2025-07-11, 09:11 PM
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...?"
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...?"