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"Explain 'them' in one word.”
"In one word?" He giggles, eyes lighting up the room as he stares up at the ceiling, a smile flitting across his face at the mere thought. He brings a hand to his mouth and chin, barely covering the teeth peeking out from behind the grin. "Gosh, that's a tall order!"
I nod quietly. This is how it usually goes.
"He's..." he starts, but doesn't finish. His mouth hangs open in a smile. He's over the moon, but does he know it? He laughs again, eyes meeting mine—my heart quickens. "Can we go to another question while I think about it? To describe them in one word is impossible when they're..." His words trail off again. As does the feeling in my chest.
Sometimes I sit in this chair and wonder what it's like to be so inundated with feelings like theirs. Lovers. Yearners. People who've decided to open themselves up to another all because of a feeling. A chemical alteration in the brain. The quickening of the heart. Dilation of the pupils. Minor things that make them step out of routine so suddenly, so willingly, for a chance.
I smile in understanding, for what else am I to do. "That's fine. We'll move on to the next question then."
His shoulders drop slightly, as if a burden had been lifted. Why? It’s just a question, an opinion on this ephemeral "them". Does this person they think of require that much thought? A single word causing such a physical response... I don't understand. It’s just a word.
"How long did it take?"
He pauses. A hand runs through his hair, almost golden in the sunlight, before pressing it back down. Curled locks still wrapping around his fingers, unwilling to let go. It reminds me of a—a what?
His eyes meet mine again, this time with clarity. "It was... almost instant."
I could see the beginnings of a memory envelop him: the corners of his mouth lifting, his hand dropping down to a pendant I didn't notice before, and his eyes once again looking up at the ceiling. "We had known each other through another realm, through friends, before we ever met in person. And before that, we had danced around each other unknowingly, it's kinda funny actually."
While he recalls, he never once looks at me again; his eyes were in another time, another place. My eyes flick back down to the pen in hand, watching blankly as I squeeze the barrel. He was experiencing something I'd never come to know.
"And then at an event, we both met, and I think I realized then, it was gonna be something special."
How? Why?
He laughs. "It was actually later down the week after that event that I wanted to say those words. But looking back on it, I think we already knew."
He loved them. And all it took was a few days. Is love that easy to find? If so, why is it something people treasure and yearn for? Wars have been fought for that feeling. Lives completely altered. Difficulties overcome. There are even stories of people doing the unimaginable for something so... fleeting?
Like death, right? To love is to…
"Yeah... it really didn't take much time at all." He relaxes into the seat, as if the confession was freeing.
“Do you regret anything?” The question itself leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
He shifts, crossing his arms in front of himself. The smile that decorated his face twitched at the corner. I seem to have struck a nerve. His eyes dim, losing that brightness from moments before. Fuck…
“Regret? I don’t think I really regret anything.” A lie!
He turns his head to the windows, for the first time looking somewhere else but at the ceiling. Look at me! I fail to notice the pain of fingernails digging into my palms.
I choose not to say anything. The questions are all open ended after all, it’s up to them to ascertain how to answer.
“Yeah.” He pauses again. “I don’t regret anything. Next question.”
His hands were tightly gripping his arms in silent tension, a subtle method of self control. Was this still about love? Something else? Someone else?
I was curious, unreasonably so, but I’m not allowed to pry. Only ask.
“If there was something you’d like to say—to anyone—what would it be?”
Something inside me falls. I could feel my eyes tremble, asking a question as if by miracle he’d understand.
He turns his head back to me, this time a sense of scrutiny in those eyes. The original joy and nervousness swept away into this sobering question. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it, chewing on his lower lip. He crosses his legs, black skinny jeans to pair with the white sweater top. Boots to finish the look, clean, obviously well taken care of.
I notice the sunlight reflect against their eyes, a wonderful coffee brown. They hold a story. With the slightly furrowed brows, the shadows cast beneath them almost make him look upset. That can’t be right though, why would he be upset at me?
“To anyone?” His tone was different, almost hopeful, and his chin slightly held at an angle.
“Yes, anyone.”
He cocks his head, there was a hint of pity, an apology, in those eyes. “I would tell someone, that they were the best thing that ever happened to me.” My blood runs cold, sweat soaking through the back of my shirt. “That I… if I could do this all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
I feel something wet hit my hands. It’s… water? I look at the stained page.
“I would tell them the things I withheld from all the days we spent together in those other worlds. The feelings I’d rather show. The loyalty and devotion to them, and only them.”
I could barely register the words being said by the client. My mind stirring, wondering, of how and why I teared up. It is unprofessional.
“Maybe, maybe then they would’ve chosen to stay. That I—”
His voice stops, as if choking on the words themselves. Curious, I take a look. He's… crying. It’s my fault. And only now do I notice the black headphones around his neck with black roses printed on the covers. My mouth dries.
Why was he looking at me like that? Familiarity? Am I supposed to know them?
“Would you like us to move onto the next question?” He nods, our eyes don’t meet.
“…”
I stare. The page is blank. There is no fifth question. There is only the steady, silent fall of tears, each one a dark bloom on the empty paper. Why? Why did I say there was another question? I could feel the gaze from the opposite side of the room, it was searing, probing… wanting to draw an answer from me I didn’t have.
That’s not true. I want to scream! I want to ask you!
“Um.” His voice breaks through the small silence. His eyes concerned… something deep in my mind is trying to claw out. My eyes hurt. “Is there another question?”
“You didn’t answer my first question, sir.” I pivot, avoiding looking directly at him again. For looking… only hurts me more. I ignore the tears falling down my face; instead, focusing on holding the pen and attempting to write on the blank page before me.
“Well, one word to describe them, right?” His voice a soft caress with every word. “Can I make it two? One isn’t enough.”
I flinch.
I shouldn’t flinch. Not to him. Never to him.
I nod, my vision swimming. The world dissolves into smudges of gold and shadow, the page a blurry sea of beige. The couch shifts as its guest stands. A tall shadow makes its way towards me. I could see the tips of his boots.
And then I smell it. Him.
Cinnamon and coffee. A desk, an office, a fireplace… devotion.
The faint echoes of a memory lift the corners of my mouth. I don’t know why. Is this—?
“Mijn wereld.” His whisper reaches my ear, the language unlocking something within. “You mean so much to me and more…”
He was next to me.
Lukey was next to me.
I sob, as softness wraps itself around my head. I push deeper, trying to remember everything but… I can’t. His scent envelopes me. Unknown visions and feelings assaulting me, wracking through my body. I can only keep sobbing. Hoping. Asking.
“Please… kill… me.”
“I’m so sorry Pangi…” I could feel Lukey’s breath against my head. The wet tears falling. His own body shaking against mine. It was a comfort and an agony. I don’t know you, but I want to!
“I’m sorry for coming back so late.” Don’t apologize!
“Please… Lucas.” I manage to mumble through his sweater. I was overwhelmed. This wasn’t me. This… Pangi.
THIS ISN’T ME!