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I'd been staring at the small screen of my tablet for a solid ten minutes, the cursor constantly moving back and forth between 'yes' and 'no'. In a brief bout of writing fervor, I'd written this sweet short story in no time to process the events of my boring everyday life. Okay, I'd added a lot of sugar—sugar and wishful thinking. The cursor slipped over to four letters.
Maybe I should have skipped the Transformers marathon yesterday. But how else was I supposed to distract myself? Not that there was anything particularly exciting I needed to recover from. It's just that when something truly noteworthy happened in my life, it was nonsense. Stupid little mishaps that often cost me my life. Which would have brought me back to the topic I've been trying to suppress for the past two days. Or to process. With a cheesy little love story.
No, I'm not a car. But the A4 with its spherical blue metallic paintwork actually belonged to me. Or rather, to my dad. I had borrowed it to buy a bed with my meager savings, since the old sofa bed from my childhood days had given up the ghost last week. Now it was back to handing out flyers, being an entertainer at the kids' disco, or waiting tables at inconvenient hours, just to make some money, at an even more outrageous student wage. Long live the student life.
But I'm digressing. Just like in my story. The cursor moved back to the meaningful, smaller word. Of course, most authors incorporated their experiences into their stories, usually embellishing them heavily with a good dose of drama, action, sex, and a happy ending. Because unlike in real life, in stories you could control other people, make them feel and say what you wanted to feel and hear.
So my protagonist got upset about a stupid Mercedes, fell in love with a Skoda, which of course reciprocated his feelings, and they both lived happily ever after. Well, not quite. The Skoda had an accident, obviously caused by a Mercedes, and both cars were confused about what to do next. Just like me.
Two days ago, I hadn't collided with the Skoda with my heavily laden shopping cart, but with the sleek Mercedes. I had no idea what year it was or what make it was. What was certain was that it was a newer model, and the repairs would surely be incredibly expensive.
Would my insurance even cover something like this? Had I actually paid my premiums for last month? Should I just run away? No one had seen me yet. Most people were too self-absorbed to pay attention to others anyway. Unless there was something to gossip about. Boundless, sensation-seeking egoists.
With a queasy feeling in my stomach, I loaded my stuff into Dad's car, towed it away, and waited a while, hoping the owner would show up in the meantime and perhaps the damage could be settled under the table. After more than half an hour, I finally dug out an old receipt and, with shaky fingers, wrote my phone number under a big "Sorry."
Paps war beruflich viel unterwegs und brauchte sein Auto. Ich wollte ihn nicht noch länger warten lassen, als so schon geschehen. Ihm erzählte ich erstmal gar nichts. Durch seine Arbeit hatte er eine Menge um die Ohren und machte sich eh schon genug Sorgen um mich. Ein schwuler Vorstadtjunge, allein in der großen, bösen Stadt. Da kamen bei ihm die wildesten Fantasien hoch.
Perhaps I inherited my dubious talent for writing unusual stories from him. Unfortunately, I didn't know enough about my mother. She died when I was just four years old. Cancer. It wasn't a pleasant thing, even though I can barely remember it. My dad suffered greatly from it and therefore didn't like to talk about her. Even though I understood it one hundred percent and it was understandable, I found it sad. They had loved each other very much, and my birth was supposedly the culmination of everything. I simply wanted to find out more about this woman who could wrap my dad around her little finger so easily.
But I digress. Again. Guided by gloomy thoughts, the cursor hovered on 'no'. So, after the mishap in the parking lot, I brought my new bed to the shared apartment, the car to Dad's, and then cycled back to set everything up. Alone. No, living in a shared apartment didn't mean making new lifelong friends who would help you through thick and thin. It meant pure survival.
It was like the Stone Age. If you weren't quick enough, you got fried and dragged into the cave. Only I was too stupid to leave. Four rooms, four freaks, each one crazier than the next. No wonder this room was still available and reasonably affordable.
As if the head zombie had heard my thoughts, there was a sudden knock at the door. I jumped so hard that the mouse in my hands crashed to the side of my closet, while I suffered a semi-heart attack.
"Hey, the rent's due," came a muffled voice through the door, and I almost thought I heard a moaning and slurping sound à la Walking Dead. Or rather, Warm Bodies. Except the lead actor looked really hot. Not as worn and stringy as Zombieulf out there.
Sometimes I thought he'd been flash-frozen and thawed out fifty years later. A miserable modern-day hippie whose studies in biochemistry had probably sometimes taken him too deeply into the spheres of certain plant species and their effects. Never mind. He took care of the rent, electricity, and other apartment management tasks and otherwise left all his roommates in their anonymous peace.
I took a deep breath to calm my poor heart and stood up. The envelope containing my share had already been laid on the table, and I slid it through the crack in the door to Ulf without comment. Hey, I never claimed I wasn't a freak.
The fact was that most people looked at me strangely when they saw me. Well, that is, if anyone even actively noticed me. And it wasn't even because of my dark clothes. There were far weirder guys at the university who dressed much more eccentrically and were still constantly surrounded by a crowd of groupies.
Something about my manner, my personality, just put people off, so much so that they quickly ran away as soon as they exchanged two words with me. I have no idea why. My dad once said it was my charisma, which just blew everyone away.
Yeah, sure. He would have said the same thing if I looked worse than the Hunchback of Notre-Damm. Or like Alexander Gauland. Both had interesting stories without a happy ending. I just hoped there wouldn't be a sequel to the latter.
Zombieulf registered the envelope with the usual "Pfff... typical emo" and shuffled off, grumbling to himself. Completely broke, but somehow relieved, I gathered my mouse, which thankfully seemed to be still intact. However, when I crouched down on the bed and turned the tablet toward me, I stared at the desktop in shock.
Shit, my story! Of course, I'd been considering whether I should even save something so sentimental. My stories were usually much bloodier and filled with more explicit content. Hey, I told you that authors like to spice up their adventures with exactly what they had least of but desired most. No, I wasn't a vampire and didn't crave blood. But I had absolutely nothing against a bit of unbridled sex here and there.
Yes, yes, I'm digressing again. I was just annoyed by my lack of self-confidence and self-assessment. Was what I had virtually written down on paper just incoherent garbage? Or was it really worth making available for others to read? Anonymously, of course, on an interesting website for amateur authors, which I'd recently grown quite fond of. Why? Birds of a feather flock together. And where there were only a bunch of crazy people around, I fit in perfectly.
Nervously, I opened the writing program and feverishly looked at the left side, where the most recently saved documents were listed. With pursed lips, I opened the file and exhaled with relief. The entire work stretched out before me, no longer just the title 'The Story of a Love Story.'
And with that, I had answered my last questions. It was definitely worth posting online. This sweet little story was now more a part of me, even if it expressed my desire for closeness far too strongly. However, not a single person in the community knew me personally. And as far as I could tell, none of them bit – although I wasn't so sure about one aunt.
A random glance at the clock startled me again. Of course, I'd lost track of time while writing, and I was running late. I quickly stuffed my feet into my worn-out shoes, grabbed my hoodie and shoulder bag, and stumbled out of the apartment.
In the stairwell, all I could do was curse loudly again. Those damn kids from the neighbor's house had once again let the air out of my old bike's tires and hidden the pump. Why did I always forget to bring that stupid thing upstairs?! Whatever, no time for self-criticism. I had a date and I didn't want to miss it under any circumstances.
Okay, date was way too much of an exaggeration. Maybe I was still a little too caught up in my last story. After my mishap in the parking lot, I left my number, and someone promptly contacted me the next day, via text message. And I had so easily pushed the whole thing to the back of my mind between trying to assemble an impossible bed, where the pictures in the instructions confused me more than they actually helped, and a university presentation that also desperately needed to be corrected.
I'd been looking at my phone like a UFO, because it never made any noise except for stupid spam calls or a text from Dad telling me where to meet for dinner. Now, the display was flashing a four-digit number that had to be paid within three days. I was glad I could barely scrape together the rent and didn't even know what I was going to eat tomorrow. And then this!
With sweaty hands, I typed back that I couldn't raise the money so quickly and asked for a postponement or other solution. Another half day passed before a response appeared on my phone:
"Possible. Tomorrow. 11:00 a.m. in the park, at the old statue by the pond."
Now at least everyone knows the background of my little story. Of course, it was pure wishful thinking that a handsome guy would be waiting for me at the meeting point, invite me to dinner, and we'd fall madly in love, and the money would fall under the table.
If I didn't hurry up, my date would sooner fall through, and I'd have to figure out how to get my hands on that much money. And no, asking my dad was completely out of the question. The pressure to move back in with him and start an apprenticeship as an electrician. Shit. I'd rather wear baggy jeans and listen to hip-hop loudly all day. Both were a terrifying prospect.
Now it was time to get moving. The park was, of course, on the other side of town, and I had less than half an hour to get there – without a bike. Luckily, the tram stop was just around the corner, and – what a joy – public transport wasn't far behind. The student ticket was the only thing my dad wouldn't let me avoid paying for. He couldn't have afforded more anyway.
As soon as I got in, I felt the jealous glances resting on me. Sure, maybe I had a 'minor' injury, but I hated being the focus of attention, even for a short time. Luckily, I had my headphones with me, which I immediately stuffed into my ears and turned the music up loud. To the sweet sounds of Leo's latest cover, I let myself be carried through the city, barely noticing how I was becoming more and more removed from reality.
Why did this guy want to meet me so badly? Should I work off the money with him? Maybe in kind? Would I be willing to sell myself and my body just to be debt-free? I was a little shocked at myself because I didn't immediately say a resounding 'no'. While I hadn't watched any of the 50 Shades of Grey crap, I had to admit that the thought of having to be at the disposal of a hot-looking guy didn't exactly leave me cold. Especially since there were plenty of gay books in this genre that were far better and more explicit than this prudish American version of a pseudo-BDSM work.
However, judging by my luck, fortune would give me the middle finger with a gentle smile and place a greasy, hairy lump of meat in front of me, complete with a tiny slug between its legs. I grimaced in disgust and shook myself briefly to shake off the revolting images that, thanks to my overactive imagination, rose up inside me like bitter bile. Did I really have to visualize every idea in my head?!
What I had to realize at that moment, however, was the stop I was happily leaving, even though I should have gotten off long ago. Fuck! This constant daydreaming. If my head weren't firmly attached to the rest of my body, I'd simply leave it somewhere, too, lost in thoughts of wildly copulating humans with insect-like genitals.
I studiously ignored the nasty voice in the back of my head that coughed 'freak' and practically jumped off the train the next time it stopped. I scampered back like a stung weasel, but all I could see were the red lights of the connecting bus and cursed so loudly that the old woman next to me gave me dirty looks and a disappointed shake of her head.
I immediately felt three degrees worse. I liked old people. They were just as honest and open as little children, only half as annoying. Desperately, I glanced at my watch and bitterly realized that I was definitely going to be late. The next bus wouldn't arrive for ages, and besides, I was too busy to wait.
So I took a quick look around to get my bearings and then started running. With a bit of luck, the guy would wait a few minutes and then feel even more sorry for me when he saw how worn out the whole thing was. Again, my thoughts distracted me so much that I only noticed at the last moment that a car door opened right in front of me.
With a slight turn around, I dodged the man and tossed a "sorry" over my shoulder without breaking my stride. In a flash, the information flashed through my mind that the dressed-up lady was anything but amused that I'd almost scratched the door of her lovely Mercedes. Just how naive it was to assume that my date was male.
What if it was a Samantha Jones clone like 'Sex and the City?' A sex-crazed monster who indulged her desires anywhere, anytime? Not that I have anything against older partners. Quite the opposite. I'd rather have a lover ten years older than me who knew what he was doing than a youngster who couldn't handle a sword.
I just had a thing against women. As sexual partners, that is. Or even as fellow students. Most of them were simply too chatty, in a predominantly overly elevated tone that my ears simply couldn't tolerate for long periods of time. There were only a few whose presence I could tolerate, and these were either older or taken. Or crazy – like on my author website. At least they weren't necessarily trying to convince me to switch over to the 'fairer sex' anymore.
An annoying stitch ran through my abdomen, a result of my wandering thoughts. The fact was, I was terrified of this encounter, but I knew it was inevitable. I hurried into the park, skirting playing children and yapping dogs, and braked hard in front of the ancient statue, kicking up the dry dirt.
Again, I was showered with disapproving glances, and a man in his mid-forties commented on my behavior, asking if we were at a rally. Meanwhile, I had my hands on my knees, panting and hunched over, trying to catch my breath, desperately hoping my date was still there.
“You’re late, Mr. Davids.”
Fuck, that voice sank deep into my stomach, making me almost sick. It sounded young, but still vibrated pleasantly in my ears, with a slightly arrogant note that only made me more nervous. My eyes widened, I slowly straightened up, scanning the source of the reproachful words from head to toe.
Shiny shoes that, despite the dry days and the resulting dusty streets, didn't have a single speck of dirt on them. Well-fitting trouser legs that reached slightly above his ankles when he was sitting. Narrow hips, at least from what I could tell, as his long arms rested on his crossed legs. In his hands he held an old book that I was afraid might fall apart at any moment.
Curiously, I examined it more closely, but the cover was so faded that neither the title nor the author were recognizable. The writing was also in Old German, so I couldn't even casually catch a few snatches of sentences. I jumped in shock when the person sitting opposite me suddenly closed the book and gracefully stood up.
“Too late and rude, it seems to me.”
Again, that unusual vibration, echoing so unpleasantly within me. My gaze slowly slid higher, wandering over an expensive-looking shirt, the neckline slightly unbuttoned, revealing even, smooth skin. Further up to the prominently prominent larynx, a slightly tapered chin, thin lips, and a small nose, topped by dark sunglasses. Ray-Ben, of course. Logical.
The man leisurely removed the glasses and measured me with an appraising gaze that made my skin tingle. Perhaps his eyes weren't as unusual in color as those of my protagonists in my stories, but rather a wild mix of gray, blue, and green, with a light brown outline. But the way they sparkled held me captivated, so I couldn't utter a clear word.
As if casually, he brushed aside a strand of his perfectly styled hair once he'd finished inspecting me and looked me straight in the eyes. I immediately felt small, incompetent, and shabby. While this guy was so obviously perfectly and casually bathed in the sun, I felt rivulets of sweat running down my back. My longer hair had partially come loose from its braid and hung sticky around my face, and I was ruefully aware that my sidecut had grown way too much on both sides.
He was in chic designer clothes, I was in worn-out clothes from an outlet or secondhand store. He was the epitome of a self-confident, self-assured young man, while I was the pathetic, lower-class emo nerd student. It was amazing how I managed to put myself down in seconds. Who needs enemies?
I have no idea if he was so disgusted by my dilapidated appearance or by my feelings, which were surely so obvious on my face. He, at least, turned away and made a move to leave. Honestly, I'd like to, too. Or, alternatively, sink into the ground because I simply couldn't close my mouth and make a coherent sound.
"What is it? Are you coming?"
Confused, I blinked a few times to make sure I'd heard him correctly. But he seemed to be waiting for me patiently, his matching jacket draped loosely over his arm, his book in hand, which made him seem almost aristocratic, if he weren't already so outrageously handsome.
I hesitantly started moving, and we walked through the park together for a while, silent and without any awkwardness, as if we did this every day. Since when did I feel comfortable around others? Was it because of the way he had looked at me? Or what his gaze alone did to me? Stay calm. Don't get your hopes up.
Once again completely lost in thought, I didn't even notice that the stranger had stopped and I just continued trudging along like an idiot. Only his annoyed-sounding clearing of the throat brought me back to the park and made me stop. Embarrassed, I turned around and looked down at him.
He slowly approached me and stopped right in front of me. Even though I wasn't exactly tall at 5'7" and he towered over me by a good half a head, I wasn't usually intimidated by physical size—unless it directly affected masculinity.
But something made my heart race as he stood so close to me that I could smell his subtle aftershave. Fuck, I must stink like hell. Just as I was about to lower my eyes in despair, his voice flooded through me again, enticing like sugary honey, yet so demanding that I simply had to do as he said.
“Look at me!”
His breath brushed across my cheeks like caresses, leaving an unpleasant tingling sensation. Of course, my flushed cheeks had to show how delighted they were. Wretched traitors. It was only on the second attempt that I managed to lift my eyelids and not be disturbed by the enticing aroma of coffee wafting from his lips.
“I don’t like being ignored when I give someone my precious time.”
Man, couldn't that guy stop staring at me so intensely, as if he were looking into the very core of my messed-up soul? I swallowed dryly and nervously licked my chapped lips. The fact that he was intently following my tongue didn't exactly make the confusing situation any better for me.
"Excuse me, sir..." I croaked, looking up at him questioningly. Perhaps he wasn't much older than me, but he clearly held the higher position, which is why I felt a certain amount of respect was appropriate.
A brief twitch of the corners of his mouth told me he seemed pleased with me. Then he turned away and continued walking as normal, as if nothing had happened. It took me a heartbeat to realize what had just happened, but then I hurried to catch up with him again.
Once again, several minutes passed, during which we simply strolled through the park. But this time, my full attention was on him. I didn't want to upset him again, since it seemed as if we could come to an agreement outside of the insurance companies and lawyers. He seemed to be enjoying the whole thing immensely and occasionally chuckled when he noticed me not-so-subtly staring at him.
"Quin, right?" he asked suddenly, just when I thought he'd never speak to me again. I nodded, taken aback, and he wrinkled his nose slightly. "Answer. Loudly and clearly!" The request certainly didn't sound like a command, but it was still forceful enough that I immediately followed through.
"Quin Davids, although the surname is pronounced more German, with an emphasis on the i." Great. I managed to open my mouth once and immediately started saying something silly again.
Many, like him, made the mistake of giving my name the English version. But even so, it wasn't my place to tell others how they should or shouldn't pronounce something. Everyone pronounced China however they wanted, even though the Duden dictionary clearly stated that there was no K there, but a CH. And yet, everyone knew what you meant, no matter how you pronounced it.
Damn, my mind was wandering again, and I really wanted to pay more attention. Luckily, my counterpart didn't seem to have said anything else and graciously accepted my long-winded response.
"Good, Quin Davids." This time with overly correct emphasis. "I think we have one more matter to clarify," the stranger finally got to the point of our actual meeting.
Having grown braver, I almost interrupted him as soon as he'd finished: "Right. Honestly, I'm so sorry about what happened. I was kind of stressed out and not quite there, which unfortunately happens to me quite often. University, my part-time jobs, and a story idea were also on my mind, I think. So, that's not supposed to be an excuse. Of course, I'll cover the damage... but I have absolutely no money... But I can work! Waitressing is fine, and I'm also excellent at mixing drinks. I also do cleaning... I'm just not really that... talented at manual work..."
The more I talked, the more expressionless his face became, until in the end he just stared at me with a frown on his face, while I became quieter and quieter in the last sentence and finally fell silent completely.
Well, that was me, live and in color. Okay, mostly in black and white, but my strange taste in clothes wasn't relevant here. The fact was, I was either as chatty as a group of teenagers or blabbing like that stuttering guy from the 90s. What was his name again? Scatman John? Whatever.
My cheeks flared up again, and this time it spread all the way down to my neck. Where the hell were the black holes when you needed them?! Now it was my counterpart who took a deep breath before smiling softly and examining my burning skin closely. Yes, yes, just look at how I'm making a fool of myself right now—not that I ever needed help with that. We had remained standing during my litany, but only now did the stranger turn fully to me.
“I forgive your debts.”
Excuse me? No, I had definitely misheard. However, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut for the time being until he broke the pregnant pause. "On two conditions."
Of course, there was always a catch to such a thing.
"Yes?" I asked cautiously. Another twitch of the corners of his mouth, as if he was either enjoying my attention or my uncertainty. Possibly both.
"The car you dented has to go to the garage by tomorrow, 350 kilometers from here. I'll give you the address, and you park it in the parking lot there. No questions asked, no contact with others. And the trunk is off-limits to you!"
You know that feeling when you suddenly have a really great craving for a really awesome Tomahawk steak, no side dishes, just pure meat, medium rare, a thousand grams. Or a giant ice cream. Your stomach clenches, saliva pools in your mouth, and you mentally kill absolutely everyone who walks past you with such a huge grab-and-go cone, complete with whipped cream and sprinkles, no matter whether they're a kid or an adult. Well, I just felt like spontaneously throwing up. I shook my head gently.
“I don’t do anything crooked,” I managed to say.
Now, amusement was clearly evident on the other man's face. "You have a driver's license, right?" This smug voice was slowly becoming more and more sinister to me, in a frighteningly attractive way. I simply nodded. "Then I don't see anything illegal about it. You park the car, get on the next train, and you'll be back here four hours later. Simple as that."
Sure, quite simply. If that were the case, why didn't he do it himself? Convenience? Or was that sort of menial work, and he'd simply run out of staff? I'd better stop staring into his hypnotic eyes with my mouth wide open. They made me soft in the head. Like, softer than I already was.
Viewed objectively, the task seemed quite simple, the way he phrased it. And even if there was something in the trunk that wasn't entirely kosher, I could still prove that I had essentially nothing to do with it. For one thing, there was the text message history on my phone, and for another, there were cameras everywhere, which, after all, ensured the safety of the citizens of this city. Long live the transparent man.
"Very well," I finally agreed, and the taller man's expression didn't seem any more satisfied, but rather darkened a shade. "And the second condition?" I quickly asked, before I was so nervous that I couldn't speak again.
The stranger's lips curled into a devilish smile that seemed almost greedy. He leaned toward me gently and fixed his gaze on me so intensely that I was torn between the urge to flee and simply sniff him, to bury my nose deep in the crook of his neck. I stared, transfixed, at his mouth as it opened in response.
"Be mine. For twenty-four hours." He hadn't even spoken aloud, but rather whispered. And yet the words echoed within me like a bell toll, as if I were standing right next to a giant cathedral.
"What?" I managed to utter hoarsely, taking a step back. I desperately needed some fresh air to breathe better. This guy completely drove me crazy in seconds. And the fact that he started laughing out loud didn't exactly make things better.
"I'd give a kingdom for your thoughts, but they're written all over your face." Great. Did he want me to feel better? He really needs to work on that.
"Before your imagination runs wild any further, let me clarify my request a little: I need some company. I travel a lot for work, which doesn't normally bother me. But I'm only human, and I need some conversation now and then. And only that.
Prostitutes just want to finish their work quickly so they can get their next fix, and escort boys may look good, but they're as simple as a loaf of white bread. I don't crave high-flown conversation, but rather normal, down-to-earth conversation. In other words: I'm not interested in sex or physical gratification. You can keep your clothes on the entire time, just like me. Unless you feel like something else during the course of the evening."
He winked at me teasingly, making his obvious interest clear. By the gods, I wasn't usually a sad child when I found myself in the relevant clubs. I certainly knew how to handle a come-on or a successful flirtation. It was probably just the publicity and the broad daylight in which the whole thing was happening that threw me so off. I reluctantly tore my gaze away from him and blinked a few times to clear the confusion in my head.
“No naked cleaning, gang bangs with third parties, chaining up, kneeling or other 50 Shades crap?” I asked just to be sure.
"Not unless you explicitly insist. Although I have to vehemently reject one of the things you've said." Great, now it's getting serious. "I absolutely refuse gang bangs or threesomes. I want you completely to myself for the time being."
Fuck. Again, that nasty feeling in my stomach that made me almost feel sick. Why would he say something so crazy? He didn't even know me! Or did he think I was some innocent country girl? Well, he was in for the surprise of the century.
At least if I went along with it. Did I even have a choice? Could I even trust his words that he wouldn't grab me or throw me to someone else? Maybe he was organizing an exclusive luxury party for rich old geezers at this very moment, and I was part of the main course. The mere thought made bitter bile rise inside me, and my face twisted in disgust, which didn't go unnoticed.
"Don't worry, Quin. As long as you're in my care, nothing will happen to you." This time his voice was so gentle, almost lulling, that I simply stood frozen as he very carefully raised his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, without touching my skin or otherwise getting too close.
"Okay." Wait... what?! Did I really just say that? Even the stranger wasn't quite sure if I was serious.
“Okay?” he asked inquisitively, and I almost thought I could hear hope in his voice.
"I accept the terms." Oh, did I? I was a stranger to myself. As if remotely controlled, I nodded to emphasize my statement. Could the aliens please stop manipulating me?
Now, relief was clearly reflected in his face. "Very good. Here are the train tickets. They're not tied to a person or a specific train. The car is parked in the back parking lot. The papers are in the glove compartment, the keys are in the envelope, as is the address where you should report to once you get back."
Completely taken aback, I took everything and looked at him perplexed. "And when do I have to leave?" I asked hastily, as the other man was about to turn away.
“Immediately, of course.”
Naturally.
Less than ten minutes later, I was standing in front of this enormous luxury car, hesitant to even look at it for a moment. Hesitantly, I pressed the central locking button, opened the driver's door, and slid carefully into the seat, as if I might break something. What had I gotten myself into? On the other hand, I'd never have the opportunity to pay off debts so easily again.
I stared, mesmerized, for a few seconds at the button that opened the trunk. Of course, I didn't trust the guy for a second. But he had given me an order, and I accepted the terms. I kept my word, period. I took one last deep breath before closing the car door and starting the engine.
I quickly entered the address into the navigation system and connected my phone via Bluetooth. Surrounded by my very own favorite music, I immediately felt a little better. Luckily, I always carried a small power bank in my bag, so at least I wouldn't run out of power along the way. Nothing was worse than the silence around me.
The first hundred kilometers just rolled by, and I slowly got used to the powerful device under my butt. When would I ever feel something that powerful under my ass again? Hello?! I was talking about the car, not the next visit to the darkroom!
At least I had the same teething issues as there. Driving around the city with that much horsepower was a bit of an adventure. But luckily, the car had an automatic transmission, so at least I was spared the embarrassment of stalling at a traffic light.
On the highway, however, I had to constantly be careful not to overdo it. The Mercedes was so smooth that I was occasionally startled when I glanced at the speedometer. Once, I even blasted into a construction zone at 180 km/h and had to restrain myself from braking too hard, but rather reduce my speed in a controlled manner.
So I chugged along obediently, within the permitted zone, for an annoying five kilometers through the narrow, two-lane construction zone behind a huge truck that a couple of idiots were trying to overtake. Didn't they see how damn narrow it was? The left lane, which was only two meters wide, was only used for staggered driving and not for risky maneuvers just because you were a full two km/h faster than the car in front. I was actually relieved when the truck driver in front of me pulled into the middle, blocking everything. We were all already going a good ten km/h faster than the speed limit, so saving three seconds really didn't matter.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the construction zone ended with a graceful curve in the road, and I could finally accelerate again. Cruising past the knee-high concrete walls for ages was really no fun. Naturally, the first vehicles raced past me closely, and within seconds, I felt like they were reaching 200 km/h. Only one car positioned itself decisively in front of me and even slowed me down slightly.
What was that all about? The highway had three lanes and was completely open. So we all had plenty of room. I was about to flash my headlights, as the wildest drivers were still blocking the left lane, and I thought 120 km/h was a real understatement when red writing flashed on the rear of the car. 'Please follow.' Only then did I notice the small blue light on the roof, which was also being switched on.
Police? Really? This couldn't be happening! Suddenly, sweat broke out all over my body, and the wildest scenarios played out in my head, scenarios that would have easily put Cobra 11 to shame. With a queasy feeling, I followed the car in front of me to the nearest rest stop and stopped next to the vehicle, keeping a safe distance.
And now? How should I behave? Get out and smile nicely? Or would that be considered an assault? I could already see myself leaning forward on the hood, whimpering, my arms handcuffed behind my back. First, put my hands on the steering wheel. That always worked. And then take a deep breath. They'd tell me what to do or not to do. The plainclothes police officers took their time before briskly getting out and walking toward me, staring intently in my direction.
"My name is Chief Inspector Bauer, my colleague is Miss Redewig. Do you know why we stopped you?"
Maybe because I was driving an unfamiliar car across half of Germany, which probably had something illegal hidden in the trunk? Drugs? Weapons? Maybe a corpse? It couldn't have been my driving style, since I was dutifully obeying the speed limit. Sure, I wasn't doing 80 km/h in the construction zone, but neither were any of the others. And I don't give a damn about that stupid saying about opening the window and jumping in after someone.
Was it perhaps a distance measurement? They've been making a lot of noise about that lately. While I was still feverishly thinking about it, the woman leisurely walked around the car. She stopped directly in front of the trunk and seemed to be examining something closely. Perhaps they were undercover agents who had been observing the stranger from the park for some time and now wanted to arrest him using the contents of the rear of the car.
It would at least suit the policewoman, with the stern look she was giving the whole time. She didn't even seem to really like her partner, because if looks could kill, she had already killed the taller one when he called her 'Miss'. But maybe the two of them just really liked each other, and this was their own kind of foreplay. Couldn't even my thoughts stay on task?
"Nervous?" came a sudden voice from the right-hand side, through whose window the woman was staring intently at me. My goodness, did she have to scare me like that? I hadn't even realized I'd rolled down the windows on both sides just before I turned off the engine and waited for the officers.
"A little," I admitted, attempting an apologetic smile. She looked at me briefly with narrowed eyes, but then let go and leisurely walked around the hood.
She whispered something to her partner, her eyes never leaving mine. He simply frowned and then asked for my driver's license and vehicle registration. I had the former at hand quite quickly, but I hesitated again when it came to the papers.
According to the stranger, they were in the glove compartment. But what else would I find in there? I was a truly stupid idiot! Why hadn't I checked before leaving that everything was there and that no other surprises would jump out at me? What would happen if I opened the compartment? Would a bag of weed pop up? Or even a handgun?
"Mr. Davids?" came a questioning voice from outside, which made me blink several times and then give myself a jolt. With trembling fingers, I opened the narrow hatch and carefully reached inside. A deep sigh escaped me when I discovered only the operating manual and a small black folder containing the documents. Relieved, I handed them out the window and waited patiently for their inspection. The officer's brow furrowed even more.
“This is not your car.”
Wow, really well observed. As if such a flashy thing would suit me. Even the woman seemed to find the remark silly, given the exasperated way she looked at her partner.
"No. I was asked to take it in for repairs. I crashed into it with a shopping cart," I explained quickly, feeling my cheeks tingle slightly. I was still incredibly embarrassed about the whole thing.
“And that’s why the little guy is going to Kovalski,” the policewoman added, whereupon the other man looked at her and then at me in surprise.
"Seriously?!" he asked, sounding so incredulous and repulsed that all my alarm bells rang. I cautiously glanced at the documents lying legibly on my passenger seat. The name mentioned was emblazoned in large letters on a piece of paper, directly above the address. Okay, she could read. But why was the guy so shocked about it?
The policewoman leisurely positioned herself diagonally behind me. This gave her a clear view directly into the car, and I had to half-contort myself to politely look at her as she spoke to me. The fact that her partner now started to creep around the Mercedes and lingered far too long at the rear didn't exactly make things any easier.
“Are you sure you want to go there right now?” she asked seriously, looking at me intensely.
In contrast to the stranger's penetrating gaze, this scrutiny didn't leave a sweet flutter in my stomach or a nervous anticipation of what might follow. It was more like the kind of stare you get when your school principal calls you into your office as a kid and you confess to everything, even if you haven't done anything at all. Hesitantly, I shrugged my shoulders and gave a nervous smile.
“Authorized workshop,” I said monosyllabically and turned around in shock when I heard a loud whistling sound.
"Man, those scratches look really bad. This is going to be really expensive." Oh no. He's a real brainiac, isn't he?
"Especially if he goes to Kovalski," the policewoman continued, looking at me more conciliatorily. "He's a real cutthroat. So don't let him rip you off." She handed me my papers and signaled to her partner that they were done. "And next time, ease off the gas before you drive like a madman into a construction site. All right?!"
Ah, so that's why. I nodded obediently and raised my hand in farewell as they both walked toward their company cars. Nevertheless, their conversation could still be clearly heard all the way to me.
"What now? No brutal body search or car ripping apart or endless interrogations?"
The young policewoman looked at her partner as if he were crazy – for the second time today. And I really couldn't blame her. "Why? He's just a young guy trying to fix a mistake, preferably before his dad finds out."
"Well, apparently you were transferred to us as punishment because you wrecked a car during a wild chase. You're a tough chick who even lets bad guys go."
"You watch too much Sons of Anarchy. Now get in. We have at least fifteen more people to check."
"Hey, these are my car keys. How did you...?"
"Don't talk nonsense, little one. Otherwise I'll leave you standing here."
The other guy hurried to get into the car before his partner sped out of the parking lot with squealing tires and a lead foot. And I was called a freak...
I stared after them for a while before the tension finally left me. With wobbly knees, I climbed out of the car and looked for the nearest restroom. I also desperately needed a bottle of water and a large bag of gummy bears. Sure, rest stops like these were ridiculously expensive, but I desperately needed some endorphins. And what produces more happy hormones than a pack of sour worms?
The rest of the journey was so uneventful that I kept looking in the rearview mirror, wildly hoping I was being followed. Preferably by the two crazy people who had pulled me out. Deep down, I knew I was just a quota they had to fulfill. But my stupid imagination didn't hold back on conjuring up messed-up ideas, which was hard to dismiss.
Maybe it was also because the sky was getting increasingly overcast, and by four o'clock in the afternoon it was almost dark. Of course, it started to rain just as I crossed the border of the unfamiliar town. A fine drizzle, so all the headlights were really glaring and I couldn't read any signs. The sat nav was also unreliable. Stupid construction sites kept blocking my way, and I was really sick of hearing 'Please turn around... now!' Fortuna was an ugly-smiling bitch!
I wandered through the city for a full hour until I drove through a deserted-looking industrial area, at the end of which the workshop was supposed to be. With watchful eyes, I chugged along the street at walking pace, searching desperately for a large sign or something to finally get rid of this car. I almost ran into a huge black trash can. Who the hell parked those in the middle of the street?!
And then, finally, I spotted the gray building with "Kovalski" written on it in black lettering. Yeah... they really knew how to do eye-catching advertising. My sweet sarcasm, however, disappeared into the background as I took a closer look at the site.
On the left, a square prefabricated building with dirty windowpanes. Straight ahead, across a generous open space, were cheaply plastered garages, their corrugated iron roofs covered in moss and dirt. And on the right, last but not least and quite classically, were piles of various sizes of car parts and tires, some covered in shredded tarpaulins. That's how only bad horror movies start.
Since everything was enclosed by a meter-high fence, I wasn't sure where exactly to park the car, so I decided to park directly opposite the prefab building where I assumed the office was. I packed my phone, power bank, and train ticket into my bag and finally got out after giving the front of the car a final, thorough look. The dent in the vehicle was enough for me. I didn't want to leave expensive-looking seats with rubber animal prints on them.
With a muted click, the doors locked, and when the follow-me-home light went out, I stood there completely lost in the diffuse twilight. Okay, just keep calm. While no one seemed to be working here at this time of night, most garages always had mailboxes for emergencies like this, where you could just drop your keys in. I walked up and down the fence, searching, and finally found the box... at the front of the prefab building... inside the fence.
Seriously? Were they so shy of people that they kept everyone away? Or did they just hate the mailman? Received too many reminders, huh? What if the whole place belonged to the mafia? The name sounded pretty Eastern European anyway, so the whole thing wouldn't be that far-fetched. Yeah, prejudices were alive and well.
Once again, I ran up and down the entire fence. Twice. And yet, the only way to get rid of that damned key was inside the fenced-off area. Fucking Fortuna. Grumbling, I set my bag down next to the Mercedes and stuffed the key deep into my pants.
Even though I didn't train regularly, I was anything but unathletic. If I didn't act too stupidly, this coarse-meshed fence shouldn't be much of an obstacle. So I slyly glanced left and right to see if anyone was watching me, and then spat into my hands.
Not a second later, I was hanging from the rickety barrier, giving Spiderman a run for his money. Once I reached the other side, I leaped gracefully onto the barrier and even landed gracefully on my feet. Wow, maybe something will finally work today, without any stupid incidents.
If only I'd kept my thoughts to myself. I'd barely tossed the key into the mailbox with relief when I suddenly heard a growl from the side. No. Please, don't. Oh gods, don't put me in some stupid American teen movie where I had to run screaming from a murderous dog that bit me in the butt as soon as I grabbed the bridle.
As usual, my prayers were not answered. In slow motion, I turned my head and looked directly into the curled-up lips of a German Boxer. The stereotype of this combative dog breed almost stunned even me, knowing that these animals were the sweetest and most loyal of all. However, I was on its territory, and as an intruder. This fact was not to be underestimated. As carefully as possible, I backed away slowly, lowered my gaze to the ground, and spoke gently to the animal.
"Hello, my handsome boy. Now, keep an eye on things here so nothing gets stolen." A loud bark amidst all the growling made me jump and look up briefly before I fixed my gaze on my feet again.
"My pretty one, of course. I should have noticed right away, with her gorgeous, shiny fur," I chattered nervously as I got closer to the fence. Didn't I mention at the beginning that I rarely got along with women? That was true of animals, too, by the way.
The further I moved, the louder the growling became, and the more often I heard loud barking. When lights flashed in the windows of the prefab building, I completely froze. Taking advantage of the dog's inattention, who had also reacted to the brightness, I turned around and dashed the last few steps toward the fence.
I leaped to safety, while the dog, now directly beneath me, barked like mad and tried to grab my feet. Frantically, I picked up the pace and climbed to freedom on the other side, when a door creaked open and loud shouts mingled with the barking. What about stopping and waiting? I wasn't suicidal! Once I got to the other side, I grabbed my bag and ran as fast as I could.
Half an hour later, I was sitting on the train that would take me straight home without a stopover. An old man had picked me up on the rainy street on the outskirts of the city and kindly drove me to the station. I must have looked a lot like his grandson, and he simply couldn't have been responsible for leaving me alone.
At first, it seemed strange to me that he kept talking about him, as if he assumed we knew each other. But when he finally pointed to the little rainbow pin on my bag, a lot of things became clear to me. Logical. Apparently, around 7.4% of Germany's population was LGBT, and we ALL knew each other by name and nickname. Old people were amazing.
The vibration of my phone brought me back to my memories and immediately a big grin spread across my face as I read the message:
“Anyone who brags about their biceps is really poor.”
I was practically laughing myself silly. Yeah, I was totally into corny jokes, and Feline, one of the craziest people on my favorite website, knew it too. She was one of the few normal straight women I got along with. Or she was just so crazy that we were on the same page again.
"What do you call a dancing stoner? Grasshopper." And send it. Oh, I liked our dialogue.
"Idiot! Didn't you want to send me something else?"
Damn, between setting up the bed and writing, I had roughly told her my story idea and of course had to promise to let her read it first.
"Sorry, overslept. I had the date with the car guy," I wrote back briefly, and as expected, I was asked to tell absolutely EVERYTHING and heaven forbid I left out even the smallest detail.
I looked around cautiously. But on a Saturday evening, there were hardly any people sitting on the train, and if there were, they were sitting far apart. So I started an audio recording and roughly described what had happened so far. Horrified smileys were the response, along with a brief question:
"And now?"
“A promise is a promise,” I simply typed back.
"Either you're incredibly brave or just plain stupid! Maybe a good dose of both."
"Possibly." Ha! I was the master of the rambling conversation.
“Well, then I’m your angel.”
Please what?!
“I can imagine a lot of things about you, but certainly not this association.”
“Very charming gentleman!”
I've been saying that all along! This was followed by a brief explanatory litany via audio message explaining that it's best to have a guardian angel for your first, more explicit encounters, especially when it comes to the BDSM scene. So, you'd tell a confidant where you were and who you were, and if you didn't contact your angel within the agreed time, they'd call the police.
That didn't actually sound so stupid. At least it was always better to go to a complete stranger's house with someone to back you up than to just stumble there completely blindly. So I agreed to her suggestion, sent her the address, and arranged a few different times. I'd take a photo of the doorbell while I was there so she'd have a name—just like me. Because other than his cell phone number, I knew absolutely nothing about this guy.
Feline diligently concocted the wildest ideas and repeatedly urged me to buy some more condoms. Talk about angels. She was a devil, nothing more and nothing less. Besides, I always had some in my bag by default. Not that I often needed them spontaneously.
With a "Good luck, babe," she ended our virtual conversation and left me with my jumbled thoughts. Shortly before 9:30, I was finally back at my home train station, concentrating on the map on my phone, searching for the address I was given when I stopped walking mid-stride.
This really couldn't be happening! It wasn't drizzling anymore, but pouring with rain! And of course, this stupid house was on the outskirts of town, in the poshest neighborhood for the wannabe nouveau riche. Why was I still surprised?
After just a few meters to the tram, I was almost soaked. And by the time I had to change lines three times, I was completely soaked. A final walk followed, during which I only hoped my bag would hold up in the constant rain and my electronic devices wouldn't get drenched.
Nevertheless, I stood open-mouthed in front of the small villa, checking several times to make sure I was at the right address. When I noticed a shadow at the window, I quickly took a photo of the mailbox, sent it to Feline, and then crossed the wide front garden. There was no need to ring the bell, as the stranger had long since opened the door and was leaning casually against the frame. Only when I stepped closer into the light did he notice my desolate state and immediately made way for me to get out of the rain.
"Wait here!" he commanded harshly, which almost made me freeze. He'd seemed much more ingratiating in the park. Was he finally realizing what he'd brought into his house and was he going to let me go right away? Did I even want that? Or wasn't I secretly looking forward to a few hours of alone time with this attractive man?
Completely lost in conflicting thoughts, I didn't even notice the young man leave and reappear silently. Only when a towel was placed over my head and I was gently dabbed with it did I look up, confused. Two inscrutable eyes met mine, their expressions fluctuating between concern and displeasure. Almost tenderly, he dried my face and neck, stroking my skin a few times. Whether intentional or not, I couldn't tell. The fact was, I was immensely enjoying his attention.
"Why didn't you take a taxi?" he chided, full of incomprehension, which brought me back to reality a little. Annoyed, I wrested the towel from him and moved away from him a little.
“Because I’m just a student and I can’t afford something like that!” I unintentionally snapped back, glaring at him angrily.
"But I can. And I should have!" It was clear that he wouldn't let a dirty look deter him. But I wasn't the type to give in easily either.
“Not everyone is a half-rich young entrepreneur,” I grumbled, hating how envious that sounded.
Now my counterpart laughed amusedly. "What? Only half-rich?" Was he teasing me? Why couldn't I stay mad at that charming smile for long? "You could have called me. I would have sorted out the taxi thing."
“And you said you didn’t want a male escort here.”
“And you always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
Wow, this little exchange was pretty close to a good flirt. No matter how exciting I was finding it all, the coldness of my clothes ate through my skin like little ants, making me shiver slightly. When my counterpart noticed this, he immediately seemed pissed off again.
"Undress yourself!"
“What?” I had completely misheard.
"Immediately!"
Apparently not.
"You're wet to the bone. How can you pay so little attention to yourself?! The laundry room is over there. Throw your clothes in the washing machine, quick cycle with dryer. You can put that on while you're at it."
He briefly pointed to the door to my right and then to the bathrobe he had always placed on the dresser next to him. Without waiting for a response from me, he turned and disappeared into the spacious room adjoining the hallway.
For a few seconds, I just stared after him, not quite sure what to make of everything. Was my health so important to him that a few wet clothes were already bothering him? Or was I just messing up his decor? Dejectedly, I realized that a puddle had formed beneath me and was steadily growing. Fuck, you miserable idiot.
I briefly glanced in the direction my host had disappeared. All I could hear was the clatter of plates and cutlery, as if he was clearly making an effort to make a racket. Well, I'd better get going before he found me half-naked. Not that I had the impression that would bother him.
I quickly pulled my hoodie and shirt over my head and roughly dried myself. Then I took off my pants, completely emptying the pockets so I wouldn't ruin his washing machine. After that, I grabbed my bathrobe and wrapped myself tightly in it before finally taking off my shorts and socks.
I quickly tucked my phone into my bathrobe pocket and headed for the utility room. Less than a minute later, that high-tech washing machine was quietly humming away. The puddle in the hallway was quickly cleaned up and my bag was placed on the towel. Although there were only light-colored tiles here, I still didn't want to attract unwanted attention again.
Even though this guy came across as a bit bossy at times, there was something about him that I was determined to explore further. I cautiously tiptoed into the huge living room and couldn't stop marveling. The room was divided into two parts. On the left, the living room with a huge couch, flat-screen TV, bookshelves, and so on, and on the right, the dining area with a long glass table that easily accommodated eight chairs.
Behind it was a large, open American-style kitchen, separated from the rest of the room only by a counter. My host was busy there, putting something into the oven, which had been placed at chest height. Was he cooking? For us? My stomach immediately growled loudly, and the stranger turned to me.
"Well, are you feeling better?" He approached me with a grin, so I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my cozy bathrobe. At least that way it wouldn't open unexpectedly.
“I think so,” I nodded cautiously, and added, looking down at my bare toes, “The underfloor heating is doing its best.”
My host's smile froze. Instead, he pursed his thin lips and gently lifted my chin. His thumb gently stroked the base of my mouth, tracing its contours, and then clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
"Stop trying to tell me what I want to hear. Your lips are still blue." He quickly turned away and turned his back to me. "Up the stairs, first door on the left. You have ten minutes."
I stood there, stunned, not knowing how to react. First, he turned me on with his closeness and attention, only to push me away again immediately. Was this guy into morbid games? Getting things going and then leaving me cold? I angrily clenched my hands into fists and stared at his back. He didn't want someone who would blindly follow his lead? Please, the asshole could have it.
"You said you weren't in the mood for idle chatter. Well, I'm not in the mood for arrogant behavior. Either you quickly learn some socially acceptable manners, or I'll disappear and you can order yourself a French breakfast."
Astonished, my host turned back to me and stared at me in surprise. "Croissants?" he asked, confused.
"White bread," I replied, simply alluding to our conversation in the park. "You have ten minutes." With that, I simply left him standing there and disappeared into the room he indicated.
Was this supposed to be the guest bathroom? Two sinks, small cabinets, a toilet with plenty of space around it, and a walk-in, semicircular shower with tiny tiles. No wonder this guy had no manners. He seemed to have had his ass pumped full of sugar his entire life.
Maybe it's time to finally teach him some. Unfortunately, I was completely the wrong person for that. I disappeared far too often into my own little world, from which I sometimes struggled to escape. How could I possibly show someone something I barely knew myself?
First, I jumped in the shower and enjoyed the hot water on my skin. It tingled here and there, slowly regaining its color. I quickly soaped myself thoroughly and then rinsed myself thoroughly. Luckily, I had just shaved yesterday, because nothing was worse than excess hair in the wrong places.
A huge bath towel lay within easy reach on a stool next to the shower, and less than eight minutes later, I opened the bathroom door again. I almost tripped over the sweatpants that Mr. New Rich had apparently left there. They smelled pleasantly of fresh fabric softener and even seemed to be my size. My host had obviously taken my words to heart.
The fabric felt very comfortable against my skin, and finally, I didn't feel so exposed anymore. Nevertheless, I wrapped myself back in the bathrobe. It seemed important to him that I was warm enough, and besides, I didn't want to walk around like a gigolo.
I quickly told Feline that I was okay and then ran downstairs. I found my host on the large couch, where he was just placing two glasses next to a glass jug that smelled of fresh mint. Sugar and quarters of lemon, which only needed squeezing, were also ready.
Wow, he really put in the effort. When I approached him, he came around the table and looked me over closely. I paused in surprise when he gently placed the back of his hand against my cheek and forehead. Only then did he begin to smile again and seem somewhat relieved.
"You feel much warmer. That's good."
His hand slid down my face, to my chin. Only then did he break skin contact, leaving a burning trail of excitement behind him. My goodness, how could you be so opposite?
"Please excuse my harsh tone earlier. When I'm worried about something or someone, I often lose control."
“But you hardly know me.”
"Which I find very unfortunate and urgently want to change. Would you mind sitting down?"
Wow, I had to process that conversation for a moment. Of course, I've had boyfriends and had gone wild with relationships here and there. But no one ever freaked out about me possibly catching a cold.
I didn't even hold it against them. Everyone was just busy with their own life. University, apprenticeship, school, work, family. What was left at the end of the day? And to be honest, I wasn't much better for a long time. The first thing I learned was that you didn't exactly find the man of your dreams on your first outings to the nice clubs. And even if you met someone on vacation or at certain events, it was a complete failure in everyday life.
I liked university, and even though I wasn't exactly a nerd, I put a lot of effort into my studies. Then there were the jobs to finance my room in the shared apartment, and then there was my crazy hobby. Whenever I got a real writing impulse, I'd sit in front of my tablet or notebook for hours and completely immerse myself. Who would want to sit there and wait for me to return to reality? Well, no one had tried it yet, let alone been interested.
"Which one?"
I blinked in confusion and looked questioningly at the person opposite me. He pointed to the cushion, and I finally understood. We both sat down, just a little distance apart, and while he casually tucked one leg under him and leaned comfortably against the cushion, I looked at him expectantly. He pierced me again with his gaze, as if trying to read me.
"I know this must all seem a little strange to you. But I've been really looking forward to this evening. To your company. Try to keep your thoughts on me for at least these few hours. Please."
The last word came out of his lips particularly gently, sending a shiver down my spine. Why was my attention so important to him? But he was spot on. This is exactly why I've never had a long-term relationship. My mind drifted far too quickly, weighing every possibility, living through every scenario until I could react appropriately. I have no idea why, but for the first time, I felt the uncanny need to explain this to someone in more detail.
"To be honest, it's not your fault," I began after taking a deep breath. "Or maybe it's your fault... or... um..." Damn, I was babbling faster than I thought again. My counterpart frowned slightly, but still gave me time to collect myself. I sighed helplessly. "I just have too much imagination and overthink everything, which often takes me out of touch with reality. I don't mean that in a bad way or be ignorant because I don't answer right away. That... that's just me."
For a moment, he just looked at me, as if he were still waiting for something. Then he nodded. "Good. From now on, I'll give you as much time to think and answer as you need. In return, you'll allow me to ask you every now and then what's going on in that pretty head of yours. Deal?"
What? No strange looks or disparaging remarks about whether I'm out of my mind? Again, that stupid feeling in my stomach, like I was about to get sick. This time, he didn't demand an answer or ask if I'd understood him. He waited patiently.
“Okay, deal.” What else could I say?
My host seemed genuinely pleased with this answer and gave me a broad smile. Once again, a strange shiver ran through me, and if I'd learned one thing about the stranger in that short time, it was that he was a keen observer.
"You're still cold," he said worriedly, staring contritely at the pot. "And the tea's too hot to drink." He looked around until he seemed to have found something suitable. He quickly stood up, busied himself briefly in a corner, and then returned with glasses filled with two fingers' worth of a golden liquid. He carefully handed me one before settling back down opposite me.
“Perhaps this will warm you up a bit until the tea cools down a bit.” He toasted me encouragingly and raised the glass to his lips.
I didn't need to smell the concoction much to know what it was. However, I had absolutely no idea how exactly whiskey was celebrated. I sighed resignedly and then drank the whole thing in one gulp. It wasn't much anyway, so why be stingy?
Fuck, that stuff burned like hell. As if all the moisture had been sucked out of my mouth, everything inside me tightened, leaving a disgusting, furry taste on my tongue. My host was immediately at my side, quickly taking the glass from me and stroking my back with concern while I was still catching my breath and coughing.
"What are you doing? That was an ancient drop, far too fine to just swig down without thinking."
"Sorry. I'm only used to light things," I gasped, gratefully accepting the water he had conjured from wherever he had come from.
"Which speaks for itself. Next time, just ask or decline. There are so many more things that taste better than alcohol."
I looked questioningly at my host, who was sitting far too close to me and was intensely examining my lips. He'd already dropped enough hints today to make me sure he wouldn't be averse to a 'deeper' relationship with me, but he'd kept himself perfectly under control so far. But for how much longer? Or rather: Did I want that?
The stranger was certainly not the typical playboy you'd see on the covers of queer literature. It was shocking, by the way, how many women published gay works. As if they knew what was really going on here. Truly crazy. Just like the guy across from me.
As an experiment, I ran my tongue over my lower lip, sucked it into my mouth, and then bit down lightly. My host practically froze, swallowed dryly, and clenched his teeth so hard that I could see his jaw muscles working. Wasn't that usually my job?
As if something had gripped the stranger, he suddenly shook his head and stood up. "I'll check on the food. Try the tea. It should be ready by now."
The guy smiled at me so sweetly that my knees went weak, and I was actually glad I was already sitting down. God's sake, what was happening here? I actually came here to pay off my debts, right? Well, to... well, what? I quickly pushed the thought away and stood up. It was all far too confusing for me to sit still.
Curious, I peered into the kitchen and watched my host carefully remove something from the oven. Immediately, a delicious aroma filled the room, making my stomach clench. Suddenly, the furniture blurred before my eyes, and I staggered.
"Easy, Quin." The stranger immediately jumped to my side and guided me to a chair at the glass dining table. "That whiskey thing was a really stupid idea. I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely worried. Again.
I just shook my head defensively and looked up at him, begging for forgiveness. "That wasn't the problem," I replied meekly, which only earned me a blank stare from him. My loud stomach growling, however, answered any questions.
My host's eyes narrowed as he asked, lurking, "What have you eaten so far today?"
I practically shrank in my seat. "A bag of sour worms..." I hadn't sounded so subdued in a long time.
“Good God, Quin!” the other man immediately burst out, which made me want to downplay everything.
“I told you that I’m often lost in thought, and today was quite exciting.”
"So this happens to you often?" he asked immediately. Damn, those were probably the wrong words. So I decided to say nothing more and stared ruefully at the plate in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stranger shake his head in disbelief. "Quin, seriously. You only have one health, only this one, admittedly respectable body. You should treat it like a god. Got it?!"
Towards the end, he leaned partly on the back of his chair and partly on the table, staring intently at me from above, while his voice softened towards the end. I looked up at him only hesitantly and nodded submissively.
“As punishment, you’ll get a double portion, and heaven forbid you don’t finish it!” This crazy guy grabbed my plate and went back to the kitchen.
Meanwhile, I tried to deal with this horrible feeling in my stomach. He was absolutely right. I desperately needed something to eat, otherwise I might go crazy. I pushed the fact that I really liked his caring nature and that it warmed me up to the back of my mind.
I preferred to focus on the table, which was lovingly and somewhat stylishly set. Light placemats supported a large plate, surrounded by shiny cutlery, crowned by a wine glass, next to which, however, stood only a narrow carafe of water, in which individual lemon slices floated. When the food finally arrived, my jaw almost dropped. Lasagna? Not roast slices garnished with green asparagus and a dollop of horseradish? I hadn't expected something so simple. Of course, my wide eyes were noticed.
"You're not a vegetarian, are you?" I shook my head weakly. "Lactose intolerance?" Another shake of the head. Then he waited longer than anyone would normally give for an answer.
“I…” I began.
“And?”
“I absolutely love lasagna,” I finally managed to say, and heard a sigh of relief.
“You know how to make something exciting.”
Man, now we were both beaming at each other like crazy teenagers holding hands for the first time. I wonder how his hand felt on mine? Or somewhere else?
"Which one?"
I looked up in alarm, afraid I might have said that nonsense out loud. But my host was sitting calmly across from me, on the other side of the table, staring at me challengingly.
“Eat. Please.”
I smiled with relief, and then there was no stopping me. At first, I even burned my tongue because I gobbled everything up far too greedily. After another helping, however, I slowly calmed down and simply savored this delicious treat. The entire time, my host watched me silently, a gentle smile on his lips.
And again I asked myself why he was doing all this. The reasons why he didn't buy anyone (anymore) were obvious, even though I somehow couldn't bear the thought of who might have sat here before. He seemed to have a good grasp of these guys, knowing exactly what they were like. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry at all, so I put my fork down and chewed thoughtfully on my lip.
I shouldn't have cared less who he was with all day long; after all, neither of us were virgins anymore. And he could afford it, which brings us back to my question: Why was I here? Certainly not because of my pure soul, but rather because of the unfiltered words I was uttering. I was far too distracted to even consider what he might be listening to. I preferred to blurt everything out right away—if I could even open my mouth.
"Quin?" His voice reached me slowly, and just as slowly I looked at him. "Tell me what's bothering you."
The request was gentle, just like his smile, which made me feel strangely uneasy. It was unusual to tell someone what was going on inside me when they wanted to hear it too. Uncertain, I looked down at my plate and absentmindedly played with my fork.
"Honestly, I don't really know what I'm doing here. There are probably gay guys who are better off than me."
“They’re all snobs.” Okay, the explanation came quickly.
"And you know everyone?" Now I patted myself on the back a little, because his answer would reveal two things to me. The stranger tilted his handsome head slightly and tried to maintain his relaxed smile. But the facade was crumbling. Something about this seemed to be absolutely displeasing to him.
"Enough," came the correspondingly curt reply, which caused a distinct rumble in my stomach. Somewhat disappointed, I exhaled and slumped in my chair. Even the amused click of my tongue couldn't shake me from the gloomy mood I was about to fall into. The stranger leisurely stood up and walked around the table until he stopped directly in front of me.
"You're really cute, Quin." Excuse me? Did I look like a puppy or something? And no, I wasn't going to start wagging my tail just because the guy gently lifted my chin to make me look at him, and I almost drowned in his loving gaze.
"Yes, I've had a few partners. But no one who has fascinated me for long. Or made me want to know absolutely everything about them. And certainly not someone I invited here."
My eyes widened in surprise. "You mean I'm the first... in this house?"
His thumb gently stroked my cheek, moved to my lips, and lingered there briefly, until he seemed unable to resist any longer and gently traced their contours. He left a hot, tingling trail that I would have loved to follow with my tongue.
"First," he confirmed quietly, making my stomach churn again. "Come." The invitation was so enticing, just like the gentle tug of his hand on my chin. Barely on my feet, his fingers stroked down my arm until they reached mine, which he warmly embraced. It was only a few steps to the couch, but I savored every one.
"Pour us some tea. I'll clean up in the meantime."
When he let go of me, I was almost cold again. My body suddenly longed for his warm embrace and caressing words. And all this for a good meal and a few sultry glances? God, I was easily influenced. My body was a miserable traitor.
As there was a busy clatter behind me, I hurried to do what he said. Less than five minutes later, he rejoined me, but instead of sitting on the couch, he pushed back the wide armchair and made himself comfortable on the soft carpet, directly opposite me at my feet.
"Tell me about yourself, Quin," he asked, adjusting himself and sipping his tea. I just stared down at him helplessly, clutching my cup. Hopefully, the glass was sturdy enough to withstand my nervousness.
"There's not much there. My life is pretty monotonous," I dismissed, but the stranger persisted.
"Then let me in. As agreed."
Oh man. It wouldn't take me ten minutes for him to fall asleep, yawning, just like I always do during those reports on the History Channel. One mention of the Defenestration of Prague or Martin Luther and his theses, and hey presto, I was in dreamland. Just like that delicious guy right now.
Wait... what?! Delicious? When did I decide that? Sure, there was something about him that I couldn't get over. But whether I wanted to make more of it was still completely up in the air. For him, this was a one-time thing, an experiment at most, because this nouveau riche wanted to test out someone from the common people.
Or not? Don't read too much into it. Maybe this would turn out to be an interesting one-night stand, even though the last one had already left a bad taste in my mouth. I just wasn't cut out for that sort of thing. And yet I wasn't entirely sure whether I wanted to make an exception for this one. First, though, I had to keep my side of the agreement. I told him roughly about my parents, what my mother had died of, and how difficult it had been for my father.
"Intense. And how did your dad react to your coming out?" Oh, still cheerful. And damn attentive. Although... the old man who took me to the train station had also noticed my rainbow pin on my bag. I chuckled as I thought back to that evening.
"When I revealed to him what exactly had been bothering me lately—I'd been pretty unbearable—he was shocked at first. He just stood there and stared at me. Then my dad told him he needed to digest it and think about it. I felt completely insulted and disappeared into my room, where I wallowed in self-pity and cried my heart out.
Naturally, I imagined the wildest scenarios, from slander to expulsion and vicious insults. When my dad walked past my room in the middle of the night and heard me whining, he immediately came in, gave me a big hug, and only then asked me what was wrong. I couldn't utter a word because I was crying so much, so my dad assumed the most obvious thing. He immediately started ranting, demanding that I tell him which brat had broken my heart and that he would hang him by his balls until he called for his mom.
You can imagine how perplexed I was. I think I got the thoughtful side from him. He just needed time to get informed, surfing the internet for contraceptives, common illnesses, gay youth clubs, and educational events. Did you know that there's a completely gay literary scene and hundreds of books with gay characters as the main characters? Fantasy, Syfy, historical… And the hilarious thing is that they're mostly read and written by women. I don't know if they don't have other hobbies, but still – it's crazy. My dad knew I was a nerdy fantasy fan and came right away with a whole list of what I should read first. And he insisted on going to a seminar with me. 'My son is gay and I'm proud of it.' It was super embarrassing."
My counterpart laughed amusedly and shook his head. "Seriously? And what's going on? Everyone sits in a circle and introduces themselves one after the other, like at an alcoholics meeting?"
I finished my tea and put the cup down. It was incredible how pleasant it was to talk to someone about something completely ordinary. Especially with an active listener like him, who didn't interrupt with, "Oh, yeah, nice, come on, let's make out." Although I wouldn't have been averse to it with him. Should I perhaps go first? Be a bit more aggressive? I quickly banished the images of intertwined tongues and made an effort to answer the question.
"It's more of a casual get-together with a short talk about AIDS and a few contact points. A self-defense course was advertised, and there was a lively discussion about how to protect one's child from homophobia."
Annoyed, my host clicked his tongue and snorted. "Hate towards any kind of difference is not a phobia, based on a deep-seated fear that won't let go. Homophobia is the wrong term for me. Asshole fits much better."
Wow, a real little philosopher. I pulled my legs up onto the couch and, grinning stupidly, played with the belt of my bathrobe.
"It would be nice if more people saw it that way. Anyway, my dad was always blaring about how proud he was of me and that anyone would be lucky to get me."
“Well, he was right…” said the stranger and gave me such a provocative smile that my head felt dizzy.
We looked at each other like that for a long time, his gaze constantly wandering between my eyes, neck, and lips. Every second I waited for him to pull himself together, to finally overcome the last few meters and show me exactly how interested he was in me. Or was I just imagining that strange tension hanging in the air? Was that why he wasn't making any move to get closer to me? Was he just putting up with me out of politeness, because he had me on his back and it was too late to book someone else for the evening? Although – my host didn't look like the kind of person who would put up with someone out of necessity.
Just as it seemed he was about to give me another push and I was eagerly opening my mouth, my phone vibrated in my pocket, causing me to flinch involuntarily. The stranger immediately stopped moving, probably believing my reaction was directed at him. But when I tried to calm him down with a meek "Sorry" and took out my phone, his expression darkened so much that I immediately felt guilty.
Sure, the phone had just ruined his trip and put a damper on his mood. But nothing had happened that couldn't be fixed. Besides, I had to answer Feline. Who knows who else she'd send after us. I quickly typed into my phone to say everything was okay and I'd call back later. I was about to stuff the phone back in my pocket when the stranger quickly reached forward and grabbed my arm.
"Turn it off!" he demanded firmly, looking at me more sternly than a university professor who's been handed in a paper late. I just stared at him, not quite sure why he was overreacting.
"That's not possible. I have to prove to my angel that I'm still alive, otherwise she'll completely freak out," I tried to explain, but I probably found the completely wrong words. His face practically froze, and his grip on my wrist tightened.
“To whom?” he breathed, and I almost thought I could hear disappointment with a hint of fear in his voice.
"My girlfriend," I tried again, but immediately followed with "A good friend" when his expression seemed to slip away. "I only know her online, from a website for amateur writers. We worked on a project together once and have been friends ever since, nothing more."
Afterward, I explained to him the whole thing about the guardian angel and the agreed-upon times, and only then did my host seem to relax again. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in relief, but quickly became thoughtful again.
"I should thank your girlfriend for worrying about your safety. But from now on, it's my responsibility. Please put your phone on silent." I looked at him doubtfully. His words were quite heroic, which flattered me, but also made me think. Was there a reason to look out for me?
"Listen, Quin. I want to spend time with you actively, not just sit next to you while you stare at that thing," I forced an explanation with my hesitation. He stood up and climbed onto the huge couch next to me. At arm's length, he pointed to the wide backrest.
"Just put it here. That way you can reach it in one hand, while I'm far away from down there. And there's a clock above the chair. I'll remind you to look at it every now and then so you don't forget your time. Deal?"
He really didn't like being ignored, even for a second. Was his time that important to him? Or just the moments he spent with others? Who could blame him? I, of all people, who usually get so upset about other people's ignorance, should understand this better than anyone else.
"Deal," I agreed, switched the phone to silent mode, and placed it on the back of the car, far away from me. With a grin, he rested his hand on mine and pushed the phone back a bit closer to me, so I could easily reach it.
"You know, Quin, my life is pretty hectic. Time just flies by and sometimes I feel like I'm being swept away, just watching everything fly by. But when I saw you for the first time, time finally stood still. The earth stopped rotating, just like me. I wanted you, from the very beginning. To get to know you better, to know who you are, your hobbies, your favorite food, everything." His gaze was so intense again, his body so close that his warmth radiated towards me, his eyes devouring everything. I just couldn't help myself and hesitantly began to play with his fingers.
"And that's why you're forcing me here? With all this fuss?" Shit, my voice sounded really rough and I had to be really careful not to stare at his mouth too much and lick my lips in the process.
“You didn’t have to show up,” my host simply said, interlacing his fingers with mine and slowly leaning closer to me.
“Then I would have missed a lot,” I replied, meeting him halfway.
"So? Like what?" His words sounded so smug and confident that I just HAD to tease him.
“A very tasty lasagna,” I teased him, and his eyes flashed with amusement.
“Lasagna, ah ha,” chuckled Mr. New Rich, standing so close to me that I could make out every colored dot on his radiant irises.
“Everything else still needs to be tested intensively.” That’s all I got out.
His warm breath on my flushed cheeks, the subtle aftershave wafting into my nostrils, mixed with his very own masculine scent, silenced all my caution. I wanted him, and I wanted him now! While my host still waited patiently, I couldn't hold back any longer. With a final sigh, I closed the short distance and hungrily pressed my lips to his.
Gods, it was like an explosion shot through my stomach, releasing a thousand little bugs that crawled joyfully along the inner wall. Bravely, I licked his mouth, gently demanding that he open it, to which he finally complied after two agonizing heartbeats. Again, something exploded inside me when our tongues touched, this time just a little higher up, almost taking my breath away.
He tasted so incredibly good, with lemon, mint, and baked cheese. I never would have thought this combination would turn me on so much. With a pounding heart I'd never felt so intensely before, my fingers slowly moved up his arm, over his shoulder, to his neck, where I felt the slight pressure and intensified the kiss. The stranger moaned softly, dug the fingers of his right hand even deeper into mine, while pressing his left hand onto my shoulder... and gently but firmly pushed me away from him.
"Quin. Wait. Be patient." He tried to make himself heard through several kisses, but I deliberately ignored him, instead pursuing him because I didn't want to stop the tongue play under any circumstances. Only when he pressed his hand over my mouth and commanded, "Stop!" did I pull away. A little disappointed, I wiped his fingers from my lips, which were still tingling so wonderfully from the tenderness they had exchanged.
"Do I look like Fifi?" I grumbled, pouting and dropping my arms into my lap. His gaze flickered there for just a fraction of an inch before he looked directly at me again.
"That still needs to be proven." Oh yes! Gladly! Preferably right away! "But not today." Why? He was totally horny, and I didn't need to look at his crotch to see that. Every single cell in his body was screaming for it, damn it! So why the hell didn't he keep going?!
"Now don't pull such a pout, my sweet dreamer. We have all the time in the world. Just let me get to know you a little more, okay?" Gods, did he have to look so sweet when he asked for something?
"Isn't that always a two-way street? I don't know anything about you yet," I countered weakly, but I already felt like giving in. A guy who could quit at that age in that situation... he simply HAD to be crazy. And that's why he would be a frighteningly good match for me.
“If you weren’t working off your debts, maybe,” he answered thoughtfully, but immediately relented when I tried to fake a dirty look.
"Tomorrow. Then I'll tell you everything about myself and answer any questions you have. And if you can still stand being near me after that..." He left the rest of the sentence open to give my overflowing imagination something to do.
Images immediately flashed through my mind: bodies wildly embraced, wet tongues, and skin glistening with sweat. If he could conjure up such scenarios in me with just words alone, why shouldn't I be able to bear his presence? Was he a nymphomaniac? Or perhaps something much more subtle: a gang boss, drug dealer, hitman? That would at least explain the house and the car, because who had that much money at that age? I energetically pushed these confused thoughts aside. He wanted to tell me everything tomorrow, whatever that might mean. For now, the night belonged to us, and I definitely wanted to enjoy it. With him!
“Okay,” I sighed, but I still couldn’t resist gently stroking his cheek.
"Thank you." My host kissed the heel of my hand and then sat down at my feet in front of the couch, holding onto my arm. He guided my fingers along his neck until I understood.
"So. Did I understand correctly earlier? You write stories?"
I slowly began to stroke him, running my fingertips over his neck and chin. Since I kept catching on the collar of his shirt, he promptly took it off. Now I was glad he was sitting somewhat out of my reach. Because the mere sight of his bare torso from above made my mouth water. I had to swallow twice before I could respond adequately.
And so I told him how I transformed from a reader to a writer, how the community not only helped me with my stories, but also supported me with advice and support in everything related to real life. My host never tired of bombarding me with new questions, probing and questioning as if this were the most exciting radio play he'd ever heard.
When he then asked me to tell him one of my stories, I was completely captivated. Every now and then, the stranger snuggled into my hand, kissed it, or nibbled on my wrist, completely throwing me off my narrative rhythm. I could clearly feel his triumphant smile, even without seeing it. And yet he begged me to keep going, even repeating the last few sentences when I had to pause. If I'd had any inkling of what a dent in a luxury car could lead to, I think I would have crashed into a few cars much sooner.
I have no idea how or when exactly it happened, but at some point I simply drifted off. It was still dark when I woke up again. My host lazily stroked the back of my hand and occasionally crawled up the inside sleeve of my bathrobe to reach a little more skin to caress.
"Sorry. I must have dozed off for a bit," I explained sleepily, rubbing my eyes with my free hand as I yawned.
"It's okay. It's been a long day."
“But exciting and beautiful,” I replied and continued my crawl.
The man at my feet turned slightly and looked up at me, seemingly searching for something in my eyes. Perhaps for the right words, because his irises flickered restlessly and a hint of melancholy had settled over them. Then he plucked up his courage.
"Quin, I know I asked you to wait until I've told you everything about myself, but..." He trailed off, seemingly at a loss. His restlessness immediately rubbed off on me, and suddenly I was wide awake again. I gently stroked his cheek.
"Look, you don't have to tell me anything. Not if it's tormenting you so much. Open up to me when you're ready. And only then, okay?"
This guy actually managed to look both relieved and pained at the same time. Then he simply pushed himself up and kissed me. Hot, longing, and so wild that I was almost gasping for air. He straddled my lap, pushed the bathrobe off my shoulders, and began sucking hungrily on my neck.
Completely surprised, I didn't know how to react at first. But when his fingers cheekily brushed my nipples, I broke the tension. While planting several wet kisses, I gently placed my hands on his hips, afraid he might vanish into nothingness at the slightest touch. My fingers slowly moved higher, tracing the hollow of his spine and then digging into his shoulder blades. He sucked in a sharp breath and bit my lower lip.
"Little devil," he commented, but immediately fell silent as my nails moved further down, leaving hot red lines on his back.
"Damn," he moaned darkly, enjoying the sweet torture through half-closed eyelids until I reached his rump. I cheekily slid my fingers under his trousers, cupped his cheeks, and gripped them firmly. All by itself, he slid even closer to me until our throbbing loins touched, triggering a veritable inferno in my abdomen.
"You're incredible," my host breathed hoarsely, measuring me with a look so full of lust and impatience that it drove me crazy. I'd already mentioned that I was anything but a country girl. So I took his lips for myself again, sucking, licking, and nibbling until they stood out red and slightly swollen against his pale skin. Yes, that's exactly how I liked it.
Only a persistent ringing in the completely silent background seemed to deny me my desire. My counterpart became increasingly restless and finally, after several, initially unsuccessful, attempts to get away from my lap.
"It's probably just the postman. He's pretty persistent. I'll get rid of him quickly. I'll be right back!" he apologized, kissing me several times, and practically sprinted to the door.
His words slowly penetrated my lust-filled brain. Postman? In the middle of the night? The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and a quick glance at the clock confirmed all my fears. It was seven in the morning! I hastily reached for my phone and unlocked the screen. Twenty messages, ten missed calls. 'Oh gods, please no!'
"Stop, wait. Don't open the door!"
Shouting, I tried to swing myself over the sofa, prevent him from opening the door alone, and avoid the impending misunderstanding. But I got caught in that stupid bathrobe, stumbled, and fell over the backrest in a stunt. I landed hard on the floor, directly on my shoulder, and bruised my forehead.
For a few seconds, all I could see were stars, and when my vision finally cleared, I recognized hooded figures brutally pinning my host to the ground. Feline, as an angel, had done a great job, calling half the cavalry. They yanked his arms hard behind his back and pinned them there, while someone knelt beside me and talked to me. However, I couldn't understand a word. Everything around me was strangely muffled and blurry.
Fragments of my host's voice reached me, calling out to me to forgive him and asking for permission to explain himself. He yelled at the people around us to finally take care of me, to tell him if I was okay, to let him see me. But instead of granting him a single request, they pulled him to his feet and led him away.
As if someone had lifted a veil around me, I could finally see properly again, and the numbness in my mouth disappeared. Stumbling, I stood up, trying to follow him, but the masked men dragged me around the couch and forced me to sit down. No matter what I said, no matter how many times I pushed the paramedic aside, insisted how fine I was, and reiterated that it was all based on a massive misunderstanding, no one even bothered to listen to me.
A good hour later, I found myself sitting in a small, stuffy office at a police station, facing a portly officer who had just printed out my statement and was dubiously looking at the lines. I stared defiantly at him as he peered at me over his small reading glasses.
"Are you sure you want to leave your statement as it is?" he asked in a nasal voice unusually high for his age, reminding me strongly of Zootopia and the police officer at the reception desk. Only this one wasn't eating donuts.
I dug my hands deeper into my hoodie and glared at him angrily. Other than giving me back my clothes, the police hadn't done anything for me. They didn't tell me what they'd done to my host, nor why it was taking so long. I'd cleared up the misunderstanding, so what was this crap about?
“Yes!” I exclaimed, annoyed, at which the officer twisted his mouth in disapproval.
“They know that covering up for a criminal is a crime.”
What was that all about? "I know it was an unusual come-on," I retorted defiantly, slouching even further into the seat. Just as the guy was about to spout more trash, a young woman burst in, but stopped when she recognized me.
"Oh, sorry, Alfred. I didn't know you still had customers. But Reinhardt is just saying goodbye to everyone, and you two have known each other for ages." She rocked back and forth on her feet, twisting her mouth into various pouts, something only children usually did just before they were caught messing around. "Should I handle the little one? He just has to sign the report. I'm being particularly nice, too."
The policewoman winked at him conspiratorially, to which the broader man grinned knowingly. "But don't overdo it, okay?"
What was that all about? Were they playing 'Good Cop, Bad Cop'? And who was supposed to play this scrawny woman? She'd fall over the next doorstep if you sneezed too hard, even if she had already given me a creepy look during the traffic stop yesterday. The older man heaved himself to his feet and then stomped out of the room, not without giving me one last pitying look.
The policewoman sat down comfortably and reached for the report, seemingly reading it meticulously, until a door rattled and joyful shouts were heard in the distance. Only when it closed loudly and silence returned did she carelessly throw the paper onto the table and stare at me inquisitively.
“It’s sometimes crazy how quickly you see each other again, like Hamilton.”
"Yes, totally, Miss Hopps," I countered, resolving to watch fewer Disney movies. The young woman began to grin a little and then tossed me a pen.
"No one has called me a bunny in a long time. Please sign here, here, and here."
“But maybe as an old hand?” I provoked, really not knowing what kind of bizarre game she was playing with me.
"Don't overdo it, kid. Go on, get on with it. Otherwise, the whole cake will be gone, if I know Alf," the policewoman urged me to hurry. Still, I remained suspicious.
“And then I can leave? Just like that?”
My counterpart simply shrugged. "Sure. YOU do."
Now I pricked up my ears. "But HE's been exonerated. He didn't kidnap me, hold me captive, or torture me," I reiterated for the umpteenth time that morning.
"Not that," the police officer agreed. "But HE did illegally enter a house and try to cover up the accident damage to his employer's car. That needs to be investigated."
"What?" I stared at the young woman in disbelief. She gently rocked her head back and forth, as if considering.
"It says here that you're studying at the local university. Have you ever met a Timofej Kovalski?"
I thought hard, but then had to say no.
"Strange," she said then. "Because you spent last night with him."
This time it was my turn to lose all facial expressions, because the name on the doorbell didn't match the one I'd just mentioned at all. This jerk had lied to me from the bottom of his heart. But why? For a quickie? He'd taken a hell of a time for that. Did he really think money would impress me? Or better yet: I was for sale? But hadn't I been? Shit, stupid, naive idiot I was! I'd let myself be fooled into thinking I could get rid of a problem quickly instead of questioning it more thoroughly.
“To be honest, I find that quite romantic,” the policewoman interrupted my dark thoughts.
"Do you think being made fun of all day is romantic?" I asked incredulously, cursing my shaky voice, which clearly conveyed my disappointment. She, on the other hand, waved her hand and took on a dreamy expression as she spoke next.
"I'd say he's been pulling your leg a bit, at most. Maybe he's been staring at you from afar the whole time and never knew how to approach you. Or maybe you acted completely stupid when he did try. Maybe he considered the car dent a huge stroke of luck to finally be able to date his beloved and wanted something extraordinary?"
I stared at this woman as if she'd smoked too much weed and was about to throw up right in front of me. Maybe the people here were just taking too much from the evidence room.
"Now calm down," the policewoman rolled her eyes and stood up. "As if you've never done something stupid just to impress a cute guy so he'll finally notice you."
She tapped the parts to be signed several times and then neatly filed everything away in a folder. "Okay, I'll get you out. It wasn't easy to convince the landlord to drop charges for trespassing. But nothing was broken or stolen. He'll just have to do a few hours of community service, nothing more. At least if he finally opens his mouth."
We got up together, left the room, and walked through the winding hallways of the old building. "Wait a minute." I stopped, puzzled, and frowned at the policewoman. "You're still holding him because he won't talk? Then how do you know all that stuff about him being idolized?" Gods, my head was really starting to pound.
"Good instincts, I'd say," the smaller one boasted. "And a bit of research. Your classes run at almost the same time in the same university building, same break times... it's a miracle you haven't bumped into each other in the cafeteria yet. Well, and you once gave a talk that's available for download on the university website. Just looking at the contributors is really enough. And you're a member of the university's queer community, just like Mr. Kovalski."
The heavy door to the entrance area opened with a hum, but I stood there, undecided. "So why isn't he talking?" Until just a moment ago, I wanted to hate him, but now I felt only pity.
"Because he wants to know how you're doing. All he noticed was that you'd fallen hard and a paramedic was examining you. Then they took him away. Timo is currently melting with worry, shame, and fear. Fear that you might not be well because he'd messed up again. Fear of having lost you without first winning you over. Unfortunately, we are not allowed to share any information about your health status without your consent."
Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair, thinking feverishly. "Tell him how I'm doing, okay? And tell him from me that he should finally get this mess straight," I finally decided. The words of that strange little person had made me think. It wasn't fair to only look at one side of the coin; after all, there are always two.
“And how long will it be before he can leave today?” I asked cautiously and stepped through the door.
The policewoman smiled knowingly as she pointed to the various vending machines in the room. "Well, the coffee there is really disgusting, and if you don't want to spend half the day in the bathroom, you'd better stay away from it. But over there, they have energy drinks, and the snacks aren't bad either. Here, these will last you a while. Sweetie."
The policewoman pressed strange discs with a hole in the middle into my hand and then disappeared through the door, waving. Chips for free food and drinks... At least I was taken care of. Now all I needed was a wannabe nouveau riche who had a lot to explain to me.
For quite some time now, I'd been clinging to a soda can and staring gloomily into space. The plastic chairs here were incredibly uncomfortable, and they'd obviously never heard of a heater. Every time the door opened, a cold wind snuck in, creeping unpleasantly from my neck down my back and making me shiver.
Several times I asked myself what exactly I was doing here, only to remind myself that everyone deserves a second chance. But I hated lies and showy behavior. What would stop him from pulling something like that again, just with the intention of doing something for me?
Shaking my head, I stood up and threw the half-empty can into the designated bin. There was absolutely no point in all this. I felt betrayed and burned out and just wanted to go home. Tired, I left the building and stopped just before the few steps.
The weather reflected my state of mind so clearly that it was hard not to feel melancholy. Feeling incredibly vulnerable, I hunched my shoulders and buried my hands in my hoodie again. Just as I was about to leave everything behind, the door I was standing in front of burst open and someone ran into me with such force that I almost fell forward for the second time today. Powerful arms wrapped around my torso and pulled me back onto the platform. And the next moment, I smelled that unmistakable scent that made my stomach immediately rebel again. Slowly, I turned around and looked into the sparkling irises that held me captive like his arms.
"You're still here," he breathed with relief, his eyes sparkling with happiness, despair, and fear. It was just too much.
"Pure coincidence," I said, straining, freeing myself from the grip, turning around, and preparing to leave. The other man, however, didn't give up so easily. With a great leap, he jumped down the steps and stood directly in front of me.
“The policewoman said she released you about an hour ago.”
"What do you care?" I snapped back. Didn't the guy understand that I wanted some peace and quiet? That I desperately needed time to sort out my jumbled thoughts?
“I’m interested in everything that concerns you!” he said emphatically, which only made me angrier.
"Oh? And that's why you're feeding me this shitty story about being newly rich and forcing me into this huge villa so I can spill the beans on the side? Did you really think I was interested in a bit of pomp and all that material crap?"
Timofej looked at me desperately. "I don't know. I just wanted your undivided attention for once... to get to know you better."
"Excuse me? Isn't that possible if someone just talks to me or sits next to me in the cafeteria?!" The longer we talked, the pissed off I got. Everything he said sounded like a cheap excuse. And that hurt so incredibly much that I hated myself again. I let this guy get closer to me, even though I knew absolutely nothing about him. I'd let his caring and feigned interest lull me into feeling more comfortable around him than I had in a long time. I was such a pathetic wimp.
Now it was Timofej's turn to react, annoyed. "I tried all of that. Several times! In the cafeteria, you were so engrossed in your book and writing that you didn't react at all. Only when you almost knocked over your glass and I barely managed to stop it did you look up briefly. But only long enough to yell at me because a few drops had landed on your masterpiece. You slumped over, and it wasn't even my fault."
In a flash, the image he'd described appeared before me. Immersed in the final battle between Feline and my collaborative project, I'd forgotten everything around me and was so angry at the idiot who had poured what felt like half a glass of water over the freshly written text. Parts of the writing immediately dissolved, and I panicked about having to rewrite some of it.
"And in your video presentation, I was the cameraman and the idiot who edited the footage. Did you ever thank me? You didn't even reply to the email I sent you asking for your approval of the rough cut."
Stimmt. Mein Prof hatte mich zu diesem dämlichen Projekt genötigt, weil mir noch ein paar Punkte fehlten. Da lief gerade eine Challenge der Autorenwebsite, bei der ich mich wieder vollkommen reingesteigert hatte. Für etwas anderes war da in meinem Kopf einfach kein Platz gewesen.
„Genau wie letzten Monat, als der Vollpfosten vom Maschinenbaukurs dir dein E-Book-Reader geklaut hat, um dich anzugraben. Er hatte es dir einfach aus der Hand gerissen und eingesteckt. Wollte es dir erst wieder zurückgeben, wenn du mit ihm in den Club ausgehst. Ich hab‘s ihm abgenommen und dir zurückgebracht. Als ich es dir heimlich in die Tasche stecken wollte, mit nem Zettel samt meiner Nummer und Name drauf, hast du mich an der Schulter beiseite geschubst und mich angepflaumt, dass ich die Finger von deinen Sachen lassen soll. Den Zettel warfst du mir zerknüllt an den Kopf mit dem ‚dezenten‘ Hinweis, dass der Maschinenbautyp sich nen Dildo in den Arsch schieben soll.“
Oh, stimmt. Da war ich in einem x-ten Reread von Neros ‚Blauem Licht‘ vertieft und es war so schon schlimm genug, dass diese Nase sein Werk ewig nicht fertigstellte. Dann noch zwischendrin unterbrochen zu werden, zerrte übel an meinen Nerven.
Mit jedem seiner Worte verpuffte ein Stück mehr meiner Wut und schlussendlich war ich der Oberarsch dieser Geschichte, wie mir gerade bitter klar wurde. „Aber … wenn ich die gesamte Zeit so arschig zu dir war, warum hast du es immer wieder probiert? Ich glaube, ich hätte mich längst selbst in die Wüste geschickt.“
Voller Unverständnis sah ich zu ihm hinab, sah in sein etwas zu kantiges Gesicht, was ich so anziehend fand. Und das war mir die ganze Zeit nicht aufgefallen? Wie ignorant lief ich eigentlich durch die Welt?
Ein sachtes Schmunzeln breitete sich auf seinen süßen Lippen aus. „Das sagte ich eigentlich schon. Weißt du noch? Die Sache mit dem Stillstand der Welt?“
„Das ist verrückt“, murmelte ich und schüttelte den Kopf.
„Nein“, erwiderte er. „Ich bin verrückt. Und zwar nach dir. Ich weiß, dass ich da eine voll dämliche Nummer abgezogen habe. Nur hoffe ich irgendwie, dass du mir verzeihen kannst.“
„Du bist wirklich verrückt.“ Mit diesen Worten trat ich an ihm vorbei und fuhr mir einmal über das gesamte Gesicht. Klar, Lügen sind kacke. Aber ignorantes Verhalten auch. Und ich war in dieser Hinsicht wohl zum Profi mutiert.
Aus dem Augenwinkel heraus sah ich, wie Timofej in sich zusammensackte und wohl drauf und dran war, endgültig aufzugeben. Wollte ich das? Heiligte der Grund wirklich alle Mittel? Sollte ich es genauso romantisch finden, wie die junge Polizistin, die sich ungewöhnlich viel Mühe gegeben hatte, dieses Szenario zu rechtfertigen? Konnte ich wirklich über meinen eigenen Schatten springen und ihm eine zweite Chance einräumen? Obwohl ich mich eigentlich selbst gerade ziemlich Scheiße fand, wie ich vorher mit ihm umgesprungen war? Gab das ganze Kuddelmuddel nicht die genialste Story ab, die ich je selbst erlebt hatte?
„Hey, Timo. Wann genau hatten wir unseren Deal abgeschlossen?“, fragte ich, ohne mich umzudrehen. Der Andere brauchte eine kleine Weile, um zu antworten. Ob er überlegte oder sich anfangs nicht sicher war, dass ich überhaupt etwas gesagt hatte, wusste ich nicht.
"If you ignore the fact that the car was being transported, it was around 9:53 p.m. when you stood at the door." Wow, the poor guy had been watching his watch very closely. I leisurely glanced at my phone.
"Good. Then I'll still be yours for another eleven hours and seventeen minutes."
A dent in a Mercedes: €8,697.53.
A lasagna with fresh dough sheets and delicious minced meat from the butcher: €8.62.
Two fingers of the best single malt Scotch whisky: €7.50.
Timofej’s radiance, in my words: priceless.

---

My owner lovingly stroked David's shiny fender, and for the first time in my life, I wished I could do the same. Ever since we found him on that large farm, my owner had left no stone unturned to restore my beloved. David had protected his owner, and not only her, but also the baby in her womb. My owner was so proud of this that he dedicated all of his free time to healing David.
And what can I say? Today he gleamed with a new glow. His owner was overjoyed when mine presented it to her, and soon wedding bells will be ringing... and not just for our owners. At first, David was very unsure, constantly assuming I didn't love him anymore just because his rear end was a different color and some of the bumps just wouldn't go away. Nevertheless, HE was still HIM, and no one could ever convince me otherwise.
END

"Hey, there's no lounging around here." Laughing, Timofej snatched my notebook from my hand and skimmed over the last few lines. "Since when are you so kitsch?"
“Since when are you such a slave driver?” I tried to snatch the book from him with a somersault, but only landed in the pile of leaves.
“Hey, I just swept up the leaves,” my sweetheart grumbled, looking at me reproachfully.
"Then you'd better give me back my book." I grabbed a few leaves and threw them at him. Of course, he didn't let that go. A small leaf fight ensued until we heard a loud whistle, forcing us to let go, panting.
"Hey, you freaks. You're supposed to tidy up the garden, not jump around like a couple of lovestruck teenagers." The young policewoman was lying comfortably in a deck chair in the autumn sun, her legs propped up, a drink in her hand, and looked over at us while holding up her sunglasses.
“And shouldn’t you supervise us while we do our community service here in the absence of the landlord?” my friend asked her.
"Do I look like a porn producer? Let's get to work!"
“Yes, ma’am,” we answered in unison and grinned as we reached for the gardening tools.
Yes, Timofej and I were now officially together. That same day, he told me about his uncle, who ran a janitorial company where he worked part-time while studying. That at least made it clear how he got the key to the villa. However, work was so stressful that he tended to fall behind on his chores. That's why he also needed someone to take the Mercedes, which he was only supposed to clean, to the garage. Otherwise, his professor would have given him a run for his money if he'd handed in another assignment late. Incidentally, all that was in the trunk were the winter tires and the work order for his uncle. If I'd read that, Timo would have been lost from the start.
The whole thing with the house was a spontaneous, albeit incredibly stupid, idea, because that was exactly where Timofej was supposed to be tidying up and winterizing the garden while the owner was away. But what can I say? It worked. Because since then, I couldn't get that idiot out of my head or off my page, let alone off my back. And THAT felt damn good.