I tentatively slid a hand on his stomach, pressing my palm against his shirt to feel the heat of his body and his firm muscles go rigid just under the tight fabric. I tightened my grip on his shirt and stood on my toes, pinning my chin to the soft spot between his neck and his shoulder. I lifted my head up and, with my heart in my throat, I whispered into his ear, “I don’t know what you think about me, but I’m not a delicate little virgin. There’s no need to sugarcoat this.” I took a short breath and bit my lip. “What if you want to screw me? I’m okay with it. I’ll do all kinds of dirty things for you and I’ll take the blame once you’re finished with me. You can fuck me merciless and call me a whore and you don’t even have to touch me. You don’t have to feel guilty toward your boyfriend, because this is who I am. It will be all my fault.”
I felt his body grow tense as I spoke, and suddenly Roberto yanked me away by the hips and just stared at me with an indistinguishable expression. His jaw worked and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you serious about this, James?”
I swallowed some air and the only thing I could say was, “Yes.” My heart was pounding furiously in my chest, so strong it echoed deeply inside my ears and I paused, still not understanding why he wouldn’t say anything. “You can do everything to me,” I whispered with a broken voice.
He took a deep breath and placed a hand on the back of my head. I whimpered in anticipation, almost expecting him to push me down on my knees in front of him. I wet my lips, looking forward to it.
But instead, he pulled me to his chest. He buried his face in my hair and pressed a delicate, single kiss on top of my head, while his other arm settled on my back, drawing me closer. My eyes were wide open and unfocused, and I just couldn’t understand what was happening. The tiny, ugly sting of discomfort in the pit of my stomach that I had been feeling and trying to repress the whole time slowly grew bigger, making me tremble and wish I could disappear in the warmth of his arms.
“I don’t know what kinds of men you’ve been with until now,” Roberto’s voice whispered sweetly into my hair. “But that’s not me.”
A broken sound left my gullet and I pushed my face deeper into his chest, while my whole body was in pain; the tearing hurt originating from my stomach ate me up, stabbed my heart, crawled in my veins and made me lose any strength that I had left in my limbs.
I kept repeating in my head that if my eyes were wet, it was all the alcohol’s fault.
◆◆◆
A strong headache woke me up the next morning. I rolled in the bed, helplessly trying to fall asleep again, before I gave up and turned on my phone. I had 3 notifications from Jenn: a selfie we took in the park, a text saying she wanted to know everything that happened with Roberto and an audio message of her describing her hangover. I just replied that I felt like shit as well and that nothing happened with Roberto and then I stared for half an hour at the ceiling, thinking of the “nothing” that had actually happened. He rejected me again. I thought I wanted us to just fuck already and check that off the list of the things that had to be done, but when he said no… I was relieved.
Roberto was different from any other guy I had had sex with. And even though that was the reason why I could never have him, I was glad he wasn’t like the others. I was glad I had at least the opportunity to know that someone like him existed, to know that somewhere far away, on the other side of the globe, there was a lucky son of a bitch who was loved and cherished and treasured by a man like Roberto. Whoever Roberto loved had to be an amazing person themselves.
I smiled painfully into the pillow, realizing that finally my crush was over. I had no hope left. But now that there weren’t any loose ends with him, I could be his friend. At least for the next three weeks.
I was in a foul mood all day. Mary was insufferable and pissy because she had not been allowed to go out at the club with me last night– and I was thankful she hadn’t – and Mom randomly asked me some subtle questions masked as genuine curiosity about Italian clubs to understand if she should take me to the hospital to get me tested for HIV again. They both finally shut up after lunch when I snapped at Mom saying that “nobody’s dick got anywhere near my holes” and left the house slamming the door behind my back.
Did I feel bad about it? Yes, but I was too tired, heartbroken and ashamed to go back. I took a walk in the sunny streets of the city center which were, obviously, deserted at that hour of the day. The sun hit my head relentlessly, completely disregarding my hangover. I thought that if the time ever came to choose if spending the rest of my life either in this hellish weather or our freezing Connecticut winter, I’d go for the winter. You can survive winter with enough books and hot cocoa. But when it’s you against the sun, that’s a lost battle. Italians try to fight it with gelato. I could use some gelato right now.
I headed for the bar at the piazza. I needed some ice water. And gelato of course, hoping it wouldn’t melt too quickly under the 2 p.m. sun. Without anyone around, the town looked like the set of one of those melancholic black and white movies starring some gorgeous Audrey-Hepburn-like woman and some sexy man in a suit. I could use a sexy man in a suit, too. Or even without the suit.
That dreadful, unfairly beautiful sunlight highlighted the colors of the houses, and all the details of their bricks and stones. The windows were almost all open, and pretty vases of plants and flowers were elegantly placed on the windowsills. From the open windows I heard the noises of TVs and people chatting. Italians seemed not to be fond of air conditioning: from what I saw, those who had it didn’t use it unless it was extremely necessary, and many families never bothered to install an air conditioner in their house at all. I decided I rather liked that. The open windows, along with the flowers and the bikes parked close to the doors, contributed to making that place as beautiful as it was. I snapped a picture of a narrow alley leading to the seafront, where a cat was sleeping inside a flower vase next to a yellow Vespa, and I thought that was the first moment that day when I felt at peace with myself. I extended my hand and touched the cat’s head gently, not wanting to wake him up, and I wished I could be reborn into him in my next life, if that was how it worked.
A bike hit the brakes behind me, and Marco’s voice called my name. I turned around to say hello, and when I stood up, my body felt heavier than ever. It wasn’t long before my legs gave in and I found myself on the ground.
ROBERTO
At first, when Marco called me and said to go pick up James and him in the city center because James had lost consciousness on the street, I thought he was joking. But when I arrived there and saw a small crowd gathered around James, I stood corrected. He was awake now and Marco was holding a wet cloth on his forehead while somebody had given him some water. He still looked very pale; even his usually red lips were almost completely white. Mrs. Martini from the bakery was sure it was heatstroke and she insisted on giving me the number of the local doctor, which of course I already had.
“Hey,” I said, getting close to him and taking his hand in mine. “How are you feeling?”
“My head feels funny,” he murmured. “And I might throw up.”
Definitely heatstroke.
“Okay. I’ll bring you home now and call the doctor.”