“Let’s talk, Gael.”
That was how Meissy greeted him as he walked in and sat on the sofa. She had opened the door for him. He arrived at two in the morning, tired and surprised to find Meissy still awake, waiting for him. He dropped onto the sofa.
“Talk about what, Meissy?” he asked, slowly closing his eyes. All he wanted now was to sleep. He was still dizzy. Luckily, Matteo had driven the motorcycle earlier because he couldn’t handle it himself; he was really drunk. “Make it gentle, Meissy. If you like my friend, I can set you up. But he has a girlfriend. Ouch, does that hurt?” he chuckled.
“Everything just exists in your mind. You are not real. You are sick, Gael.” Meissy said angrily. She sat down on the single sofa and shook her head as she looked at Gael. “Don’t sleep yet, Gael. I don’t care if you’re drunk or not. Let’s talk. Let’s be real.”
He laughed, “Are you angry, Meissy? Ah, I get it. Are you jealous because Matteo and I were together?” he laughed, rolling.
Meissy released a deep sigh. “Gael, this isn’t a joke. You need help. And correction, I don’t like your friend anymore.”
Gael sat up slowly, the seriousness in Meissy’s voice starting to sober him up. “You’re being too dramatic, Meissy. I’m not sick, just drunk. And you seem like you’re not used to seeing your dad drunk.”
“I’m talking about your behavior, Gael. You’ve been acting weird and strange since you got here, just twenty-four hours ago.”
Gael rubbed his temples, trying to process Meissy’s words through the fog of alcohol. His eyes were glazed with exhaustion and confusion. “I’m fine, Meissy. I just needed to blow off some steam, that’s all.” His voice carried a weary tone.
“This is more than blowing off steam, Gael. It’s like you’re living in a fantasy world.” Meissy leaned forward, her concern evident in the way she furrowed her brow, her eyes searching Gael’s face for a sign of understanding.
He frowned, feeling defensive. “What fantasy world?”
“You’re chasing after Matteo like he’s the answer to something. You’re not seeing things clearly.” She sighed softly; her words were tinged with empathy but also frustration.
Gael shook his head, a mixture of confusion and irritation clouding his expression. “You don’t understand me.”
She laughed bitterly. “Me? I don’t understand? You’re the one who doesn’t understand yourself.”
“I’m not gay, okay? I’m not gay. And for the hundredth time, I’ve said this— I don’t like Matteo.” Gael stood up abruptly, ready to turn his back on her. “So, is that what this is about? Is that why you avoid talking about Matteo? Why you change the subject every time I mention his name? Because you don’t want me to be gay? Damn, have you thought about how weird that is? Excuse me, I’m a man, a real man.” His voice cracked slightly, a blend of frustration and resignation as he turned away from Meissy.
“It’s not like that, Gael. There are things you don’t understand—or maybe you’re just trying to forget? That you’re forcing yourself to forget what happened before and bury it? Maybe I was right, and you’re living out what you wrote in your book.”
“Okay, one thing’s for certain, I have no idea what you mean. Good night—uh, good morning.” Gael sighed heavily and went to his room.
When he woke up, the pounding headache from the hangover still gripped Gael's head. It felt like he had just dropped himself on the bed. But when he looked at the clock, he realized it was already ten-thirty in the morning. Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed, his body protesting as he stretched. It was his morning routine to always stretch his body and arms. His hair was a mess, and his outfit from last night was still on him since he hadn’t changed it when he arrived at two o’clock.
Gael went straight to the bathroom. He grimaced when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He looked completely haggard. He washed his face. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked shut behind him, sealing him in. He cursed under his breath but continued washing his face.
Gael’s breath caught in his throat as he turned back to the mirror. At first, his reflection seemed normal, but then, behind him, a figure began to form—a shadowy silhouette with a face grotesquely split open, rotting flesh exposed. "What the heck..." Gael whispered, his voice trembling. He blinked, and the figure vanished, leaving only his pale reflection staring back at him. He looked around, scanning the entire bathroom. But he saw nothing. “What the hell was that?” he asked himself.
He looked back in the mirror, trying to calm himself. He tried to steady himself. "It's just stress. Too much to drink," he muttered, trying to dismiss the unsettling image. But then, the water from the tap surged, flowing with unnatural force. Droplets splattered onto the mirror, distorting his reflection momentarily.
“No, no, this can’t be happening,” Gael muttered to himself. He splashed cold water on his face again, hoping to wash away the creeping unease. When he looked up, his reflection wavered, then stabilized—just his tired face, no haunting apparitions. "I'm losing it," he muttered, his voice hollow with fear.