Egbert

Loving one ANoether

I might have been a bit of a bastard yesterday night. You know that feeling of sad relief after great anger, knowing you've managed to get loads off your chest but at the same time knowing it's at the expense of hurting someone? I wake up to that. And it's not nice. Looking back on my behaviour I feel like I acted like my parents. And the worst part is I said some things my mother would be proud of, but they actually made sense to me in the moment. I finally understand why I shouldn't act so human around blood. Because I'm not human and I need blood to survive just like people need meat or the nutrients it provides. Granted I didn't have to be so crass about it and I could have explained it in a gentler way to Hans, but that doesn't mean it wasn't the truth.

My philosophical mitosis continues while I brush my teeth, change and skip breakfast to head over to Vikram's. He'll be able to tell me if I'm finally descending into madness or if I've just matured.

When I hear his mum's scream I smack my raised fist harder against the door, but before I can break it down she opens it with tears down her face and the house phone pressed to her heart. A lump forms in my throat. I don't like this.

"Putaar sabh teek hai!"

How can everything be okay when she's crying? She pulls me into the living room where Vikram's father is sitting back on the sofa staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his protruding belly. When he sees me he smiles widely and greets me with a hand on my head.

"Egbert how are you my boy eh?" He pats the space next to him for me to sit and I do so, shuffling my backpack off awkwardly.

"I'm fine uncle, what's going on?"

"Aaditiya bhai just called." Aaditiya is Preeti and Vikram's older brother. The golden child. He just recently graduated with a first degree in a pharmacy. I see him every Diwali, way less than before he went to university because he tends not to come home that often. Probably because of his Pakistani Muslim girlfriend. If you didn't just do a sharp intake at reading that I envy your ignorance. It's bad given that his entire family is Indian Hindu. I'll give you another clue, it's not so much the religious difference. Maybe one day it won't matter so much.

"He has just confirmed his engagement to Myra Dosla."

"Myra? She's..." ... not his girlfriend. Myra lives down the street. They've been pestering him to marry her every since he graduated. Myra's parents have wanted this since she graduated English claiming that she'd never get a job with that and the best thing for her was marriage. Myra herself is indifferent, if a little pissed. "If Aaditiya's agreed then... Does she even want to marry him?"

"Ji, ji, she agreed last week. He's coming home this weekend to finalise everything then we will have all the wedding preparations."

"Oh, okay and he's okay? Everything's okay? It's all... okay?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"I see. Does Vikram know? Does Preeti? "

"Preeti is in the kitchen, she knows. She was on the phone much long time talking to her Bhai. I think she is very happy. Ram abhi sootha heh."

"I'll go wake him." I dash upstairs as smoothly as I can and fly into Vikram's room. The scene that greets me makes me realise I should have knocked. The curtains are drawn lazily over the wide open window and its freezing; they flap against the autumn current. I like his curtains. His room faces the sun in the morning so when he wakes up the sun seeps through the orange curtains to make the room feel warm and cosy, like you're incubating in a nest. So I'll stare at his curtains instead of the scene before me.

Snuggled tightly onto the single bed lies Vikram, he has one hand tucked under his head while the other has his fingers interlaced with the pale arm around him. Said hand belongs to the body pressed against Vikram for warmth and comfort.