‘After that, I never want to see you or hear from you ever again. Is that clear?’
‘Leo, I am really sorry.’
‘I can’t even look at you. How could you? Fuck. Fuck! Who does that?!’
He started crying and sobbing.
‘Whenever I have been upfront, people can be horrible. They judge you; they think you don’t matter, that you’re diseased. You didn’t look at me like that.’
‘Jimmy, find me a flight. I don’t want to hear your life story. I don’t give a fuck, frankly.’
‘Leo, please. Once you get to London, do some research. You’ll discover I am right. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘You know what? I have to take meds every single fucking day and I haven’t done so since I went to Paris with you. I know how easy it is to forget. I am not going to trust you or your fucking dickhead friend. You fucked up. We are done.’
We walked back to the flat in silence.
I threw my things in my bag. I dried my tears.
‘Why don’t you sleep here tonight?’ he asked.
I looked at him as if he was completely insane. Sleeping there? With him? Deluded fucker.
‘Is my car downstairs?’
‘Yeah. Here’s your money as well.’ He gently put the notes on a table.
I grabbed them immediately and just gave him a look of despise.
‘Please let me know if you land and get home safe.’
‘Go to hell, Jimmy.’
I walked out and slammed the door behind me. I started crying again.
I was fucked.
My life was fucked.
CHAPTER 21
£2987.84
I couldn’t shut my brain up. I couldn’t stop thinking where I could have prevented this situation. I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid I had been. I couldn’t blame anyone other than myself. I was staring at the window of my seat. I was in business class. Remorse is a bitch. He had even given me more money than promised. What would my life with HIV be like? How many people would I need to call, to prompt them to get tested? How would I tell my friends? I felt like my heart had been stabbed with a thousand needles.
I was the only person on the plane chugging straight bourbon at such an early hour of the day. I couldn’t eat. I hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours and I didn’t care. I hadn’t slept at all during my wait at the airport or during the flight. My anger was keeping me awake.
I was going to live with the disease for the rest of my already miserable life. I was thankful for not having slept with Duncan.
Imagine that. Imagine having to tell the sweetest guy in the world that I had fucked up so badly. That I was so fucked up.
I wanted a hot shower. Boiling, even. I’d get home, get changed and immediately go to see Sara. I could bet she was mad. Angry at me for not being there, when she had always been there for me. Every single time I needed support.
I didn’t deserve her.
I was no best man. I was the worst man.
The plane started its descent into London. For the first time I wasn’t nervous about turbulence or the plane making sudden movements. I couldn’t care less if we crashed.
I had hit rock bottom.
The flat felt different. There was a coldness to it. Flat boxes were scattered around the rooms. Andrew wasn’t home. I couldn’t even remember if he was in the country. That’s how little I had paid attention to other people around me. I put down my weekender bag. I felt weak.
I dragged my feet towards the bathroom and opened the shower tap. I wanted it to be boiling. I hadn’t slept all night, so I felt exhausted, but incapable to rest. I took off my clothes. I had every intention to throw them away. I didn’t need any more reminders of what had happened in Prague.
I felt dirty.
I put my naked body under the running water. I put my head under it. I had a headache. I felt feverish. I put my face under the burning water. Images of the night before kept flashing through my mind. Would things have been different if I hadn’t gone there? I would have been with Sara straight away; I could have picked up the pieces. I could have been the friend she thought I was.
Instead I was out and about, testing my luck.
It took me twenty minutes to leave the shower. The bathroom was engulfed in steam. I couldn’t see anything. I wrapped myself in a bath towel and left the room. I was cold; my hair was still dripping onto my shoulders. I’d shiver at each drop. My eyes were about to burst into tears.
The thought alone of going to the hospital and getting tested scared the hell out of me. Reading those pamphlets in the waiting room, the ones that would tell you how much easier life with HIV was now, compared to fifty years prior. There would be happy, empowered gays telling you how they do it. There would be information on the kind of meds you’d have to take for the rest of your life. They’d never tell you you’d get to live for as long as a person that didn’t have the virus. They’d say, ‘a fairly long life.’ Whatever that meant.
My father didn’t live a long life.
I didn’t bother drying my hair properly, so I just put a beanie on. I put on a white shirt and a pair of slim trousers. I didn’t care about looking good. I just wanted to see her.
Apologise to her.
I was sitting in the back of a car taking me to St. Pancras Hospital. I had a bunch of flowers in my hand. I wasn’t even sure if that would be an appropriate gift for a sick man. I didn’t know. I never visited anyone at the hospital. We were nearly there.
I was trying to think of what to say to her. I needed to tell her the truth. I needed to stop hiding stuff from people.
I got out of the car and walked through the hospital’s main entrance. My pace was slow. I wanted to drag the walk. I walked towards reception. There was a bubbly woman who called me ‘darling.’ I asked her where they’d keep a man who had a heart attack the day before. It wasn’t too far from where I was.
I walked towards cardiology. The hospital was clean, cyan walls and yellow accents. There were signs everywhere; they made it difficult for you to get lost. The hospital smell was harsh, sterile. I had goose bumps just being there. I was terrified of doctors, needles and everything that happened within those walls.
I still remember those times when my dad would take me to the hospital to beg for used needles and would leave me sitting in the waiting room for what felt like hours.
Then a familiar face appeared, as smooth as a child’s with eyes that hadn’t seen sleep for quite a few hours. Alfie yawned his way to me.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Where is she? What’s been going on?’
‘She is very upset. I just left her, as I have to go to work, but she’s in the waiting room with her mum and sister.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Just straight down there,’ he said while pointing at the corridor behind him. ‘You can’t miss it.’
‘Okay, thank you.’
‘Please make sure she eats something. I don’t want her to pass out.’
‘Will do, thanks.’
We gave each other a hug, and I watched him until he disappeared behind the door.
I turned around and made my way to the waiting room. My heart was beating so fast, I was glad I was in cardiology. I wondered if anxiety could cause me to have a heart attack.