Page 36 of Ship of Fools

I didn’t complain, because I liked it.

I liked it enough that I told him I loved him, because I do. He says he loves me back. It’s a sobering thing to hear.

I know one day he might not love me anymore, and I know one day he might leave. But he tells me I am stupid even thinking those thoughts, which is usually followed by a long rant about how much better his life is now I’m in it.

He has no idea what he has done to me, and neither do I. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, fuck, I don’t even know what will happen when we get home tonight. Life with him is a never-ending fantasy, and perhaps? Perhaps it’s one that will last forever.

Luca – The following Christmas

This didn’t turn out at all as I had expected. In my stupidness… no, scrap that.

I work with my dad. Brilliant. Love my job. I have the most bonkers amazing family. Ticks all my boxes for a happy life. I have the love of my life snoozing in my arms. Heaven.

Yet, his sleep is full of frets and his body is all tense, which means I can’t sleep, because in my complete and utter naïvety, I had expected Andreas’ family to be just like mine. And just like Andreas is my family, and god, he is absolutely everything to me, don’t get me wrong, I expected his family to slot right into the fantasy that now strangely is my life.

They didn’t, and I shudder with unease.

He gasps in his sleep, and turns around in my embrace, so I follow his movements with my body until he settles again, his neck warm and a little damp with sweat as I kiss the skin behind his ear.

“Go to sleep, baby.” I shush and he just sighs.

“Sorry.” He mutters.

“Sorry for what? You don’t get to be sorry for anything. Nothing. I’m right here.”

I wish it was my fault. I wish it was as simple as when I smacked him so hard that he lost his balance, and fell headfirst off the bed and got an almighty bruise on his forehead. That was fun to explain the next day. Actually, it wasn’t, because I made him stay off work, and took him to the emergency room to check for concussion. That wasn’t one of my brightest ideas, as Andreas of course told the nurse that he had tumbled off the bed in the midst of a wild rough sex session, and the nurse then called a domestic violence specialist of some sorts who came to sit with Andreas for the rest of the afternoon.

That didn’t go down well with anyone, and I bet I’m now on some Police watchlist for abusers, or some shit I don’t want to even think about, and the chat I had to endure with my parents, is not something I ever want to experience again. But it was something we could fix, and laugh about afterwards.

Even my family now laugh about it over dinner, and my dad doesn’t even blush. See? My secrets? I have none. They all get blurted out in a moment of madness, and I don’t just blame Andreas for that. I do it too, and then afterwards squirm with regret as my darling wonderful boyfriend just laughs.

No this? This is worse, and it didn’t even involve spanking, or any acts of smoking hot sex. It just involved a trip to Spain that went straight to hell. And there is nothing I can do to ever fix it.

The problem is that Andreas had planned it so well, and the full-blown disappointment that has now taken over his whole being, is what hurts to see the most. His sister was coming home, we would all be staying with their parents, there was talk of dinner, there was talk of a cocktail evening, and going out for drinks, all things that made me a little nervous to even imagine, but it was Andreas’ family and he would be there with me, glued to my side. He promised. He kissed me and promised it would all be fine.

It wasn’t, not at all, and from the minute we walked through the front door to the Mitchells’ stone-clad imposing beachside villa, things were never going to be good.

We arrived, and his mother stood nervously in the hallway blowing air kisses at the son she hadn’t laid eyes on in over a year. I remember just standing there with my jaw hanging slack. Then she hastily led us to what I can only describe as an office-type room, where Andreas’ father didn’t come to greet us, but instead half stood up from his chair, to shake his only son’s hand, before nodding and grunting something at me.

I tried to be polite and offered my hand.

He shook it, firmly, then returned to his coffee.

It wasn’t anything like coming home, and I bled on the inside from that moment.

Mrs Mitchell, who seemed happy when I called her that, took me aside and showed me to the guestroom in the basement, a nice enough room with a view of the gardens. A small single bed, made up with plush pillows and crisp sheets.

“I hope you will be comfortable here, the lower floor gets cooler at night, so you should sleep well.”

Then she left me there as I sat myself down on the bed, full of bewilderment.

I went in search of Andreas, only to find him back where I’d left him, sitting opposite his father, stern voices and loud words filling the otherwise-quiet house.

Talk about feeling like a spare wheel. I felt like a compass, spinning out of control. I was tired and weary from the long flight, the hustle of the airport and warmth in the air. I wanted a drink and a swim in the ocean. I wanted to see Andreas laugh, hear his excited chatter, as he dragged me around all the places he had told me about. He had spent all his childhood summers here, and this had been the main home for his teenaged self.

“Are you… Des’… boyfriend?” A voice says behind me. A tall woman, with Andreas’ sharp features, and an easy smile. I sigh with relief as she gives me a gentle hug.

“Lucas?” She says, and I swiftly correct her.

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