What In The World III

Anne. 'In the middle of the night it seems alright but then tomorrow morning, oooh, ooh then you come down...' Rational voices of rational things I used to rationally pay attention to drift into my head as I do my best to focus on the objects in front of me. The sudden sense of unhealthiness drifted in through my window approximately eight minutes ago, and I knew I needed to sleep instantly. Six minutes ago I tried; five minutes ago I realised it wasn't going to happen, four minutes ago I got up and took my favourite little chemistry experiment from the freezer where it had been for around one hour. Just enough.
From the cupboards around the fridge I took a glass so clear it was practically sparkling, a plate, a pipette, four coffee filters, and a small spoon. The solution in the freezer looked perfect- I knew tonight that good timing was imperative as I had foreseen this somewhat dazed state I am now shortly to be rid of. The cocktail, technically legal, might I add, had begun life as a simple precaution. I know myself well enough to realise what may or may not be necessary on a night like this.
These objects sit on the glass table in front of me. My flat is clean- firstly out of boredom, but largely out of the need for space to work. This gives the whole thing, through tired eyes, the look of a wonderfully intricate setup for a chemistry event to be canonised in the future, and as I begin the therapeutic process of abusing painkillers I feel almost dreamy enough to sleep without ingesting them.
Of course, this shan't happen.
I filter the strange residue into the glass, out of the glass, and back into the glass. By the time I have finished, the solution could be water, but reeks of chemicals. Since I am thus far too numb to feel any sense of the aforementioned rationality, I reason that my mouth will be correspondingly desensitized, and I drink the now half-full glass in one go.
As the liquid neither burns nor cools my mouth I wonder if this dose, slightly more than usual -it's been a worse week than usual- will have any permanent negative effects. As I place the glass down on the table and wait for the tiniest feelings to flood out of me again I wonder if I'll die tonight. I've thought that a lot recently. As I lie back on the sofa and watch the ceiling fade away I wonder if this is what my purpose is, in this life, to lie back and drink codeine and wait for days to pass. As I shut my eyes, consciously but losing it, I remember the face of the boy who last reduced me to hibernation. His white-clad form takes an unearthly, angelic aura in my mind's eye, rapidly becoming more disturbing. I didn't want, I don't think, I wasn't aiming for an undisturbed sleep. Just a complete one. An unconsciousness of the rest of the world, for a while. I'm going to try and stay here as long as possible, I think, and I finally lose my grip on outside.

Yves. I'm now in the middle of the room, still with Shirley, and Sally-Ann has gone to get us more drinks. Drinks here are strange colours and flavours and now she's heading towards me with something lilac. I definitely shouldn't trust whatever's in that glass but that seems totally irrelevant as I take it off her with a smile like I've known them for years, because that's kind of how it feels right now. We're all dancing to something so bizarre I wouldn't even attempt to put a genre to it. It sounds like it's being played by an alien with twenty arms who has only ever heard Jazz music played backwards. Perhaps accompanied by a drum machine from the nineties, to bring it into the realm of the playable.
I'm starting to think I could stay here forever. It definitely deserves a second visit. I have no idea what the time is, or how long I've been here. I remember that we were here with other people, and scan the room for familiar faces, noting instantly the lack of the two indisputably weirdest characters present this evening.
-Where are Christie and Gabriel?
Sally-Ann snorts with laughter. Shirley, the voice of rationality, but not really in this state of inebriation speaks.
-I can't give away his exact whereabouts, but I'll bet you anything that Christopher Stone is currently doing something bad and morally wrong.
-And Gabriel's most likely reprimanding him in a bathroom somewhere.
They both burst into fits of giggles, and I find this so funny I realise I've forgotten completely about any former sense of self-consciousness I had previously harboured. It all seems so mad, now, to think that I ever had that feeling of being careful to not offend people's sense of normality.
-Yves, we never asked you, what do you think of everyone here?
-Yeah, what do you think of all of us freaks? Are we quite the difference from your apparently middle-class community roots?
These questions seem ridiculous, is it not obvious I couldn't be more in love with this place?
-My background wasn't middle-class!
Surely that's not the only response I can think of?
-This is the weirdest situation I have ever been in and I'm worried I'm addicted. I've elected you two as my rehab officers but I'm making this prediction right now-if you'll be kicking any habits out of me, it's going to be that of remembering suburbia. Everyone here is strange and sort of amazing, and I keep seeing improbable things. I want to get to know Hanne, actually.
Shirley gives that priceless laugh.
-And what about Gabriel?
-Gabriel makes me feel like always jumping to the most stupid conclusions. I thought he had magic powers when he invited me to his flat earlier on. I think he might be psychic. I think he's really weird.
-Sounds about right!
Sally-Ann slinks her arm around my shoulders and knocks her glass to mine, everyone is very happy.
-And Christie! What do you think of Christie?
-Oh come on, Shirley, no one knows what to think of Christie...
-No, I do- I think I'm judging him far too soon, and I think he's amazing to have somehow outsmarted Gabriel, in whatever way he does. I think I've been immersed in a world of misfits and oddballs who think far too highly of themselves but in the best way possible.
-...profound.
-Yes. Obviously you need more to drink.
Shirley disappears. I'm now thinking about Gabriel, I hadn't really thought about what I think of him now I've heard all that I have done. And have a slight inkling of what's going on with him and Christie. I want to talk about it now, because I suddenly love the tipsy slur in my voice, perception slightly altered, and my views looking much more acceptable to be poured into the world of this low-ceilinged nightclub. I'm about to begin when I'm struck with an awful sense of myself, but it flashes past when the music climbs into crescendo once again.
-Gabriel has a cat.
Pencilled eyebrows raise high above fake-lashed eyes of bright blue. The look tells me I just said something quite strange, but she rescues me instantly.
-Yes. Sometimes we think he actually feels emotion towards it. Like, real emotion. If anything happened to that cat I think bad things would happen to Gabriel.
-They do seem to associate with each other quite strongly. Is it a Russian Blue?
What am I talking about?
-It is.
Move on to not talking about cats. Try and do it smoothly.
-It likes my legs. Not as much as Gabriel's legs though.
-Yeah, Gabriel has nice legs.
-He does.
-What are you two on about? Sal, have you turned him queer already?
Shirley has returned and I begin to breathe normally out of relief for this distraction from my distinctly horrendous attempt at casual conversation. These people are unusual, but not that unusual.
-Gabriel is a lovely person, by the way. Christie doesn't deserve him,
Sally-Ann has clearly detected the correct direction in which this conversation should have gone.
-That's what I was thinking. I mean, I don't know whether I think Gabriel is a lovely person yet, I haven't spoken to him in that much depth. He does seem a lot nicer than most people I know, at least. But yes, it sounds like Christie's a bit harsh towards him. Was it me or did he not look that comfortable with the situation when Christie arrived?
Shirley nods sympathetically.
-Yes, yes, that's what I thought. The thing is though, sometimes I think Gabriel doesn't want...this...whatever it is, with Christie, but the thing about Christie is that he can talk anyone round to anything.
-He doesn't sound like the nicest of people to me...
-But that's the thing. When you've...properly met him, Christie is amazing, and you will love Christie.
I don't think so, personally. My allegiance now lies with Gabriel out of proxy, he, after all, is the reason I'm in this place.
A slower song comes on and we drift back towards the velvety sofas in the corner, where a tasseled lamp provides a secretive atmosphere.
I sit in between them both. I have a vague feeling of the caricature image of an angel/devil conscience, which seems absurd, and I laugh. I feel lightheaded, and no longer like discussing the darker intricacies of life here. I'm just about coming to terms with the fact that I genuinely care about these people after knowing them for simply a matter of hours, and the revelation that this is my life now seems to travel in waves over my head, lapping against me every now and then.
We sit, moving gently to the descending bassline in that way that people can never help, a happy, comfortable silence.
-So Gabriel's probably with Christie now...
I break the silence absentmindedly, but it's now overly obvious what was going through my head.
-Yeah. But I get the feeling he doesn't want to be, tonight. I don't blame him, actually. I'd be out of there by now if it were me...
-I don't know that for sure, Shirley, it's got to be hard to be 'out of there' when it's Christie...you and I both know what he can be like...
It's my turn to feel my eyebrows disappear into my hairline as I realise what the look Sally-Ann shoots her is insinuating.
-You mean..you...both of you?
I can't help but be slightly shocked and a little bit amazed. Too many unknown concepts in one evening, is what I blame the question on my face on.
-Yes...
Sally-Ann says with a sigh,
-Simultaneously.
Shirley snickers under her breath. She looks up at her friend with the eyes of a misbehaving schoolchild.
-You two...that's outrageous.
-Christie is outrageous.
Shirley says simply. She's probably right.
I'm still wondering whether to ignore the part of me that wants to enquire further when someone lightly touches my arm, and a low voice says
-Do you want to go now, Yves?
It's Gabriel. I don't want to go, particularly, but at the same time, I don't want to not go with Gabriel for fear of either getting lost or missing out on an adventure. On top of this, there's a slight weariness in his voice that makes me think he really, really wants to leave now. I'm a little overcome with a kind of sympathy for him, but the arctic look in his eyes tells me he can very much look after himself. Seeing him smile with his mouth and observe with his eyes makes me firmly believe that not even a master of psychology, not even the infamous Christie Stone, could do anything to this guy, emotionally.
-Okay, you two, it was lovely to meet you. Hopefully I'll see you very soon,
I say to Shirley and Sally-Ann, who both stand up to kiss me on either cheek.
-Yves, darling, you're always welcome as far as we're concerned. Gabe, don't let this one out of your sight, we haven't finished gossiping about you.
Gabriel looks at Shirley sardonically, but there's warmth there. I pick up my coat and we start to leave. I can't help but look around to see who's still there, and I'm not surprised when it's everyone except Christie. I trust that I'd have noticed him by now if he was still here.
Outside, the cold air takes me by surprise, and I hurriedly put on my coat as Gabriel waves down a taxi impressively fast. I climb in, and Gabriel joins me in the backseat.
-So what did you think of the big city nightlife, country boy?
He says it with a smirk on his face, but I get the feeling that my answer is a little important to him.
-I'll be honest, it wasn't much compared to the local charity barn dance in my hometown...
This earns me an almost-laugh, and I think that's about as much as people get from this guy.
-In all seriousness, it was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced and I want to spend all of my life there. Sally-Ann and Shirley are my new favourite people.
-Hmm. That's good, I suppose.
He smiles, and turns back to face the window. Not another word is exchanged for the remainder of the twenty minute journey, but the silence is not uncomfortable. I'm happy to be lost in my own thoughts, replaying the whole evening in my head, allowing the effects of whatever strangely coloured chemicals I may have ingested tonight to wash over me. The sound of late-night cars is a nice fading of the volume, but I know that my ears will ring once we reach the flat.
When the taxi stops, it's almost unexpected. Gabriel seems unfazed as he climbs out elegantly, long legs unfurling onto the pavement below. He cuts an impressive figure as he strides a pace in front of me towards the front door. As he climbs the stairs I get an acute sense of his not being in any way affected by alcohol tonight, although I could swear I saw him drinking. As we get to my floor, he doesn't slow down, and I assume this means he's just not saying goodnight. A little impolite, but I'm not that taken aback. I get out my key and walk in the direction of my door on the landing as he approaches the next block of stairs.
-What are you doing?
He's turned around on the third step.
-...I live here?
I try, questioningly.
-..oh.
He sounds surprised.
-I thought you knew I lived here?
-Yes, I do, but I was under the impression you would be joining me for a cup of tea, perhaps. But if you want to go home, that's fine.
-No, no-
I don't mention the fact that nowhere in the whole evening had he ever mentioned tea, and follow him quickly, my step infinitely less controlled than his. I feel clumsy as I rush up to join him. The corners of his mouth curve as he looks down his nose at my sudden enthusiasm. I've never thought of myself as at all inelegant before, but then again, I've never had to compare myself with someone who walks like a stick insect trained for the Russian ballet. I'd say he stalks, rather than walks. I follow him up another staircase, wondering why I didn't think twice about tea. I suppose the company would be nice.
We get to his door and the cat greets us-
-What's she called?
-He. Picasso.
I knew it was a he, I remember, but this trivial information appears to have failed me.
-Hello, Picasso,
I scratch the cat's ears, loving how instantly affectionate it is. I've always been neutral towards cats, but I decide to adore this one.
-In here.
A voice calls, after some amount of time. Obviously I have been talking to the cat for the amount of time it takes to make tea. I don't want to leave it, so I pick it up, it's grey limbs rewardingly compliant in my inexpert arms. I walk into Gabriel's living room, where he sits once again on the sofa, facing vaguely the empty space on the other end of it, obviously a cue for me to sit there. My tea is in a tasteful dark blue mug on the table, I can smell as I get nearer that it has the right amount of sugar in. I'd almost forgotten about that bizarre exchange earlier on, and get the funny feeling that Gabriel doesn't forget how people take their tea.
On the table are unopened envelopes, evidently a pile of spam mail, judging by the spelling variations on the name 'Gabriel'. His last name is Vincent. I run it through my mouth mentally, considering how nicely it fits.
-Gabriel Vincent.
I think I accidentally just said that out loud.
-Yes?
He looks puzzled and I completely don't blame him. Change the subject before he realises you're insane, Yves...
-Tonight was great. Where were you?
I feel a little guilty for asking but I like to get someone's personal perspective on things. I want to find out how much he trusts me.
Without hesitation, he responds.
-I was with Christie,
he says, bluntly.
-Oh?
I say, trying to keep my voice casual, so he doesn't know my preconceptions. Except he clearly, clearly does.
-Yes. What do you think of him?
That's obviously a trap.
-I didn't hear him speak.
-No, but you heard about him speaking. Didn't you?
He's locked his eyes on mine, they freeze any prevarications I could have had lined up to make him think I'm actually a nice person who doesn't gossip about people.
-Yes. I think he sounds very interesting, and I think he looks very interesting.
-And what do you think about him and me?
-I think that whatever relationships you have are none of my business, as I'm pretty much a total stranger...
-And what else do you think? Come on, Yves, what would you think if you weren't just a total stranger?
-I'd think he should be nicer to you.
It sounds stupid as soon as it leaves my mouth, and his smile confirms what a waste of sound and air that sentence was, and I blush horribly.
-Well, that's nice of you, Yves.
There's humour in his voice, mocking humour, I'm instantaneously irked by this.
-Why these questions, Gabriel? Surely this is totally irrelevant? Are you just making me say ridiculous things because you get a kick out of it?
-I'm just seeing where you stand on this issue. And testing what awful gossips Sally-Ann and Shirley are.
-Right.
I sip my tea as an excuse to not meet his gaze. I don't feel awkward, as such, not appropriate to the situation at hand, I feel more like I've been tricked by a friend. I can't quite understand any of this. I'm going to need much more tea at this rate.
Gabriel is quiet for a while, and I resolutely inspect the table with a stubborn pout as I try my best to ignore his eyes on the side of my face.
-We're not together, you know.
He says, quietly, suddenly.
I look around in surprise, really. I wasn't actually expecting that.
-You're not?
I'm naturally inclined to find out more. Humans are, after all, only ever looking for information on each other. Only trying to dig out pieces of other people to make sure they aren't alone, and to make sure they know what's going on. A kind of instinctive arrogance, the need to know more about other people. To know as much as they can while giving away as little as possible of themselves.
-No, we're not.
The quiet resumes for another unknown period of time.
-Do you...do you care, I mean, about what Christie does, then? What he's like, to you and everyone else?
Pause.
-I used to. I don't think I really do anymore. He's beautiful, and the most fascinating person I thought I'd ever know, but after this long, I like to think he's lost his effect on me. Of course, I won't disassociate myself with him entirely because of my attachment to what I used to feel towards him, and secondarily out of convenience, but I don't think I do care what or who he does right now.
He says all of this quietly, flowingly, but sighingly. He's no longer looking at me, and as I chance a peek at his expression I see that the former ice caves in his head have melted, to sadly serene pools of some kind of acceptance. He's looking down, at the table, but I get the distinct impression he's looking far, far past it.
I'm overwhelmed with a sort of sadness for him, I'm sympathetic, but unsure why. For anyone else I'd say they'd be fine, right now, but although he appears to have let go entirely of whatever affection he ever had for Christie, there's an incredible sense of loss about him. A fatigue, perhaps, of where he is in his own timeline.
I've never been good in situations where someone needs comforting, so it's just as well that he doesn't appear to himself, but for some reason, I reach out quite naturally and touch his shoulder, a gesture that in the parallel universe where normal things happen that I appear to have left, would be reasonable and nice. Instead, it's just slightly electric.
He turns his head with a sigh, and I take my hand back quickly for fear of having done the wrong thing entirely yet again. He looks like he's about to move and I prepare myself for the inevitable moment in which he stands up as a hint that I should leave immediately, as I am far too socially awkward to bear company any longer.
Instead though, he moves towards me, and I am less surprised than I thought I would be when he reaches for the side of my face he's been touching with his eyes for all this time. His fingers are cold, in a way that brings welcome relief to my burning cheek. As his pale face moves towards me the day flashes just behind my eyes, what little conversation I've had with him replays itself in a mixed-up fashion.
Just as the words 'divine, angelic, holy, me' scramble themselves around in this memory-cassette, his lips meet mine and the words become twisted into meaninglessness. I realise, as we kiss, exactly how ironic he was being when he said that. I could not imagine that there is a feeling any further away from angelic, as Gabriel Vincent removes my sanity a little more with every touch of his hand.