A lot of time has passed since the house party, almost a month, yet I still haven’t been able to put everything that happened there to rest. It feels as though the story ended with a comma rather than a period. And unfinished things, well, they frustrate me endlessly. No messages came to meet at the pub, nor did I get any hint of anything from anyone. The story remains unfinished, left hanging like a trashy film that wasn’t worthy of a sequel. The promise I made to Mark, well, to put it mildly, didn’t amount to much. I never went back to drink with him. Dante and I talked in the car until six in the morning, watching the sunrise, discussing our various problems, giving each other different kinds of advice. Maybe it was the alcohol, but for seven hours, I was gently stroking his knee, his hair, or his arm, just to get him to fully relax so I could return to the party. Now, three weeks later, I’ve come to realize the truth: I didn’t actually want to go back down into that basement. I was perfectly comfortable sitting beside this man, talking out the world’s problems while focusing on the details of his form.

  No one really looked for us either; they checked on us occasionally to see if we were still alive but were more focused on poisoning themselves with alcohol. Once morning came, I immediately sent Dante off to sleep, checked on Mark, and when I saw him sleeping nestled between Lucas and Christopher, I went over to the only awake person, Derek, the host, and offered to help clean up. At first, he didn’t want to accept my help, but he quickly realized that, unlike him, I was full of energy.

  We gathered up dirty glasses and dishes together (most people had eaten after I left), and he led me into his apartment, specifically to the kitchen, so I could start washing the dishes. Washing up “after twenty-eight men” wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, and I suppose cleaning cigarette butts and vomit wasn’t on Derek’s either, so I made peace with the dishwashing and let the others sober up.

  While scrubbing plates and glasses, I didn’t have much to do but let my thoughts wander and focus on scrubbing every piece of porcelain spotless. Time slipped by; my phone showed eight in the morning, and I was still cleaning the pot that had been left on the stovetop all night, waiting for me along with forks, knives, and spoons. One by one, everyone slowly stirred back to life in the basement. People started gathering in the half-furnished house, filling it with pleasant noise. Conor, who lent me a lighter the night before, was sitting in the makeshift living room playing Derek’s guitar while others hummed along, explored the rooms, or, in their hangover thirst, cheerfully pestered me for water, forcing me to repeatedly stop washing up.

  This continued for quite a while. I took frequent cigarette breaks, checking in with a few guys to see if they needed anything, and if they had any complaints, I did my best to help. I washed the mugs and cups repeatedly; one wanted mineral water, another coffee, and another would simply ask for a bottle to fill with whatever, only to dump it over a friend. By ten in the morning, a strong, unfamiliar arm wrapped around my narrow waist, tossed aside my brown hair, and thanked me with a kiss on my cheek for watching over him all night. He pulled me close with his whole body; I felt his warmth, intoxicating scent, the rapid beat of his heart, everything that was just him. Surprised, I couldn’t think of a response; his gentle voice completely mesmerized me, and I returned his gesture with a hug around his neck, as that was as high as I could reach. I watched his figure as he disappeared among his friends. His spine curved gracefully, visible even beneath his loose clothes, and his long legs covered the distance quickly. When I caught a glimpse of his face, I realized that last night’s Dante was nowhere to be found. Every expression radiated happiness and relief. For the first time in years, I felt joy in someone else’s happiness.

  Since then, nothing has happened. I work, I go to the gym, my friends and I often relax in various spas, but other than that, nothing. It’s Wednesday night, eight o’clock, and I’m sitting in my own dining room, clutching my coffee cup in complete silence, trying to find answers to the questions in my head, specifically, why can’t I get this man out of my mind. Every time I try to distract myself, I suddenly see him looking at me from that moment, holding my hand; at night, when I try to fall asleep, I hear his smooth voice, and in the mornings, I feel his touch on me. If I start dreaming about him, I’ll look for a doctor, because it feels otherworldly how much his mere existence has hypnotized me.

  As I stir my coffee, strange thoughts form in my head: I think this man is no ordinary human; he is a work of art. I didn’t even realize it, but he’s completely turned my head, becoming a significant figure in my life. Every day, I wait for Mark to message me about going out for a drink, and if he reaches out for any other reason, I’m disappointed. My body doesn’t crave alcohol, but if drinking is the only way to see him again, I’d gladly spend every day at that particular bar.

  My phone beeps loudly, letting me know I have a message. I pick it up slowly, unlocking the screen with my fingerprint.

  “I’ll be a bit late, leave the door open.”

  I automatically read the message in Elizabeth’s voice, but I don’t actually open the door; if I’m expecting a close friend, the door is always open. Another notification comes in: Christopher Davis sent me a friend request. Though I’m a bit surprised, I subconsciously accept it. No one else has found me since the party; probably because no one remembered anyone else’s last name.

  During introductions, everyone’s too focused on making the best impression, so we don’t really pay attention to these “minor” details.

  I’ve been feeling strangely numb lately, constantly staring at my wall, noticing flaws in the paint. This mental state doesn’t cause any particular anxiety; I feel as if I’m stuck in time, and everything is just happening around me. It’s nice to drift along, but the thought of not knowing where I’ll end up terrifies me.

  That’s where my friend comes in. I don’t want to fall into complete lethargy during this period, so I’m happy to share my apartment with her for a few hours. Yet she’s still not here.

  I drum my fingers on the table and sip from my cup. This silence is killing me; the sound is annoying. I hope Eliza’s gentle voice will bring me some comfort.

  “Bring some cigarettes.”

  I type on my phone’s keyboard, and thankfully, she receives and reads the message right away. There’s no reply, just a heart as a quick reaction. What a language of signals... I guess that means she’ll bring some. I adore her. Twenty minutes later, she startles me out of nowhere, making my heart jump. When did she come in? Why didn’t she say hi?

  “What’s up, did I scare you?”

  “Oh, not at all...” I fan myself with my hand, feigning innocence.

  “You totally freaked out, huh?”

  “Well, okay, yes.” I chuckle as I look away, and Eliz just grabs a glass from the cabinet, fills it with tap water, and takes such a big gulp that I can hear the liquid traveling down her throat.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Why’d you call me?” she sits next to me, placing an unopened pack of cigarettes on the table.

  “Why not?”

  “Hm... Okay... But isn’t it too hot in here? Don’t you want to open a window?” I shake my head at her question.

  “Bugs would get in. Just bring the fan closer.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.” she softly laughs at my words, which I say seriously, though perhaps that’s precisely why she finds them funny.

  “All the fans are running?”

  “Of course, one in the bedroom, one in the living room, and there’s another one on top of the fridge.”

  “The one in the bathroom?”

  “Mark took it.”

  “Predictable... Ah, I’ll go grab an ashtray.” she gets up from her chair and wanders through the house in search of something to use as an ashtray. I’m not surprised when she returns with my old glass candle holder; I’d actually kept it for this exact purpose after it had burned through. My fingers are already working on the foil wrapper of the cigarette pack; as I pull one out, I place it back on the table beside Eliza’s seat. We light up together with her lighter.

  “You’ve been quieter lately...”

  “Oh, that’s what bothered you in the café last time too”.

  “Yeah, but back then, I figured it was a guy thing.” she shrugs, propping herself up on her elbow on the table. “Now, though, I have no idea what’s up.”

  “What if it’s a guy thing again?” I say in a softer tone than usual. She doesn’t look surprised; her hand freezes for a second in midair, but in less than a second, she’s back to her usual smoking routine.

  “Did something happen at that party? You still haven’t told me about it.”

  “Nothing worth mentioning, but somehow, I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe I saw too much into things.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just a hug and a kiss, a very long hug and... maybe more like a kiss! These are such little things, but still...” I sigh after taking a drag from my cigarette.

  “Just...” she repeats, rolling her eyes.

  “But it’s sticking with you. This kind of thing didn’t bother you before...” I don't say anything, just take a sip of my coffee, looking everywhere but at Elizabeth. Talking about Dante feels so difficult.

  “Why was this different?”

  “I don’t know; it surprised me... I don’t know if it surprised me that he was so quickly back to himself after being wasted, or that his first reaction was to greet me like that.”

  “Weird...” she says after a long pause, and another silence settles between us, as we just smoke, staring into space. Eliz is getting annoyed. “Why haven’t you talked to him about it yet?! You’re torturing yourself with this nonsense, acting like a grown woman! Take control of the situation!”

  “I haven’t had the chance!” I finally raise my voice, and she blinks in surprise.

  “How come?”

  “What do you mean, “how come”? I just haven’t had the chance. Period.”

  “Make one.”

  “Haah... Thanks, but no, I won’t go putting myself in an embarrassing situation voluntarily. If life makes it happen... ”

  “So you’d rather sulk?”

  “Got a problem with that?”

  “Not me; you’re the one torturing yourself, not me. But as your good friend... This can’t go on for long. Sulk it out, and then get over it as fast as you can.”

  “Fine...” another silence follows, the only sound in the room is the hum of the fan.

  “I mean, now.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “Alright, fine!” I drink the last drop of liquid from my cup and finally push it aside. “It wasn’t just a simple hug; he touched me, you know? I can’t shake his fingerprints off me; they burn and irritate me like I’m wearing them as a coat!”

  “And how does that make you feel?” my friend smirks, but I pay no attention to it.

  “Annoyed, because I don’t know where to place it! I crave his touch again, but I don’t want to feel like this.”

  “And the hug?”

  “I’ve never felt so at home in someone’s arms.” I grow serious instantly. “ It was really magical.”

  “And the kiss?”

  “Ahh... let’s not even talk about that. Only now, three weeks later, do I realize how much my skin tingles from it... This man has thrown my whole body out of whack!”

  “And do you feel the happiness hormones?”

  “Endorphins? Serotonin? Dopamine?”

  “Uh-huh...” she drags out her words, stretching her lips into a sly grin.

  “I just feel anxious because that’s all there was, you get it? Nothing has happened since then... Nothing! Not even a call! As if he were wordlessly telling me to forget the whole thing!”

  “You’re a tough case.” she puts out her cigarette. “ Little Nina Harrison is in love. I’m dying... especially because you’re experiencing it as a panic attack.”

  “I am not in love!”

  “Then you’re crazy!” she hurls the insult at me, but it doesn’t faze me much. “Feel any better?”

  “Why would I feel better? Just because I told you this doesn’t change anything, I mean... you know... telling you doesn’t change a thing.”

  “So what would make you feel better? Should I make you another coffee so you can stew on this all night?”

  “No, thanks.” I flash a mocking grin at her, which she mimics with a grimace. Finally, with a gentle smile on her face, she reaches for my hand, which still holds a nearly finished cigarette butt. She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze as I put out my cigarette next to the other. She doesn’t need to say anything; in this case, silence speaks volumes.

  The rest of the night is spent watching mindless videos. This brief, good mood lasts for about four hours, until my friend has to head home. Once again, I’m left alone with my thoughts, though now, at least, I can smoke without shame, though I still choose not to. Cigarette smoke alongside solitude doesn’t feel like good company. I’d be polluting my lungs for no reason.

  For a change, I’m not staring at the kitchen wall or the bedroom wall but curled up on my couch, scanning the TV where South Park is playing. Time keeps moving forward, yet nothing else changes. The clock shows half past midnight, and the thought that I have to go to work tomorrow stirs something unsettling in me. My soul refuses to find peace. This constant exhaustion is wearing me down because sleep won’t fix it. The pieces of my heart that have long been buried underground are now being dug up by someone, shaking my whole world. I don’t understand why he only tries to do this, why doesn’t he just do it?! I simply cannot believe he doesn’t think of me after all this; could every move be that natural in the company of a stranger? Every touch, grip, smile, the way he hugs and kisses... impossible. I can’t accept it, and I won’t. As soon as I get the chance, I’ll open up to him about it, because this whole thing, left unfinished like this... is unbearable.