Tiago's Love Page 2
I knock on the door.
A voice vibrates on the other side.
“It’s open.”
I walk in.
A man in his sixty with a short, muscular frame and deep lines around his mouth tosses a piercing gaze at me.
“Yes?” he asks, shifting in his seat to get a better look at me.
Two men stand not far from his desk.
“Are you training boxers?”
He pivots a little more and crosses his bulging arms across his chest.
He looks at me suspiciously.
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m looking for a friend,” I say, ignoring his question.
“Uh-huh,” he says with a loud, baritone voice that reverberates through the air as he runs his eyes down on me.
He drags his eyes up, taking inventory of my pants and sweater, my coat and the wool scarf wrapped around my neck.
“Name?”
“Um... That’s the problem. I don’t know his name. All I know is that he’s training for sports events here in New York.”
“A fighter?”
“Yes. But he no longer fights in competitions.”
“And you’re looking for him because...?”
“Um...”
Here I run out of ideas.
“I have something important to tell him,” I blurt out.
The men exchange looks.
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, dark hair, green eyes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good looking,” I add.
“I had no doubt,” he comments without breaking his stare.
He ponders for a moment before he speaks again.
“There are several men who fit your description. They come and go. I don’t work with most of them. Is there anything else you know about him?”
“He has a nickname. The Thunder.”
The man in the chair looks at me blankly as if he sifts through his memory trying to come up with something–– any bit of information, while the other two men begin to chatter.
The trainer shifts his gaze to them.
“Do you know him, Jack?”
“Isn’t that kid who popped in a few times back in October. He knocked out two of the fighters. I think they called him ‘The Thunder’.”
They all look at me, waiting for confirmation that he is the person I am looking for.
I stare at them, baffled.
“Kid?” I mutter. “No, no. The man I’m looking for is twenty-six-year-old. He is no kid.”
“Then he must not be the man you’re looking for, darling. He was young. Wasn’t he?” the trainer asks, shifting his eyes to Jack.
The third man answers.
“Yes, he was. He was definitely younger than twenty-six. Some big shot from the UK, but nobody heard about him here. He hadn’t fought for long, I suspect. That’s why people don’t know him yet. That’s how I knew he was young.”
I seriously doubt that Christian is the man he is referring to, but I keep going.
“Do you know his name by any chance?” I ask.
My eyes swing between the three of them.
One of them shrugs while the other crease their brows, trying to remember.
“Some Spanish name,” Jack says. “Could’ve been Italian. Can’t tell. Anyway, I don’t remember it.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” the man sitting at the desk says.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I turn around and walk out of the man’s office before I stride across the room, hoping that one of them remembers something else about that fighter and calls me back.
Something that could help me clarify whether it was him or not.
My hope dies out as I step outside.
The winter evening wraps around me with gusts of wind and soft flurries. I look up and down the street, hoping for a miracle.
To spot his silhouette and see his face.
To ask him why he lied to me.
To read his eyes and find out what I was for him.
To slap him for the pain he gave me.
But none of it can happen.
So I stare at the empty street, the lonely streetlights, and the light glowing faintly over the frosted sidewalks as if I look for answers in a graveyard.
The cab waits for me, parked not far from me, yet for a moment,I have no idea where to go.
My tears start to well up as emotions swirl inside me–– strong, conflicting, tormenting feelings.
Why does it have to be this way?
Anger and fury clash with my feelings for him that are still there–– alive, burning, buried in me.
I so want to lash out at him, but I also miss him.
I so want to scream at him, but I also want to hug him and feel his touch again.
I want so many things all canceling themselves out, none of them possible.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
I flip it and read Rain’s name on the screen.
A message pops up.
Rain: Where are you?
Oh, no.
This is not a good moment to talk to her.
If anything, I need to come up with a story for her to explain his absence and also I have to be able to control my emotions before we have a conversation without the fear that I could give myself away.
Swiftly, I type a message.
Me: I’m in a restaurant with some friends. I’ll call you when I get home.
I press ‘send’.
Her reply comes instantly.
Rain: Okay.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and dash to the taxi.
“You can take me home now,” I say as I slide onto the back bench and shut the door.
Soon, the car glides away, leaving the sports club behind.
3
EVE
“What is it, Eve? Are you sick or something?”
Rain cranes her neck as she tries to get a better view of me on her screen.
I prop my tablet on my knees, tuck another pillow behind my back and hug my plush robe closer before I look at her.
“I think I caught a cold,” I say, my voice raspy.
My eyes teary.
“Are you sure?” she asks incredulously. “You look like you’re crying.”
“I’m not crying,” I say, sniffling. “It’s this stupid bug I got from work.”
Irritation flashes through my voice.
“Okay. If you say so,” she says skeptically.
I glance at my side as I pick up my cup of tea from the coffee table, bring it to my lips, and take a sip, trying to hide my rueful expression.
“So, did you talk to your man?” she asks.
I swallow hard, the hot, herbal concoction struggling to go down my throat. Slowly, I move my arm to the side and put the cup back on the coffee table.
From a plate, I pick up a chocolate cupcake with buttercream frosting and colorful sprinkles.
I take a bite, weighing my words.
“No, I didn’t,” I say after a moment.
“Well, talk to him. I need an answer by the end of the week. We have a big Christmas party coming up, and you two are invited. But before that, we can meet up in New York. We were invited to the Annual Business Excellence Award Ball. I want you and Christian to join us.”
I shove the rest of the cupcake into my mouth.
“Well... I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” I say with a monotone voice, my mouth full.
Her eyebrows slide up.
“What do you mean?”
I chew on my dessert and swallow a couple of times before I draw in a long breath and let out a sigh.
“Christian and I broke up.”
Her eyes widen in surprise.
“What?”
For a few moments, she grapples with disbelief.
“What do you mean you broke up?”
I sh
rug and remain silent.
“Why am I hearing about this only now?”
“It just happened,” I say.
I put on a phony smile to distract her while she stares at me, still shocked.
“I don’t understand. How is that even possible? You just went on vacation with him. What exactly happened?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I make an effort to push back my emotions.
“Eve?”
“Nothing. Stupid stuff,” I mutter.
She stares at me, her brow creased into a frown.
“What exactly happened, Eve?”
Frustration flashes through her voice.
“Please don’t get angry with me.”
“I am not angry,” she says, fuming. “I am not angry,” she says with a softer voice. “But please explain to me, because it makes no fucking sense. One day, you’re in love with each other and then, you break up. How does this happen? And why?”
“We weren’t in love with each other. If we were, we’d still be together, wouldn’t we?”
My question is obviously rhetorical, my frustration flaring as well.
“Are you going to tell me?” she insists as if she hasn’t heard me.
I look down.
“He ghosted me.”
Her voice explodes in my ear, prompting me to flick my gaze up.
“Ghosted you?? Who does that when they’re in love?”
“People do it all the time.”
“Cowards.”
“It’s practical. Nobody wants to feel the anger of the other person when they’re breaking up with them.”
“But why?”
“Does he really need to have a reason?”
“Yes, he fucking does,” she snaps, her palm hitting her desk hard. “Even if it wasn’t something he wanted to share with you, I’m sure he had a motive.”
“Do they usually have a reason?” I ask sarcastically. “Do men really need to have a reason? Maybe he had enough of me. Or maybe he met someone else. Maybe I fell for him too soon, and he got bored with me. Or maybe he needed some time for himself.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s reality.”
“Fuck reality. This doesn’t make any sense.”
She looks down, annoyed, while I ponder whether I should tell her the entire story or not.
“Did you try to call him?”
“I did. He doesn’t answer my calls or replies to my messages. Turns out he used a burner the whole time he was with me. To top it off, he recently moved out of the hotel he used to stay in. I don’t know his new address, and I don’t have his full name either, so I can’t track him down.”
She looks at me, intently.
“Has he just vanished into thin air?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no idea why?”
I shake my head.
“No.”
“Did you call the escort agency?”
I ponder for a moment.
“I did, but they can’t provide the escort’s private information.”
She mulls over my answer for a moment.
“You know what? I’ll make some phone calls. I’m sure I can track this Christian guy down.”
“No, no. Please don’t do that. There’s no point in doing that.”
“Why? You tried to do the exact same thing.”
“Yes, I did. But it was my first impulse. Now that I think about it, it makes no sense to play detective and try to find him if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
She looks at me for a few seconds before she tips her gaze down again.
“Fucking jerk.”
I flick my hand, although she can’t see me.
“It doesn’t matter.’’
She swings an angry gaze at me.
“Oh, yes. It fucking does.”
“You can’t force someone to love you.”
“Yes, you can’t. That doesn’t mean that it’s okay to hurt someone whether you loved them back or not.”
I gesture again, my motion fainter this time.
“Nobody cares. Trust me. Besides, these things happen all the time. Most people have experienced them. People come and go as they please. They say words that mean nothing, and when they run out of interest or excitement, they move on to the next target.”
A growl of frustration vibrates on her lips.
“From what you told me, he didn’t come across as a stupid dick.”
“He doesn’t need to be a stupid dick. Maybe he was genuine. Or maybe he wanted to be on his best behavior because he felt sorry for me and wanted to give me something special, you know... out of pity.”
“Nobody does anything out of pity.”
“You don’t know that.”
Her hands flick up.
“Okay. All right. Be that as it may, I still don’t get it. You spoke highly of him. He opened up to you. You were warm with him. The sex was hot, off the charts. Is he nuts?”
The more she talks, the guiltier I feel. For casting a dark shadow on whoever this man is. And for lying to Rain by omission.
I take another deep breath as my eyes move to the side for the second time, and I pick up the cup of tea again.
It’s no longer hot, but even lukewarm, the aroma of mint and orange peel is potent enough to scent the air.
“I don’t think he’s nuts. He is probably a scam artist.”
“Uh-huh. And that makes it better how?”
“I didn’t say that it was better.”
She searches my eyes for a moment.
“What makes you say that?” she asks suspiciously.
“There is something else...” I mutter hesitantly.
“Please don’t tell me that it’s bad.”
“It can’t be good, or we wouldn’t have this conversation.”
“What is it?” she asks with a tense voice.
It’s my turn to read her eyes.
“Please tell me,” she insists.
“I will tell you with one condition. I don’t want you to share this bit of information with James. With anyone in fact. I feel ashamed as it is. I don’t want to make my tribulations public. It makes me look bad. And it also makes me feel bad, and the truth is, once I tell you what happened, I don’t want to talk about him or this story ever again. I want to get some closure and forget about him. And after this experience with him, I want to take some time off from dating and men and focus more on myself. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t say it to appease me.”
“No. I understand, although I need to say something to James because he insisted on meeting this man. I can’t just throw anything at him. It’s not gonna fly.”
“Tell him that the man ghosted me and I’m fine with it. I will go with you to the Christmas ball, and then I’ll fly home to be with you. I will do my best not to reveal how much Christian affected me.”
“Okay,” she says with a softer voice.
She looks at me, waiting.
“The man’s name is not Christian,” I say, gauging her reaction.
I can’t read anything on her face.
“You must’ve suspected that already, I imagine,” she says. “Escorts never use their real names.”
“And he is not an escort,” I add.
Her mouth drops open.
“What?”
Her eyes start darting back and forth too.
“Wait... wait. Wait a minute. What do you mean he is not an escort? Isn’t that how you met this man?”
“There was a mix-up. The day I was supposed to meet Christian, he checked himself into the ER because he had a medical emergency. Apparently, the people from the escort agency had contacted me, but I didn’t get that message, mainly because I was unaware that Christian was unavailable, and I didn’t check my voicemail.”
“How did you get to meet this man then?”
I breathe out a sigh before I continue.
“I couldn’t remember the room number w
hen I got there, so I knocked on two different doors that had similar room numbers. 1011 and 1110. The first door I knocked on was the correct room, but no one answered me, so I tried the door across the hallway. That’s how I met the man. I didn’t suspect anything when he opened the door. But how could I? He was dressed up as if he was waiting for a date, and he fit the physical description. And more importantly, he was hot as hell. And I kind of lost my head over him, right there and then. There were a few discrepancies, and I told you about them already, but nothing important enough to make me pull away from him. Also, a blonde woman showed up that night. I suspect, she was his real date, yet he sent her away.”
“She could’ve been an escort too.”
“Yeah. That’s, um... possible,” I say with a strained voice as I digest the new piece of information.
“So he assumed that man’s identity and fooled you into believing that some hot escort tossed away his line of clients to focus entirely on you because he wanted to make you feel like a princess.”
I wish there were sarcasm or dark humor in her voice. Sadly, her conclusion is nothing but a hard fact.
I breathe out a nervous chuckle.
“In a few words, yeah... That’s what he did. Now, you understand why I don’t want this story to make the rounds. I feel so stupid and used and horrible for not being able to detect this man’s game before I made a fool of myself.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a game. Maybe he genuinely liked you.”
“It was a lie,” I say exasperated.
“It started with a lie, but he merely exploited a situation, and perhaps he got caught in it as well, and that’s why he couldn’t tell you the truth.”
“He could’ve told me the truth the moment he invited me in his room. Do you think that I would’ve said no to him just because he wasn’t the man I had paid to have sex with?”
“No, but he didn’t know that at the time. Maybe, it was a game for him in the beginning, and then things got a little out of control as they usually do, and he couldn’t find a good opportunity to tell you.”
She pauses.
I muse over her words for a moment.
“Everything you say makes sense–– up to a point, but I have a hard time to believe it. I can’t remember one moment in the whole time we spent together when he tried to tell me that he wasn’t who I thought he was. If anything, he tried to be evasive and avoided any conversation that could’ve made him reveal more than he wanted to. Yeah... He kind of suggested that his ‘escort name’ was not real. Big deal. But he never went ahead and told me the truth about who he really was, and everything else that he hid from me. He talked about us with so much easiness while ‘us‘ was nothing but a big lie. If he was serious about me he must’ve known that he needed to tell me the truth at one point or another.”