i didn't mean to hurt you, second part

( for the first part of this tale, please click here.)

there was a sudden change in his mood. i didn't know what triggered it.

"are you alright?", i asked, suddenly alarmed. we were talking jovially on the way to my apartment after shopping some groceries, about his day at the restaurant, about my day at work. about an interview i had that morning with a fund manager who warned about the collapse of the chinese economy in three to four years. he responded with a laugh and told me to stop talking in french.

"you know that i don't understand anything about business news. i don't even read the business page," he said, teasing me. i laughed too. his laughter, full of the energy of youth, so honest, so ethereal, was contagious. if it were a disease, i would gladly invent a virus so i could spread it all over the world.

but a few meters away from the apartment door, he suddenly became quiet. his face darkened. when i asked why, he pointed, using his lips, at the man standing on the street, leaning on a black volvo car that was parked right in front of the building.

it was him. he who should not be named. at least while i was still hurting. still trying to heal. i was glad that jules understood. i had stopped talking about him, even with celine. but i could never fool my heart.  at night, when i was alone, i still craved for him: his touch, his kisses, his smile, his voice on the phone, his scent after he took a shower, his snore; the way he snuggled beside me in bed, especially when the night was too cold and we were sharing only a small blanket.

the small things that he would do like learning to say "mahal kita" in his cute french-british-chinese accents; or when he would be grumpy, sitting quietly at the sofa and refusing to join me in bed after a petty quarrel about what movie to watch on the dvd. the way he teased me that i wasn't fat but plump, especially when i refused to eat his favorite cheese and baguette. ah those petty, pierre (that's his name) gestures that endeared him to me the most.

i felt weak. rather, my knees trembled. my throat suddenly went dry.

&&&&&&&&&&

it was a lovely spring. monday. the air was no longer biting cold. the end of the thick jacket and scarf weather in the city. in fact, there was a bit of a sunshine in the morning. tonight, the air was a bit chilly. but tolerable. i was wearing only a flimsy sweater over a long-sleeve shirt, while jules had a blue adidas nylon jacket over a black turtle-neck shirt. his uniform. we were both wearing dark jeans.

it had been three months since jules and i met, officially, that morning in january in his apartment. after i came back for another round of love making, i stayed for two more days in his flat. i called in sick at the office. they understood. my editor, a friend of celine, must have known what happened to me and pierre (yes, he who must not be named) because he said yes right away. i didn't have to explain. i only went home when jules told me that his flat mates were coming back to hong kong the next day.

since that day, we were inseparable. we would meet right after i finished working at the office. usually i would drop by the restaurant where he worked. i would have dinner there, then a few drinks and we would go home together to my apartment afterwards.

during those days, pierre tried calling me. either on my mobile or at the office. he even told celine, the good-hearted, saintly but slightly slutty celine, several times to help convince me to meet up with him and talk to him. celine begged me, but i told her i was not ready yet. that the pain was still fresh. the wound had not yet healed. forgive me for the cliches, but there was no other way to describe how i felt then. that i was still vulnerable and might fall in love all over again with his movie star looks, fall for his lies. his promises.

right now, i told celine, i just want to forget him.

celine asked me about jules. i had mentioned him to her several times though they have not met yet. are you in love with this boy?, she asked. i don't know, i said. it's too sudden. but are you happy, she asked again. i didn't say a word. because at that time, this was during our last conversation a month ago, i was not sure yet. i had fun when i was with him. but when i was alone, i couldn't help but think of pierre.

yes, i still love the bastard, i admitted to myself.

why is it that the harder we try to forget about someone, the more difficult it becomes? that everywhere you go, everything you see, every song you hear, they all remind you of the person? it is as if the universe and the gods are conspiring to keep him in your memory.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

but jules knew. even if i didn't tell him anything. even if i had swept my apartment clean of pierre's clothes, shoes, photos, perfumes, shaving creams. i could see it in your eyes, even if  you were laughing, that there was a certain sadness hidden beyond those smiling eyes. a certain longing. and i knew, he sighed, that i could not fill it. the void was too big.

then he would add: not yet, anyway.

during those times, when he was in a sentimental mood, i would just keep quiet. i wanted to assure him,  say that i love him. but i never knew how to lie. lying would just make it worse.

jules, bless his twenty-one-year-old soul, understood. he was an old soul. he was mature beyond his age. maybe because he grew up poor, he said, that's why he was forced to grow up so fast so he could help provide for his family, a sickly fifty-year-old mother, a widower, who raised five children alone when her husband died. jules was the eldest. his father died when he was only sixteen. since then, he became the head of the family. he quit his studies.. he was second year in college, taking up hotel and restaurant management, when he stopped so he could work as a waiter in a restaurant in the city. his mother was a teacher, but her salary was not enough to feed six mouths and send them all to school.

at eighteen, he met an old gay man who helped him financially. he sent him to school. and as long as he lived with him, he also provided money for jules' family. his mother did not know. of course. until now. all she knew was that jules was living on his own in the city, away from the family, and earning a decent salary as a call center agent.

when he finished college, he applied for work in hong kong. a cousin helped him get the job. he ended up bartending.  at first, he kept his relationship with his gay lover. but a few months later, he told jules that he found a new boyfriend.

did you love him? i asked him one night after we made love. we were lying in bed, both naked, my head on his lean, toned arms. he was smoking a cigarette. what was it about guys and smoking after sex? i used to hate the smell of cigarettes. (pierre never smoked.) but i learned to love it (the cigarette, or at least its smell), because of jules. on the days that jules could not stay and sleep in the apartment, the scent of his cigarettes lingered, comforting me.

yes, jules told me honestly. i loved him. his name is luis. he is a banker. he is very rich. he was fifty years old when we were together, but you won't notice it. he's so youthful. he is a health buff just like your pierre.

then he smoked some more. sometimes i would share his cigarette.

what was it about luis that you loved? he made me feel secure. safe. with him around, there was nothing i need to worry. he was so caring, so loving, so generous. he always asked me what i wanted, what i needed. what my family needed.

the father you lost, i said.

exactly, he said. except we would have sex. wild, perverted sex.

that's incest. perverts. i would tease him.

then we would laugh again.

then we would make love once more. before the night was over.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

with him around, i was slowly forgetting all about pierre.

until tonight. of course i had imagined meeting him again. i even rehearsed some lines that i would say to him (mostly bitchy dialogues that i learned from watching those cherrie gil movies). but that night, i was lost. it was as if words had abandoned me. it was ironic, because i make a living with words, either spoken or written.

"can i talk to you just for a minute," he said. ah he looked fabulous. his thick black hair was skillfully styled like a vogue model. held together by mousse that he would buy online from a french boutique in paris. he was wearing a blue long sleeve shirt with the top button opened. his golden yellow tie was loosened. the shirt was tucked neatly under brown slacks. his eyeglasses (black frames), a blue sweater tied around his neck, leather brown belt and shoes completed the look.

i wanted to hug him. tell him how much i missed him. but i controlled myself.

"what do you want?" i said, feigning anger. finally recovering from the shock of seeing him again. but i knew that he knew that deep down inside, i was happy to finally see him. i stood so close in front of him, my hands on my pockets. i was scared that unconsciously, i might reach out and touch him. jules, sensing he was not needed, had left us alone. he went inside the building without me, carrying the groceries. i felt guilty. but there was nothing else i could do. i wanted this business with pierre over with.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

"can we talk somewhere else?"

i took a deep breath. then quietly, he opened the door of his car. i went in.

we were silent as he was driving. i could smell his scent. expensive perfume. everything about him was expensive. beautiful. sweet smelling, including the green apple scent of his car. all of a sudden, everything that was familiar came back to me. the comfortable leather seat of his car. the faint music. helen reddy. one of our favorites. his hands on the wheels, his eyes on the road. i missed him. i missed this. i missed us. but i didn't dare say anything. i wasn't sure what he was going to say to me.

would he be saying goodbye for good? would this be our last time together? will he be moving back to new york with his wife?

helen reddy softly cooed. interrupting my thoughts.

"sunday morning, waking up and touching you.

you're always warm at nine a.m.

pillows close and i can feel you wanting me.

then i'd go back to sleep again.

i didn't mean to love you.

and i never meant to care..."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

i was surprised when we ended up in a bar at manila pen. a bit far from central.

why here, i thought. it was the first time that he brought me there.

when we were together, we would always dine, wine in soho, a few steps away from my flat. he hated going to far away places.

they are all the same, he would tell me. so why waste the time traveling?

anyway, he hates driving around hong kong's narrow, busy streets.

once we were settled, had ordered drinks and food, he started to talk.

he removed his eyeglasses. his blue eyes sparkled. absorbing the lights from outside that penetrated through the glass wall.

we sat at a table that offered a panoramic view of the well-lit city below at night.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"this is not easy for me," he began. his eyes on me. suddenly, i felt self-conscious. he always had this effect on me. his gorgeousness always made me uncomfortable. i would always feel awkward in his presence, unsure of myself, insecure: why me? why the flat-nosed, dark skinned, bit overweight me?

"it isn't easy for me either."

he shushed me. very him. always in control of things. exactly my opposite. i was like a vine, a leaf, a twig, lost in the vast ocean. drifting, directionless. going where the tide would take me. i never believed in making plans, in looking forward to the future. i was a traveler without a map, a drifter without a destination. for me, this is how we should navigate life. be surprised at the turn of a corner.

"let me talk please?"

i smiled. i couldn't help it. then i nodded my head. he tried to reach out to touch my face, but i stopped him by turning away.

"first let me say how sorry i am. for everything. for lying to you. god knows how difficult it was for me to lie to you all the time. to our friends. to my wife."

then he stopped as the waiter approached. he showed pierre the bottle of wine that he ordered. then the waiter opened the bottle, handed pierre the cork. for his part, pierre went through the whole ceremony of ordering wine even if he wanted us to be left alone. he smelled the cork, nodded his head and gestured for the waiter to pour our glasses with wine. the waiter was efficient. he did everything without a noise, without a fuss.

how i wish life was like that. my life, at least.

when the waiter left, pierre, now smiling, flashing his winsome smile and cute-as-a-baby dimples, raised his glass to offer a toast. i shook my head. he didn't force me. he drank his wine (i guess he needed it for what he was about to tell me), while i stared at the busy street scene below. cars. too many of them in standstill. people walking. in jackets and scarves and i thought winter was over. trees swaying with the wind. lights all over. blinding me sometimes.

"when i met you, i was about to marry sui. at that time, she was still in new york. she was working there but she would soon join me here in hong kong. she asked to be transferred here."

(so that was her name. sui. how very sui generis.)

"she is a banker. manages these accounts of wealthy chinese people."

(rich. well-educated. i was guessing harvard. major in finance and global economics. cum laude.)

"anyway, when i met you, i was instantly drawn to you. you were so.....different. so fun. you always make me laugh. you are so full of life. don't you know that before i met you, i haven't been to any of the bars here in hong kong? i haven't even been to a disco. or to a noisy bar with a band playing loud music. i never danced, especially in public. i never drank. i never tried a cigarette. but you. you made me do all of them. i was hoping though that you would also take me to a karaoke bar. but that's not your thing."

i drank my wine. he was making me nervous. his eyes. his lips. his smiles. the music. ella fitzgerald. round midnight. another one of our favourites.

"it begins to tell 'round midnight, midnight

i do pretty well, till after sundown

supper time i'm feelin' sad

but it really gets bad 'round midnight

memories always start 'round midnight

haven't got the heart to stand those memories
when my heart is still with you
and old midnight knows it too

when a quarrel we had needs mending
does it mean that our love is ending
darlin', I need you, lately i find

you're out of my heart and i'm out of my mind.."

 

if he was trying to seduce me, he succeeded without much effort. then he started tapping the table with his fingers. he always did that every time he was about to say something serious. like the time he first told me he loved me.  in contrast, my hands were on the wine glass. ready to gulped it down in case the news was so bad, i could not bear it. suddenly, i wished i had one of jules' cigarettes with me.

jules. poor kid. how was he doing back home? i felt guilty. all of a sudden. thinking about jules only made things worse. made me even more confused.

pierre continued.

"to make the story short, i fell madly in love with you. of course, i had always known that i was attracted to men. but i controlled my feelings. you already knew that my first love was a classmate of mine in high school. but nothing happened because i wanted to be straight. i wanted a wife. children."

"can i talk now?"

he was surprised. i never interrupted him before. i was the listener; always the good listener. maybe that's the reason why i became a reporter even if i finished a business management degree. i like listening to stories. collecting tales. writing them down. (i also dabble in fiction writing sometimes because news writing is so limiting. you are limited by the facts. but in fiction,  i am free to make-up some of the details as i go along. to make the story more compelling.)

"sure."

"if it's forgiveness that you want. then don't worry anymore. i have forgiven you. now, can i go home?"

i stood up. but he was quick. before i knew it, he was right in front of me, his hands on my shoulder.

"please stay?"

"why?"

"i want you back."

"what about your wife?"

"i am divorcing her."

i was shocked.

i sat down. i didn't know what to say. it was all too sudden. too much, too soon. totally unexpected.

outside, the traffic had eased. the trees had calmed down. the streets looked deserted. actually, everything was foggy. was blurred. i was in tears.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"walking on and talking till the sun went down

you kept me warm with just your eyes.

seems that all we wanted just came naturally.

we never even have to try....

i didn't meant to love you. didn't want to let it show."

when i reached home, jules was already asleep. it was almost midnight.

his face, serene, calm, innocent, was illuminated by the faint light coming from the window. there was a bit of a moon outside. shy moon.

i didn't want to wake him up, so i decided to just sleep in the couch outside. i was in the bathroom washing my face when i heard his footsteps.

then his voice. gentle. as if he was scared to wake someone up.

"gabriel?" (when i got back to the apartment when we first met, i told him my real name.)

i continued washing my face. then i brushed my teeth.

when i opened the door, he was sitting on the sofa. staring at me.

"are you alright?" he asked. always the adult. as though i was his child.

i sat beside him without saying anything.

he put his arms around my shoulders. like he always does. i felt better.

"so how did it go?"

"it was alright."

"did you?"

"yes."

sadness. i shivered. i wanted to break away from him. be somewhere else. i didn't want to hurt him, this beautiful and lonely boy of twenty-one.

but he continued to hug me. brought me even closer to him.

"is this goodbye?"

"yes."

then he kissed me. on the mouth.

"will you be alright?" i asked.

he was crying.

"please don't cry."

"i can't help it. it hurts so much."

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to..."

"it's alright. you love him. you belong to him."

"thank you for understanding."

then he started taking off my shirt, his shirt. we kissed some more. our hands explored each others' bodies eagerly as though we were trying to design a map. a map of our bodies. marking each familiar territory with kisses, with touch. he was warm, hard, young. hairy. his lips were soft. his kisses were steamy. hungry. unforgiving. his touch was angry, mad, piercing through my soul.

when i woke up he was gone.

"guess you'll always be inside me.

kind of warm and soft and still.

i didn't mean to need you.

and i didn't wanna cry.

i never meant to lose you

i never meant goodbye.

i never meant goodbye."

fuck  you, helen reddy. you're not making things easy.

i panicked. i searched for my phone and tried calling him. he wouldn't answer.

so i sent him a text message.

"sorry. i was too impulsive. but please don't go. i love you, jules. i love you. it's you all along. i was stupid. i didn't realize it until this morning when i woke up and you were gone. i felt so sad. so empty. without you. please wait for me."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

helen reddy's i didn't  mean to love you:

ella fitzgerald's round midnight:

(photos were taken from different websites. no copyright infringements intended.)