IV.I.V – Shades of Cool
IV.I.V
SHADES OF COOL
Things with Alex were very… different. Probably because he was different than what I was used to. Very bohemian and alternative – but not at all forced or fake, just the way he is. I don’t know what it was about him that drove me so crazy and wild.
And it wasn’t just him, his face or his body. It was everything that had to do with him. I remember walking into his apartment for the first time. Dim and low-key, fairy lights and candles all around. Ambient music or something limerent and hypnotic playing in the background. Plants and random vintage stuff scattered all over. It was like I had walked right into the 1950’s. And then his sense of style… Think James Dean meets Johnny Depp meets Steve McQueen meets Errol Flynn. I’m no GQ blogger or anything like that but I’m sure his fashion sense is on that level. A coolio through and through.
And then there was your very own derpy neighbourhood idiot Marius. Never in a million year would I have envisioned me ever speaking to this guy, let alone to be in his apartment. He was so out of my league I might as well have been competing in a different tournament altogether. And I’m not saying this in the low self-esteem, self-deprecating kinda way. I’m just stating the obvious – that I’m probably a solid six point five over ten on an average day and that he’s easily an eight plus in my books. Thankfully, not everyone is as shallow as I am.
The second kiss we shared; our real first kiss, changed that – evened the playground a little bit. It was to ‘K.’ by Cigarettes After Sex in his car. He said it was the best kiss of his life. I agreed. It was true.
Our chemistry was indescribable. So physical and raw, so passionate and steamy. I remember not being able to focus on anything when I’d be going on about my day. I’d just have one thing on my mind – to be with him. I wasn’t really craving the emotional or the intellectual side though. It was purely physical – or at least that’s how it started off. Pretty soon, things started to change. Really fast. I had started dating with the idea of letting myself open up to the emotional side, to be vulnerable and to let go of my pride. And so I told him I liked him. That I was really into him.
You see, back then I used to think that there should be a rough timeline for these things. That it would take at least a month to tell someone you really like them. “I love you” could be said only after… what? Three months? I mean, it’s a big step right? With Pedro everything was rushed and look how it had all turned out. But for the sake of giving this a real shot I said screw it and went with my gut. I told him I was really into him after our second date. By the fourth he said he had feelings for me and that he wanted us to be together. You know, together together. Things were moving at lightspeed. But I was fine with it. I was comfortable. And so I went with the flow.
It later transpired that that sudden proposition was under false pretense. It wasn’t only because he had feelings for me that he wanted us to go all official. Turns out, he’d be having a birthday party with all his loved ones and he wasn’t quite sure as to how he’d introduce me to his friends.
Was I friend? A friend with benefits? Someone he had just started dating? He told me none of those labels did justice to whatever it is we had – despite it being so early on. And so, I went to his birthday party – as his boyfriend… His boyfriend. I have to admit it felt pretty weird. Pedro rarely introduced me to any of his friends when we were together simply because he didn’t have that many here in Malta and even then, I was ‘just a friend’ to the vast majority. I, on the other hand, never introduced him to any of my friends (in hindsight, it’s probably cause I was never sure about us working out).
And so here I was, being introduced to an assembly of well-wishers as his new boyfriend. It was awkward at first; a lot of small talk with people I didn’t know, people I had already spoken to on dating apps before I met Alex and people who happened to be his exes. All things considered, everything went perfectly well and by the end of it, Alex told me they loved me. I told him I loved them too. I conveniently left out the fact that by then, I loved him too.
Following a fashionable exit to meet up with some of my friends in order to celebrate yet another birthday, I drove straight to the bar where all my friends were gathered. Try as I might to act all coy, I couldn’t quite hide the smile stretching far beyond my ears. I couldn’t believe I was in love again. Of course, those three words hadn’t been said yet. I felt them and I was pretty sure he did too, but they still remained unsaid, and so, I kept the news to myself – the fact that the grouchy and cynical Marius was in love.
The night went by, and the more cocktails I gulped down and the drunker I got, the harder I smiled. I was in love. I was in love again. I hadn’t used up all my happy after all. There was still some of it leftover. And I was on that high for days until I decided I should tell him. You know, just to put it out there.
It felt weird knowing I felt that way about someone so soon into a relationship. It felt weirder knowing I had to just let it all out. You don’t quite plan these things. Telling someone you love them should come naturally, it should be organic, spur of the moment.
The more I thought about it, the harder it seemed to get. That high suddenly turned into anxiety. “What if he doesn’t love me back?”, “What if it’s too soon?”, “Is it real or am I making this up?”. Many questions, only one way to find an answer. Plus, this is exactly what I had wanted for myself. To be honest. To be vulnerable. No matter what. If that’s how I felt, I had to communicate it – even if it weren’t reciprocated.
And so, the next time we were on his couch watching a movie, I thought I’d just blurt the words out:
“I lo-“
I choked. I couldn’t get the words out. He thought I had gagged on some guac and nachos and didn’t give it a second thought. And there I laid; mortified, humiliated, ashamed.