Rhetorics

22. Midnight (Hashirama)

My heart was still pounding.

On the outside, I knew I looked calm, unbothered. Years of training went behind managing to keep a straight face while your insides were screaming. But, oh, were my insides screaming. Never before had a party member done a dramatic retirement like this. Not in any party. But I had battled back and forth, back and forth within me before I'd decided it was the right thing to do. To go quietly would have been cowardly.

And I was done being a coward.

But there was also the danger what I'd done posed. My party was known to host violent members, even if they had never gone against anyone in their own party. But I had been the first member to humiliate them like this, so why couldn't I be the first of their own they'd be violent against? I was surprised at how little worry I felt, because I knew that whatever happened to me, I couldn't regret what I'd done. I knew my retirement speech had been short, neat, concise. I wished for nothing more than to be apolitical, and had I just retired normally I probably would have. But after the time I'd spent with Madara I'd come to realise that being apolitical was a privilege, meaning that I was so well-off that I wouldn't be affected no matter who steered the country. So I vowed to keep voting for those whose lives depended heavily on what happened politically.

I wouldn't vote on my own former party, though.

And there was him...

I was ashamed that something as trivial as a haircut had caught me off guard that way, but it had, no doubt, caught me off guard. I hadn't seen him at his table as I entered the vast wooden room, and I also hadn't seen him enter, meaning he must've taken the back door. He must really hate me to go to such lengths. Nobody ever took the back door. I had been surprised when they'd called his name, to say the least, but it was still nothing compared to what I'd felt when I saw him.

He was absolutely stunning.

And I regretted everything I'd ever done in my life that entailed that he hated me, that I couldn't have him. My decision to resign on the podium manifested itself then, even if I had decided beforehand that that was what I would do. As we were dismissed, I was desperate to stop to talk to him, but I couldn't. I was so frightened he would dismiss me because I knew it would break me. So I stood up and left before anyone else, not looking back at him or I would crumble.

But my flight was short.

"You motherfucker."

I looked behind me.

"Leave me alone, Hank. I'm done. It's over."

The senior party member was soon joined by other members.

"Remember what we said..." I frowned. "Your safe. But that yellow whore of yours..."

I thought about what Madara had said, how angry he'd been when I'd made my political decisions based on his personal safety.

"You can go fuck yourselves", I said, turned and left. 

I turned my face up towards the dark sky. This is a good Christmas Eve night.

It wasn't ideal. I wasn't surrounded by my family as I had been when I was younger. It wasn't infested with the excitement of spending tomorrow with Madara as I had originally planned. But it was good. And maybe, good was good enough.

It had been a long day, and it was close to midnight. I had come home from parliament, and just felt no. I needed to go out for a walk. I had even considered running, but decided I'd save that for Christmas Day morning as a treat. I had stepped out of my parliament clothes in the hallway so I was completely naked, then I had stood in front of my vast head-to-toe mirror, inspecting myself. I had seen my serratus forming a nice contour, the lines of my abdominals clearly visible. They were not as strong as Madara's were, but I was slimmed from running making them clearly discernible. Madara's abdominals were visible even if he had a higher fat percentage than I had, they were so grown. I had touched my abdominals lightly, down to my thighs, up to my forearms. Madara's forearms... They were thick, well-shaped and you could see his muscles play at his every movement. It was so much hotter as he was completely unaware of it. I had closed my eyes, leaned my head back, grabbed my length; it had been starving. I had thought about what Madara had said about his family. They'd been killed, just like mine. Not only that; they'd been killed by an Asian gang just like mine had. Who could have known we had that in common? What were the odds? Yet, Madara had the ability to turn the mishappenings of his life around into good-doing instead of furious attempts of exclusivity as I had a tendency to do. I had known Madara was a good person, but it suddenly struck me how incredibly pure-hearted he must be in order to turn the murder of his parents around to something strong and forceful and good in the way he had. His goodness was what turned me on, and it turned me on endlessly. I had suddenly been ashamed, desperate to turn into a person who was worthy of his love.

I had stopped masturbating and put on clothes and shoes for walking before I left, not having allowed myself to come.

And now I turned my face up towards the sky, indicating I was in an emotional turmoil on the inside. It was all so mixed; sadness and worry and hurt but also pride, pride of what I had done. I looked forward to working on myself, to become a better man no matter who, if anyone, would be by my side. I knew I would visit miss Asghar regularly. I also decided to set up a fund to renovate her home, and other homes across the state that needed it; I had so much money I could probably do it over and over ten times. I decided I would spend some time with the residents in the different homes, getting to know them. I wasn't naive enough to believe I would grow out of my racist beliefs in one night; I had to work on it. Even if I no longer agreed with them, I knew I would probably feel revulsion when I saw a non-white that wasn't Madara or Miss Asghar, but I was going to expose myself until that disappeared. And I would have no mercy with myself.

I looked up at the trees; I was on the main avenue and the lights were beautiful, extra crisp in the cold, clear night. Tomorrow, I decided, I would go for a run, then get takeaway food as I had planned. I would watch a movie. Then, I would journal, writing down my hopes and dreams, things I could do to meet new people, new friends that did not hold a political view that did not match my own new ones.

And all of my plans and dreams began to manifest themselves as I walked past a board with so many posters, they were drowning each other, melting into one another.

But one stood out.

Try out Vogueing and other aspects of Ballroom Culture! For LHBTQ+ and BIPOC only. Boxing Day, 12 pm.

I took a picture of the address. I had no idea then that this first step would suck me into a whirlpool of meeting new people, of gaining new friends, of opening up my heart. That I would be so touched by the fact that they opened up to me despite knowing who I had been politically, giving me a second chance, that I would come home after each session and be close to tears. That I would become a great force in Ballroom Culture, competing in the classes Old Way and New Way and coaching others.

That I would fall in love with my life.

The catholic church clock struck midnight indicating it was now Christmas Day.

And I was still out.

And thank God for that...