Page 15 of Back Room Host

I didn’t object to that. I just wiped the sweat from my face and followed him into the ring. But after ten intensive minutes and still no sense of relief, I threw my hands up in frustration.

“It’s no use!” I exclaimed.

Dario sighed. The broad-shouldered trainer had known me for six years and had become familiar with my tendencies. “You can forget about a fight,” he said dryly. “First, you need to calm down.”

I smirked. “Are you still playing the social worker?”

“No, but I also learn from mistakes. When I sent you into the last competition, you were so stressed out that you broke your opponent’s nose.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“Believe what you want! But anyway. Tell me what’s bothering you. That’ll work better.”

I pressed the sweat towel to my face and reached for the water bottle. Dario put the mitts away and sat down next to me on the bench. It took me about two years to dare to open up to him. Tirelessly, he had shown me time and again that he had my back, even though he had been assigned to me. But ultimately, he gave me back some of my lost confidence with the training and helped more than the psychotherapy I had been sentenced to.

“My mentor is already pessimistic and recommends that I add another semester if I can’t come up with a flawless concept soon.”

“That’s your problem?” Dario asked in an incredulous tone.

“Fuck, man! I gave her a treatment! A finished treatment!”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s an outline for movies. I know that it’s not yet a finished concept like they want, but this thing is good! I could turn it into a screenplay right away or use it as the basis for a short film. And the mentor’s best suggestion is for me to get in touch with my fellow students.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

I raised my eyebrows. Dario knew perfectly well that I hadn’t made any effort to make friends since the incident with Jérôme on the roof. The time in juvenile detention had opened my eyes completely and showed me that I couldn’t count on anyone but myself. Yes, I had lost trust in people six years ago. Quite late for a seventeen-year-old who had been bullied for years, but hope dies last, as they say.

“And what would be the solution?” Dario asked genuinely interested.

“I need a source of inspiration,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like back then with Matteo.”

“Then why don’t you call him?”

I laughed and made a grunting sound. “He wants nothing to do with me anymore.”

“And when did that happen?” Dario asked suspiciously.

“Oh … last year,” I replied quietly. “Right after the submission.”

“Why am I not surprised that I didn’t know about this?” Dario sighed. “What happened?”

“You’re asking now?”

“You thought that if you let the matter rest, I wouldn’t care anymore. Wrong. I’m too much into gossip for that. So … spill it.”

I chewed on my lower lip, nervously tapped one leg, and glanced at Dario, feeling hesitant and unsure. But he wouldn’t let up as he continued staring at me. “Well, he claimed he was in love with me, which is completely absurd. And when I told him that, he freaked out. Accused me of using him and called me a selfish asshole.” With a shrug, I finished the story.

“Oh, Luca.” Dario shook his head in bewilderment. “It’s okay if you’re not in love with him, but what if I say that Matteo really did fall in love with you?”

I squinted at Dario, unable to speak. The idea seemed ridiculous. Instead, I thought of the dark-haired guy, Juri, who had caused a scene at the café last Friday.

He would have been perfect.

Too bad he slipped away from me.

6

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