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66: LOOSE

« LOUIS »

The first month of waking up, I had half expected to feel Harry lying next to me, and I'd be filled with disappointment as I stared at the ceiling alone. Li insisted that finding somewhere new to stay would help the process of moving on. Though, he hadn't quite trusted me to live on my own since within the time I've been with him I've managed to leave the stove on twice. One morning he handed me the newspaper and a red pen, and told me to begin searching for two bedroom flats downtown near the cigarette factory. He insisted on getting jobs at said factory whilst we lived in San Francisco city—I, on the other hand, was finding it doubtful. Yet, this wasn't Los Angeles, and I supposed it would be easier getting a flat in the bay area instead.

For the next year, Li was careful never to mention Harry. In fact, he never even mentioned a single thing about that part of our lives—which I supposed could've been to keep me from going ballistic. Li eventually found himself a girl, and spent most of his time with her rather than at the flat. They had intended on moving her in with us, but the only thing that seemed to stay was her black and orange calico cat, Midnight. I never liked cats.

The first year had gone by like centuries, and I felt as if I had been Prometheus cursed to suffer through every day as painfully slow as possible. Every morning when I'd go into work, Li would be there in the station next to mine.

"Morning Tomlinson" Will from overnight packaging would greet me every time, and I would just glance back with a small wave. One morning, I actually looked up to him—his ash blond hair stuck onto his forehead that had been drenched in sweat from lifting boxes all night—and replied.

Will loved the cat—every time he'd visit, he'd ask where Midnight was although already knowing she would be sat on the window sill to peer over every passerby on the sidewalk. When I'd go to bed, Will was off to work and vice versa—eventually I just offered for him to sleep on my couch to avoid the hassle of driving him home. We didn't start fucking until after a week or two of him sleeping on the couch, although well knowing before hand that he had to be interested in men.

One evening before he had gone to work, he sat on the edge of my mattress as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Who is it?" he asked me, and I waited for him to continue, "The person you're thinking about when you make love to me"

I breathed out a small laugh, soft music from my bedroom radio playing Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Standing to thread my trousers onto my legs, "If it's love you think I'm makin', then you have no clue what love feels like" I told him, leaving him to dress by himself.

Li asked me what I wanted for my birthday that year, and all I had asked for was a pack of Chesterfield's and a bottle of Coke—I couldn't tell him that all I really wanted was the life I lived before back.

The following year I suggested Li and I live separately, and I found myself a small studio flat by the bay. Word was going around about the town's faggots, and I could never seem to find myself being happy in the city. My mother's friend with the lake-house had managed to find my name in the phonebook, and called asking if I was willing to rent it for the rest of the year.

I couldn't imagine myself ever living in a place I had viewed as somewhere to runaway to when life became unfair. Though, I still wrote down her phone number in case I changed my mind.

For my twenty-first birthday, I walked to the town bar and drank as much as my body could ever manage. I felt the liquid overflowing through the back of my throat, and I leaned back into the booth I sat at to watch the spinning ceiling. The air was cold when I stumbled out, and everyone had been tucked in for the night in excitement for Christmas the next morning. It was moments such as this one that I had wished it snowed in San Francisco, this way I would have had a reason to go back home.