’d been far too wrapped in his own feelings of betrayal and grief after finding out the truth about Mattieus and his father. Bast couldn’t remember if he’d eaten a meal, apart from snacking on slices of the the old pizza that Simeon had bought for their dinner on Friday night. The days had blurred into one interminable struggle to find meaning. He’d slept, awoken and sipped water; used the bathroom and then returned to bed. They were his only actions—he was on a rinse-and-repeat cycle. Apart from that, he’d lain in bed, rewinding and replaying his years of memories with Mattieus, trying to pinpoint the moment Matti decided to cheat on him—trying to unravel all of the lies. Bastian had left Simeon hanging, completely out of the loop, untethered and insecure. Bast buried his head in his hands and murmured,

“I, uh, got some bad news the other night. I think… I had a little breakdown”, he admitted.

The anger he’d felt at hearing Max’s revelations—and seeing the proof of Matti and Hugo’s infidelity with his own eyes, needed to find release. The blue crockery had been Matti’s favorite set, and he’d smashed every cup, saucer, bowl, and plate, but it appeared the kitchen chair saw the worst of his rage, having been broken into jagged sticks. Thank God Simeon did not see me like this.

Pieter sighed, Bastian was obviously in shock.

“Scheisse. Sit down. I’ll make sweet tea.” Pieter had to get to the bottom of this mess and find out who was telling the truth. What had triggered Simeon to fall into a bottle of Stoli for comfort instead of reaching out and calling him or Marcus, or even his Papa? Pieter tip-toed through the shards of crockery and hoped Bastian had at least left a couple of mugs intact so they could have tea.

Pieter had traveled in the ambulance with Simeon, unwilling to leave his friend’s side, and then he’d waited for four hours for word from the Dr. that Sim would be okay. The event had given Pieter painful flashbacks of the summer he and Simeon spent in New York, and a frantic, tearful 3 a.m. call from Simeon asking Pieter to pick him up from Mount Sinai Hospital. Simeon had been spiked with Rohypnol by a businessman he’d intended to hook up with that night and ended up having a seizure on a packed club dance floor because he had already been using Speed and Alcohol. The nurse attending to Simeon called it a Polysubstance overdose and insinuated that Sim had done it intentionally, but Pieter didn’t think it was the case. He recalled the clingy, frightened young man he’d found in the hospital bed. He’d never seen his friend so scared. Pieter knew Sim was using recreationally when they met, but over the years of their friendship, Simeon’s usage spiraled. Pieter remembered the pitiful sound of Simeon begging him to keep the New York overdose a secret.

“Peety…can we never talk of this again? Could you forget this ever happened—for me?“

In hindsight, he wished he hadn’t. He’d felt like he let Simeon down back then, and later, when he’d heard of Sim’s suicide attempt, he regretted that he hadn’t done more. Simeon could be a handful; but Pieter couldn’t help but love him, just as much as baby Lukas did. He was part of their family and Pieter would fight for Sim when Simeon wasn’t strong enough to fight for himself. Like now.

“Where do you keep your tea bags?”

“First cupboard, to the left of the cooker. I’ll have chamomile”, Bastian replied, his tone flat and emotionless. He heard the banging of cupboards being opened and closed, the tinkle of China, and the sounds of the kettle being filled. But all the sounds of domesticity filtered away as Bastian’s mind whirred with the news that Simeon had been drinking. What was he to do? They’d promised one another to talk out their problems, but when Simeon needed him, Bastian had pushed him away.