About addictions, roses and distrust.

      Zandik believed that Pantalone was the most unreliable partner, that their relationship was doomed to failure from the start. He thought that Pantalone would leave him in a month, would find another fool who would agree to stay with a broken heart.       And no matter how much Lone convinced him otherwise, the guy was adamant.       Every damn economics class Zandik felt the teacher’s sticky gaze on him.       He felt the lustful gaze of those cold amethyst eyes, looking out from under the lenses of his dainty chain-rimmed glasses.       He felt the touch of the previous evening on his thighs, as if in reality, although he was sitting at the desk, not listening to the speech of the head.       He earns his grades in a different way.       He felt dirty and cheated, even though nothing, so far, had happened.       It was as if Pantalone himself was carrying all these sins, understatements, lust, lies and mistrust, dipping Zandik in it all as well.       No, not like that.       Dottore, not Zandik.       Even their names during sex are lies and innuendo.       No, no doubt Pantalone knew his real name, but still called him by someone else’s. “Dottore” had become Zandik’s second face. And, to be honest, it actually made him feel better to think about the fact that it wasn’t him doing all those dirty things, but Dottore, aka Doty, aka Doc.       And Zandik didn’t know the teacher’s real name. Exactly how… He called him “Pantalone”, the students called him “Pantalone”, all the other teachers called him “Pantalone”, however… Was that his real name? Or another alias of his?       The bell rang suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.       That fucking stare still coated his body in a sticky layer. It made him want to puke.       – Zandik, can you come to me? — A sweet and tugging, honey-like voice called out affectionately as Zandik was ready to leave the classroom with everyone else.       Nodding to his friends not to wait for him, he approached the teacher’s desk, clutching the strap of his backpack that hung on one shoulder.       – What did you call me for, mister Pantalone? — Zandik asked warily, feeling goosebumps run down his spine. There was something off about Pantalone’s demeanor today. Something… Was he unhappy about something?       – My dear Dottie, — Pantalone began, rising from his chair and wrapping his arms around Zandik’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, hunching over a little as he was half a head taller. — You were so… in class today. Not focused. Uninterested. Maybe something’s bothering you? — his words were sweet poison that Zandik was ready to revel in. Now that his head was empty, he was ready for anything. That voice, that touch, those eyes, that hair… It was all stupefying to the mind. Zandik wanted only one thing now — to taste the taste of another’s lips on his own.       Hot breath scorched his pale and cold neck like fire caressing ice with its tongues.       – I am… It’s okay… It’s just… I just didn’t get enough sleep. — His throat was dry, and his thoughts came in bright fireworks, then tangled into a huge ball, then disappeared altogether. The lack of ability to think straight made Zandik feel the most primitive of creatures, relying only on instinct.       – Hmm. There you go. But aren’t you lying to me, my sweet Dottie? — Pantalone bit the skin on the boy’s neck, pulling from his lips a slight but much desired moan.       There was no energy or desire to wait until evening, but the thought that they weren’t alone here and that Pantalone had two more classes and individual sessions afterward sobered him, restraining him to only quick touches. And, to be honest, Pantalone thanked all kinds of Gods that Zandik was still young and fresh, his body, just beginning the process of maturation, was insanely greedy for touch, and the ardor of youth and hormones allowed him to excite this boy with a couple of touches and kisses.       – I have two more classes, and after that three individuals and a meeting. Come to our place sometime around six o’clock. Are your classes over already? — Feeling a horribly indecent, but still pleasant and warming to the ego, bump in the student’s pants, Pantalone pulled away from him to the table, writing something on a post-it note and, breathing heavily after kissing him, looking at him with a heavy look.       – There’s chemistry, and then exam prep… Are you sure you can’t make it early? — Dottore sat down on the edge of the table, covering some documents with his body. — Just now I’d really like you to help me with my problem,” he became a little more relaxed, smiling and even chuckling somehow.       – My sweetie, I’d take you right now, on this very desk, but I could get fired over this, you know? And you’re finally acting like it. Were you shy, hmm? Or maybe afraid? — The stranger’s palm was on his thigh, squeezing it, and the stranger’s lips, neat and pleasant, not at all like the boy’s, bitten, were gently nibbling on Zandik’s lower lip. Pantalone insistently made his way into the student’s mouth, as if he wanted to break his honor, to make him so dizzy that he forgot how to breathe with pleasure, thinking only one thought in his head: “Pantalone”       – Y-yes… — Dottore replied meaningfully, breathing heavily after such a passionate kiss. — Then… Six o’clock. Six o’clock at our place, eh?       – Yes, my sweet. I’ll be looking forward to our meeting,” Lone smiled slyly, adjusting his glasses and running his hand along Dottore’s thigh, finishing the guy off. — Now, go. I have my next class.       And, resisting the strongest urge to stay and continue what he’d started, Zandik stood up from the table, sighing heavily and smoothing his disheveled hair, picking up his backpack and slinging its strap over his shoulder, wincing at its weight.

***

      The time before the meeting with Pantalone was dragging eerily slow.       The office was not doing what he wanted it to do! They needed to have a serious talk, not another session to destroy Zandik’s honor!       The guy spent the rest of the day before the meeting as if he was out of his body.       Yes, he answered in class, yes, he went to counseling, yes, he did his homework. But it all felt so… out of place?       When the time approached six, Zandik, like lightning streaking across the sky, quickly put all the necessary things in his bag and, throwing on his jacket, without buttoning up, ran out into the street, trying to get to “their” place as quickly as possible, to see Pantalone faster, to explain to him faster….

And explain what?

      The clouds in the overcast sky grew thicker and thicker, and a lone raindrop fell on the asphalt beside Zandik. Then another, and another, and another, until a full-fledged rain fell on the boy.       He stood, however, soaking wet and looking up at the sky, which had already turned a darker shade.       What would he explain to Pantalone? That he didn’t trust him, yet he still lay under him with barely concealed pleasure, making louder and lustful noises time after time? The fact that he, even though he was tormented, could not stop desiring these touches? Pantalone would laugh at him, if not do something worse.       Zandik stood there, paying no attention to anything. Not to the foul weather, not to the people passing by. Now… Now he just had to make sense of it all.

***

      Pantalone’s phone was ringing off the hook with messages and calls, and the boy wandered slowly through the evening square.       Dry, yellow, and heavy with moisture, the fall leaves were falling on his head, and the cold raindrops had long since penetrated into and under his clothes. Perhaps he would get sick.       And if he does get sick, he’ll be able to skip classes quite comfortably.       He would stop seeing Pantalone every day if he skipped classes.       The thought made his heart clench unhappily.       Yes, he didn’t trust him, perhaps even feared him, but that didn’t change the fact that he did like him.       The Pantalone was like a rose: certainly lovely, beautiful and refined, constantly pleasing to the eye, but if you touched it, the poisonous thorns cut into your flesh, stupefying and hurting so much that you wanted to scream in pain.       His every action was mesmerizing, filled with beauty, something beautiful. His eyes, his voice, his hair, his body… It all attracted, lured him into a trap of thorns whose poison was painfully addictive, addictive.       Zandik, too, had fallen into that trap. Like so many victims before him.       What does Pantalone need him for? Why? Is it possible Pantalone didn’t drugged him for a night out after all? Or is it?       – What the hell are you doing here?! — Zandik’s thoughts were cut short by the shriek of a voice that only this afternoon had been intensely sweet and sonorous. Though why “was”? It still was. It was just drowned out by the sound of the rain. Zandik didn’t notice as the drizzle turned into a furious downpour.       Disgruntled, even a little bit angry, Pantalone grabbed Zandik, who was still in his not-so-beautiful thoughts, by the shoulder, pulling him under the black umbrella.       “Black is the color of Pantalone’s hair,” Zandik thought involuntarily, looking into the amethyst eyes that looked at him with such genuine surprise, incomprehension, displeasure, and perhaps even concern that he thought that he and Pantalone were kind of serious.       – Are you even listening to me? Zandik, what’s wrong? — Pantalone’s hand gripped the boy’s shoulder harder, making him wince. — Don’t you dare lie this time.       Zandik, as if waking up from a dream, threw off his partner’s hand with a sharp movement of his shoulder, becoming more aggressive than ever.       – What happened?! Everything that could happen, happened! — The boy shouted, gesticulating vigorously, in a way that worried and frightened Pantalone. — Do you think I’ve never heard of all these rumors around you?! You think I’m a deaf idiot?! The hell you are! — His damp blue hair stuck to his face and a nasty lump formed in his throat, preventing him from speaking properly.       Zandik was silent for a few seconds, biting his lip bloody to keep from bursting into tears right there. Not now, not when Pantalone finally listens to him. Or rather, Zandik hopes he’ll listen to him.       – I was really hoping that we’d have a… — voice trembled, giving away the guy’s guts. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his skin, and he had to bite his lip again. There was no strength to finish the sentence.       Shamefully, as if fleeing from the scene of defeat, Zandik fled away, seeing nothing in front of him but Pantalone’s worried face. What if he’d made it all up, and now he was just accusing Lone? What if they, their relationship… really real?       Tears flowed down her cheeks like lava, mingling with the cold fall rain.       Zandik ran. He ran shamefully away from Pantalone, away from trouble, away from pain. Running while the leaves beneath his feet groaned pitifully with their familiar crunch and squelch of rainwater.       In two weeks from this day, when he got off sick leave, he would learn that Pantalone had left his place of employment.       Two weeks from this day, he will be chiseling at the painfully familiar door with both hands and feet behind which he and Pantalone relaxed from the rest of the world. Tears will drip from his eyes and curses towards Pantalone and accusations of lying will fall from his lips.       Two weeks from that day, he would see a letter in his mailbox from “your Lone” with tear drops on the paper and a dried rose that was in the envelope. Zandik will add something of his own, as always. He would add a bunch more tear drops and tear up the letter and then, regretting what he had done, he would spill more.       Three weeks from this day, he’ll be desperately writing to him on all sorts of social media, searching for what new job he’s gone to.       Three months from this day, he will give up, stop looking, be disappointed in people and forget about having a relationship with anyone.       But even years from now, he won’t forget him.       Even years from now, he won’t fall out of love with this addictive poison.

***

“Hello, my dear Dottie. Or was it Zandik? But I don’t think it matters much. You can read this letter as Dottore, if it makes you feel better. So, my sweetie, how are you? I hope I’m all right. I figured you’d get sick after being out in the downpour for so long. I even chuckled when they told me you were on sick leave. Well, since you are sick, this letter will be delivered to your mailbox. I know you don’t like to rant, so let’s get to the topic. Every time I think about that day, I remember the time we kissed on my desk. And the look on your face as you told me how you felt. And you know, I don’t feel happy when I think about that kiss. The nights we spent together. The way I talked to you. I feel nothing but nauseous about myself, my actions, my words. You kept giving yourself to me, even when you must have felt awful. You didn’t trust me, did you? Didn’t want to upset me, or maybe you thought it was just your imagination? But either way, you gave me yourself, your body, without trust. And frankly, I hate it. It’s not disgusted by you, not at all! On the contrary! I admire you and your decision, but I don’t think it’s right. I’m disgusted with myself. I’m disgusted that I gave you reason to think I was just playing you. So here’s what I want to tell you: you can’t build a healthy and strong relationship without trust. Knowing you, you’ll be looking for me. I don’t have to. You won’t find me anyway. Just let me go. Let me go. I won’t apologize. I don’t deserve it. But I want you to know it was real, I think. Maybe we could have gotten somewhere if I’d given you a reason to trust and you’d trusted me. But neither you nor I are as such. I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to stop you that day. I’m sorry I chickened out. I’m sorry I was the one who abandoned you, made you distrust me.

Goodbye, my darling.

Your Lone. ”

***

      A year and a half from this day, Zandik will see a horrifyingly familiar figure on the news.       One year, six months and nine days later, he will resume his search.