Chapter 3: Chapter 3 – Stab

Three days later, Hart comes home with new bruises on his face. I don't ask anything. He's sullen again, like the first day, but I don't risk getting my camera out.

Life must be hard on Hart. I don't know why he's like that, so I don't blame him for the gloomy silence and this expression on his face. It softens only when he's drunk or when he's looking at his blueprints.

Sometimes he draws something and makes some kind of sketches on torn pieces of paper with quick live lines. Several times I saw him effortlessly draw a perfectly straight line without a ruler. Demon, no less...

We have been living together for two weeks already, and I can't say that I got to know him or understand him better. However, he does not know anything about me at all. And he is not trying to find out.

...and also... I have a rich collection of his photographs. It's certainly smaller than my collection of pictures with you. But somehow it is growing rapidly.

I feel annoyed that I can't find common ground. I don't understand why I need it, but it pisses me off that I can't find it. Hart is like a stone slab in the middle of a ballroom. Sticks out like a sore thumb. Draws my attention all the time.

Emma set me up on a date again. I already regret I told her that I was gay. I don't want to offend her, but...

"He's just an incredible eye candy!" She says, her eyes sparkling.

"I hope this is not one of the models."

"Well..."

"Um, you know I..."

"Look, I think you are just perfect for each other! What if it's fate? Give him a chance."

"Why does it seem to me that you told him exactly the same thing?" I surrender under Emma's pressure. And I'm going on a date tonight.

Hart is not at home. Usually, if he is late, it means that he will come after midnight drunk and with a new bruise. Or a scar. Or a graze. It's like he collects them.

Remembering his body, which I saw only once, I feel a strange sensation in my chest and at the same time in my lower abdomen. I chase the memory away and leave the house.

And so there is my date... Emma didn't lie, he is an eye candy.

But I can't get rid of a thought that... If you know how food advertising is done, then you are aware that everything that is shown in it, no matter how beautiful and appetizing it may look, is inedible. Paul (it's his name) gives me the same feeling. He looks like the best, retouched version of a human... But absolutely inedible. Psychologically.

He is so passionate about himself. I understand that people tend to talk about their work, but since Paul's job is to be irresistible, the conversation becomes too self-centered. I get tired of it quickly. New training programs. Revolutionary diets. Latest trends. Hashtag world of fashion.

No, I can't stand it for an hour and a half. I suggest Paul to take a walk. He just doesn't stop talking. He's been to Paris, he's been to Milan, he shook hands with Lagerfeld himself. Well, or someone incredibly similar. And I mentally strangle Emma.

We walk past the park, past the cinema - and he is still talking. We walk past the bar. And suddenly I notice Hart.

Unfortunately, he notices me too. He has an interesting expression in his eyes...

Paul continues the story, accompanying his speech with theatrical gestures. Hart is standing at a bar with several guys, they are discussing something, but when they see Paul, their attention turns to him.

They begin to laugh and mimic him. Paul sees it.

"Savages," he throws... takes my arm and quickens his step.

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And I just... I can't take it anymore... Why can't I just sink into the ground?..

I tell Paul that I am tired, that I am sick, that I am cursed by a terrible witch, and that I urgently need to leave.

I lock myself in my room and see Hart looking at me from the photographs. And it seems to me that he is grinning.

Hart returns home long after midnight. His steps are unusually heavy. I have not heard this before. There is a loud clanging in the kitchen. I leave the room. Hart stands at the counter, hunched over, trying to pour water into a glass. I turn on the light and see... drips of blood on the floor, shattered glass...

Hart's face is bruised, his upper lip is swollen, and his eyebrow is split. I don't ask questions and take him to the couch. He does not resist. But sitting down, he does not unbend and does not take his hands away from his side. And then I realize that the blood on the floor is from there.

"Hart! Hart, can you hear me? Are you hurt ?!" I ask.

But Hart doesn't answer me, he's too drunk. How did he even find his way here?

...

So... I didn't get to sleep that night. The chairs in the hospital were not very comfortable, so I could only doze for ten minutes while Hart was getting stitches. He had been stabbed.

What an idiot?!

He was transferred to the ward, and the nurse spoke to me. She said something about insurance, I hardly listened to her. I had some money saved, so I just paid the bill.

Hart returns home the next day. The first thing he does when he sees me is not an expression of heartfelt gratitude. He just throws a few banknotes on the table. It's enough to cover my expenses. And a little extra.

I pretend it doesn't bother me and ask, "How do you feel?"

Hart just grunts something in reply.

"Did you run away from the hospital?" I say.

At this, Hart slams the door to his room.

What kind of idiot is that?! I may have saved his life! Pain in the ass.

And yet... I continue to stare at the closed door of his room without anger. I'm worried about him. I can't understand why. I was going to act differently.

Yes, that's enough.

I don't want anyone to oust you from my thoughts. Moreover, this ungrateful rude brat who is only looking for trouble!

The boxes in my room have become the walls of the fortress, which I built to hide myself from I don't even know what. The border is not too solid though. For example, it's useless against thoughts. Yes, thoughts not about you. About Hart.

A year ago, I couldn't imagine that someday there would be even a minute without a thought of you. And now there are days. It scares me.

I take out the thick envelope with your photographs and stare at them all evening.

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