Page 25 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
The streetlights were off, drenching the roads in the pitch-black darkness of the night, a blessing in that no one would see him covered in sick. He began to walk, Castle Road only ten minutes away, and he could feel a dampness in his socks, the vomit having worked its way down the ankle of his shoes. This wasn’t how his night should have ended. It should have been full of blow jobs and orgasms. But instead of having sex he was walking home covered in someone else’s regurgitated dinner.
Castle Road turned its nose up at him as he walked down it, hishouse unhappy to see him as he stepped inside and undressed in the kitchen. He stood naked in front of the sink and rinsed his clothes off before stuffing them in the washing machine. His shoes looked at him sadly as he placed them in the bin, beyond saving, and he walked stiffly to the bathroom. The tiles on the wall felt cool beneath his palms as he stood beneath the steady stream of water from the shower, more sober now than he’d ever been in his life, and he scrubbed his skin with such force it turned red beneath his sponge. He dried himself roughly with the towel, not caring if his skin remained damp, simply thankful he’d washed away the vomit, and collapsed onto his bed completely naked with a groan.
“Fuck,” he said to himself as he reached for his phone and looked at the screen, wanting to text Bastien but knowing full well he would be passed out by now at home in his bed with his perfect boyfriend. The FullStack app remained opened, the photo of the penis still in full glory, and he grimaced before deleting the message. Was this his life now? Dick pics and vomit? And did he seriously have a seed of guilt about getting the role of Achilles over Dexter? He did what any actor would do. His agent arranged an audition, he went to it, he did his best and got the job. He rarely thought about the other people also vying for the role; he couldn’t, the industry moved so fast, and everyone seemed to know they had to roll with the punches. But he never expected Dexter Ellis to be sitting somewhere heartbroken at the role he originated being given away to someone else. Jesus Christ. He did feel guilty. The realization weighed heavily on him; it pressed him down into the mattress and turned his limbs to concrete.
He tried to swipe on FullStack, tried to distract himself with nearby men and promises of a life where he wouldn’t die alone surrounded by microwave meals and blocks of cheese. He kept his phone in his grasp as he allowed his eyelids to droop. Sleep so close, with the promise of clearing his mind. The room turned fuzzy, the alcohol still lingering in his bloodstream dulling his senses until his phone vibrated in his palm. He blinked at it, the screen far too bright against the darkness shrouding the room, and he squinted as he tried to get his head around what hewas looking at. Because there, in the stark contrast of the night, was a message illuminated in blinding white from Edward. Three little words.
I miss you.
And Jonah fell asleep in the knowledge his life was officially a complete and utter joke.
Thirteen
“Lie down in our wedding bed, let the flowers touch your skin and my hands show you how a garden can bloom.”
—“Helen,”The Wooden Horse, Act One
Dexter sipped at his bottle of water, lips wrapping around the rim, throat bobbing as he swallowed down the liquid. The sight just so happened to be the first thing Jonah saw when he stepped into the rehearsal studio. He’d been waiting for Tuesday the eleventh of June to come around, the date circled in his planner with red ink. Stage combat blocking with Dexter. Their bodies would be close, movements intricately planned, and he half expected Dexter to challenge Peter, their fight captain, with the choreography. Dexter at least dressed suitably for the occasion, no embroidered jumpers in sight, but he had on his tight joggers from yoga and an equally tight white T-shirt clinging to his body. Somehow, he made Jonah feel underdressed as he stood in the doorway, tote bag slung over his shoulder, baggy black T-shirt hanging from his torso and wearing the scruffiest gray joggers in the universe.
“Oh, hi,” Dexter said when he saw him, placing his water bottle down on the little table beside the mirrored wall. “Peter isn’t here yet.”
“I can see that,” Jonah replied, walking over to the table to dump his bag down on it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see two missed calls from his mum and one from his aunt, then sighed. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “I need to step out and make a call. If Peter arrives, can you tell him I won’t be long?”
As Jonah turned to leave, Dexter reached for him, his touch gentle ashis fingertips brushed against Jonah’s elbow. “Um,” he said, cheeks reddening. “Did I throw up on you Saturday night?”
“Oh. Yeah. You did.” Images of Dexter in the back of the car flooded Jonah’s mind. How vulnerable he seemed, how honest the alcohol made him, and how, right now, Jonah didn’t feel the animosity he once felt for him. He couldn’t waste his life hating someone who was clearly just as insecure as himself; where would it get him? Covered in vomit again, maybe, but at least he could try not to wake with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth each morning.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I had this hazy image of doing it, but I wasn’t sure if it was a dream, and I’m so embarrassed.”
Jonah could still feel Dexter’s fingers ghosting his skin. “It’s okay, it happens,” he said. The memory still haunted him two days later, but no, he was letting it go. Positive vibes. “I threw up on someone once, so I guess it was finally time for someone to do it to me.”
Dexter smiled and dropped his hand, the whisper of his touch still burning Jonah’s skin despite the retreat. “Well. Um. Okay, thanks for not being a dick about it. Um, can I ask you something?”
“Sure?”
“Can we totally forget that ever happened? Can we just... move on and be civil? We need to work together, after all.” So, Dexter maybe had the same idea as Jonah. A new beginning, a line drawn under the weird and frankly ridiculous start they gave to each other.
“It’s fine. Forget it.” Jonah offered him a smile, but Dexter’s words in the back of the car Saturday night still played over in his head.Achilles is mine. Forgiveness was all fine and good, but that sentiment wouldn’t leave him. Perhaps holding Dexter at arm’s length would be the best course of action; though... he certainly wouldn’t mind if their legs pressed together in the back of a car again. Jonah turned from him, and this time Dexter didn’t stop him as he left the studio.
Outside, the sun sat high in the sky, warming the city with its buoyant rays and yellow hues. The studio sat nestled away in the heart of Covent Garden, the pavement mismatched and utterly charming. It remindedJonah of the winding streets back in St. Ives, the streets he used to know like the back of his hand as a child, streets that would no doubt welcome him with open arms if he were to return there. Leave London. Perhaps one day when the theatre no longer sang to him, though he doubted that would ever happen. His stomach tried to crawl up his throat as he thought of his mum back by the sea, so far away, and he quickly pressed her number on his phone and waited for her to reply. It barely took one ring.
“Jonah,” she said, breathless. God, why did she always sound so breathless these days? “I’m sorry to bother you.”
A sinking feeling made his stomach plummet from his throat right back to where it belonged. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Her voice cracked as tears made their way across the miles between them. “A fox got the chickens.”
Jonah felt slightly bad at the relief he had knowing her chickens were the reason for her tears rather than his dad. “Oh Mum,” he said, tone soft, comforting. “I’m so sorry.” The sound of a bottle clinked in the background.
“It took them all. Even my lovely Beryl. I didn’t hear a peep last night, or I would have gone out to them.” Her sobs became hysterical. “I tried to talk to your dad about it, but he said we didn’t have any chickens and that made me mad, so then I shouted at him, and I don’t want to shout at him.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “And then he fell when he tried to get out of the lounge chair without help and he broke my mother’s vase, the one with the rabbits on, and he cut his hands all up, and I just can’t do this anymore, Jonah.”
“Right,” he said, deciding he needed to take control of the situation then or he never would. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to make some calls today. I’ve got a work thing this morning, but as soon as I’m done, I’m going to look into some homes for him, okay? Then I will call you tomorrow, and we can make a plan.”
“I’m not asking you to do that.”
“I know. I want to do it. Then, once we’ve made a plan, I will book some time off work and I will help you.”
“Your work is important to you.”
