The Heartbreaking Agreement

Chapter XIX

Date Night pt. 2 :)

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I wasn't sure how long we were at La musique de Beethoven, but I knew it was longer than Jerome and I thought it would be. When we left the building and said our goodbyes to the Old Man and his wife, it was already dark. Street lanterns were on, giving the city much different mood. It wasn't overwhelming with hundreds of cars on streets, thousands of people on sidewalks, everyone with their own phone, hurrying to their own direction. At night, it was just different.

It was calm, peacefully. Only few groups would walk by, laughing about their inside jokes or a funny story someone told. No traffic, no stress. Just you, the city and stars.

And Jerome.

He wouldn't say a word during dinner, except when he suggested I should try something from his plate. I think he did that to distract me from Mrs. Erinson's talking. I noticed Jerome was important to her, but she touched some topics that shouldn't be said by the table. Or anywhere, really. I wonder how did she know all this stuff about Jerome. It didn't look like he would tell her nor share his experience with Mr. Erinson.

It was a really uncomfortable and awkward fake date. Both of us were relieved when the Old Man and his wife left, going back to their home. Personally, I didn't want to go back to the apartment and sit in the bedroom, ignoring all facts I learned about Jerome. I knew he wouldn't want to talk about his relationships and I didn't want to talk about them either.

It's just... I think I'm worried.

Jerome is a human being like all of us. He can't be focused only on winning money, which is illegal, and then go to his classes, pretending his happy where he is.

He is not happy.

Satisfied? Maybe, but I would use "happy" to describe him.

I couldn't leave things like that. I didn't want to avoid every touchy subject we could, and should, discuss. Even if I would push away what Mrs. Erinson said today for a moment, there was still this whole making-out-on-a-couch thing!

Jerome, we need to talk.

"Wanna grab a hot-dog on our way back?" he asked suddenly.

To be honest, that expensive dinner was probably kid's size and although I appreciate that the Old Man and Jerome spent their money on such waste, I was still hungry. And so was Jerome.

He bought two hot-dogs for himself and was still considering getting a third one.

"I don't think you want to get sick before tomorrow's race" I pointed out, while I was sitting on the park bench, still trying to finish my first hot-dog. It was ironic how after a fancy dinner we decided to get food from a stranger on a street. It was still more satisfying than a little piece of salmon with lemon.

Jerome, who sat on the back of the bench, looked down at me with a goofy smile. It was the first time he broke a smile that night.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Fine.

I've been on this planet long enough to know that "fine" is a shitty word. It gives you an impression that everything in person's life is great, that they are happy and are satisfied with where they are today. Which for the most part is not true.

When someone asks about out well-being, we say "fine" without even thinking. Because we won't say "I feel depressed" or "I'm not good" to everyone that asks us. They don't actually care how we feel, they just want to be polite. We say "fine" because we don't care as well.