Late in my senior year, I came across someone who I had admired. An enigma who I'd never thought I would see in my entire life. Yes, I had read the fan fictions and yes I had stalked him numerous times on instagram. But what I hadn't known was how p...
He was drunk again. Did he even care about me, or was he just dragging me on just so he wasn't lonely? I couldn't lie, I was having an anxiety attack on the train. What was the purpose of my anxiety attack? Again, I had to remind myself I barely even knew this guy.
I was off the train in an instant, my anxiety attack had passed the time ridiculously fast. I pulled up the GPS on my phone so that I could successfully find his apartment, and was surprised to find that he was living well. Especially for someone who lived in Manhattan. If he were drunk when I went in to his apartment, he didn't care. That hurt me, but it was what I had to tell myself. He didn't care about me. Maybe he invited me here to— no. I couldn't think about that. Two flights of stairs up, I found his apartment and knocked on the door.
"This is a really nice apartment Timothée," I spoke shyly, "I've never been in an apartment this nice." "Thank you..." He chuckled. "But really... why did you invite me here? To your apartment." In his left hand was a glass of wine that had been on the verge of falling 5 times in the past 2 minutes. Please don't be drunk, please don't be drunk, please don't be drunk. "I wanted to apologize... F-For the way I was acting it was just... shitty, I guess." I could see him searching for what to say.
"Timothée... I respect your insecurities about yourself, especially because I also have insecurities with myself but... I want to know who you are." Quickly, he shook his head and his curls bounced perfectly. His eyes were sad. He was so sad. I softly removed the glass of wine from his hand and held it in mine, drinking the rest of it down.
"You're so sad..." I whispered sadly after gulping the wine down, "Why are you so sad?" "I wish I could tell you, Adele. But... I've only just met you. I couldn't possibly expect you to understand." He walked past me and grabbed the bottle from the counter; he poured more into my glass and motioned for me to drink it. "My grandparents bought it for me in Italy. It's from 1965."
I knew there was no way he was a normal person. His grandparents bought him a wine bottle in Italy, from 1965. He was just chugging it like it was a Four Loko. Like it meant nothing. "Why are we drinking it? Shouldn't you save it?" I sipped from the glass. He shrugged, "It's okay."
I realized he wasn't going to tell me why he was so broken. He didn't trust me, but it was fine... because I didn't trust him. I decided to give myself a tour of his apartment.
It was amazing. It had been everything I'd ever wanted. He had beautiful art hanging on his walls, and where there wasn't art there were windows. He didn't need to turn on the lights in his home, because of all the city lights illuminating the inside.
I turned around to check if he was behind me, he wasn't. So I took the time to quietly open his room door. I wasn't disappointed. Windows. It was so minimalistic, so humble and in a way it made sense.
His living room area, dining area, kitchen and anything else but his bedroom had been covered in art. It had been covered with beautiful plants and lights, beautiful furniture. Things people would love and in a way, entertainment. His outside.
His bedroom had been almost empty. It was even cold.
It's substance was a bed, a dresser and a nightstand. The windows had spoken for themselves. The eyes of the room. They added everything anyone might need to think it was beautiful.
I took a picture of my favorite corner in the bedroom and fantasized about what I'd be doing. It was a perfect corner in which I would write, or read. Hide.
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I stared down at my phone, smiling at it. What would I do at night in this corner? I'd stare out of the window and dream. But what could I dream about, if I had everything I had dreamt of around me?
"You like it?" I gasped sharply and turned to look at Timothée standing behind me. "You scared the fuck out of me." "That's probably because you were doing something you shouldn't have been doing," He laughed and shook his head, "I'm kidding." He sat on the bed, and proceeded to drink something clear out of a clear glass. I assumed it was vodka. I sat next to him and caught a whiff of his breath, it had been vodka.
"The people think they who know me, they think I'm perfect. I-I know that it sounds like I'm full of myself," He slurred his words, trying to explain himself. I let him.
"They think that I'm not like anyone else... The truth is I am. I am just like all of those people who— who... They think terribly. They think that they're better. The only difference is, I can catch myself thinking that way. I'm aware of how shitty my thoughts can be but I don't know how to make them go away."
I frowned. Before I could say anything to justify his thought process, a tear fell down and was soaked by the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and nose. "Don't cry," I whispered, "everybody has a terrible thought every once in a while and I think what matters is that you understand that is terrible and you want to change it."
"I don't want you to agree with me, Adele. I don't. I want to know how terrible I am, and I want to know that you... that you will help me without having to know who I am." He downed the rest of his glass, setting it on his night stand.
I could feel myself getting warmer with every sip of the wine and my thoughts had become more jumbled than before. "I will help you."
He laid down on his back, staring at the ceiling. Once I was done with my glass, I set it down and laid beside him. We stared at the ceiling together in silence.
