Page 9 of Monarch
“Is it worth me going there? While I’m here, I mean?”
Roos chokes on a mouthful of hot chocolate, and she’s still laughing after she’s put the mug down.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, bemused and bewildered.
“I can’t believe I don’t know why you’re even in Amsterdam, and yet I know you’re a rigger. I don’t even know how long you’re here for, but I know you like wax play!”
I start to laugh with her. It is pretty funny. And kind of unusual. Special, even.
“I’m here for a tattoo convention,” I say after we calm a little. “For four days in total. But I got here yesterday, so… I fly out Tuesday morning.”
Roos’ cheeks are pink from her laughter, and her blonde hair curls around her shoulders in a way that has me itching to run my fingers through it.
“That’s very cool,” she says. “And yes, you should try QISS. Although it’s quite difficult to get in as a visitor.”
“Oh.” I feel more defeated than I expect. “How would I get in?”
“A member would need to invite you, vouch for you. I know one.” Her eyes glaze over again. It intrigues me more and more every time it happens. “But that’s a dead end now. I also know a bouncer there, so it really depends-”
“Wait! Is he a trans guy?”
Roos frowns at me. “Yeah, why?”
“HungTransMan on K1NK?”
“Yeah, that’s his handle. How do you…” She glances at my phone. “Oh, was he the one who ghosted you?”
It’s my turn to blush. “Yeah.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Joel is also a paramedic and pulls crazy long shifts, then sleeps for like ten straight hours. He’ll be in touch.” She looks me up and down, and my nipples immediately tighten. “I know it.”
“It feels like Amsterdam is a bit of a village,” I say. “Like everybody knows everybody.”
Roos leans in conspiratorially. “Or everybody has slept with everybody.”
We laugh together again, and when I take a sip of hot chocolate, I use the mug to hide my big, uncontrollable smile.
The best part about this evening is not that I’ve been able to share something I’m starting to understand is an important but complicated part of myself, although that is fucking wonderful. The best part of this evening hasn’t been that I found a little queer corner and access to a queer and kink community, although that makes meirrationally excited. The best part has been that, since I sat down in this bar, I haven’t thought about Lexi once.
And yet, today, they were all I could think about.
That’s why I was at the art gallery. I figured if I could just go and maybe see them, or even just their artwork, then maybe it would get them out of my system. They would stop being an enigma, a skeleton in my cupboard, and now, apparently, my suitcase in Amsterdam. They could be reduced to their most human, fallible, mistake-making self. Maybe if I saw them, or their art, I would be reminded just how much they hurt me and just how much I need to let them go.
But I didn’t even make it through the door.
Instead, I met Roos.
Now if that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.
Chapter Four
Roos
This is not how I imagined my day ending, I think as Mari and I leave the cosy brown bar. Two hours we were inside, talking about everything from kink to work to Amsterdam to growing up in small towns. Not once did I even think about Lex. Not once did I berate myself for going to xir exhibition at the art gallery. Not once have I ached with missing xem like I have nearly constantly since xe left my apartment six months ago.
Night has cloaked the city in darkness while we were inside, but as I lead Mari further down Utrechtsestraat, the streetlights, passing bike lights, and the lit-up blue and white trams mean it’s easy to see everything around us. And yet I find my eyes keep drifting towards them.
They’re cute. I established that much within minutes of my eyes falling on them once the double vision from the bang to my head had faded away. They are plump with full cheeks, a slightly upturned nose, blue eyes that twinkle like stars, and feminine make-up – thick eyeliner, purple eyeshadow, pink blush. But their clothes lean towards being more masculine, black overalls above what looks like a vintage rugby shirt. Their dark green wax jacket is at least three sizes too big for them, and their Doc Marten boots look like they could be as old as we are. It’s their mile-long handmade scarf that adds the pop of colour that really suits what little I know of Mari’s personality. With stripes of random colours, I can’t help but watch as they wrap it around their neck over and over again, and it makes me think of one of the Doctor Whos who had a long-striped scarf likethat. A pang of nostalgia, or maybe homesickness, hits me. I used to watch old VHS recordings of Doctor Who with my dad as a kid.
