Chapter 39: Consolation.

Eve seemed to worry after I left that dinner with an Irish goodbye, French adieu, or whatever xenophobically-named farewell I used. It was probably an adequate response if she genuinely cared about me. That same night —around 3am in the morning— she knocked at my bedroom's door. I willfully didn't react. My head hurt and sections of my skin were fighting to receive the attention award for the most itchy. I really felt entitled to the childish attitude of pretending to be asleep.

She knew me well enough.

“Alice, are you okay? Do you still feel sick?”

The whole situation was annoying.

I just wanted to be left alone. She continued:

“I hope it isn't too bad. Come to the living room if you need anything.” —she put very sweetly.

A few more seconds of silence.

“I'll be watching Netflix, drinking wine and falling asleep.” —she threw, implicitly a proposition.

Not that I cared for two of those things, but I really couldn't sleep and… after calming down a bit, I found the strength and carelessness required to vent the ugly into Eve for the first time. After five minutes, I was slowly pacing out of my bedroom into the living room.

She was on her pajamas —a large t-shirt and panties. Vanilla ice cream and red wine. Two bowls on the table. Some episode of "The Office" projected on the white wall.

I grabbed my bowl and took a scoop. I sat by Eve. She looked at me and smiled.

“So what was the deal?” —she asked lightly.

“I don't know, I have been quite stressed. It's not about one thing. It’s not the bedbugs nor the construction. It's not even about how shitty work is becoming...”

I paused. Feeling of void.

“I don't know. Lately... it seems that I have been downgraded once more. And that it’s my fault...” —resumed.

My fault, again. Stupid decisions taken by emotion.

A cycle of building and burning.

I suddenly felt victim of the many frustrations I had been accumulating. I had complained a lot throughout, but never really had felt like there wasn't an exit before. Before, there had been some sense in it all. Then, life was a display of emptiness. Nothing to really hope for.

Eve kept listening attentively through my many pauses.

“And there's nobody to catch my constant fall. Well, really, there hasn't ever been. Not even in the good parts. I feel like even the greatest moments in my life have been wasted by not having anyone to share them with.”

“I feel like I’m constantly fleeing away.”

I couldn't contain myself anymore. As I broke down crying, Eve got closer and hugged me. I squeezed her back and my tears started dropping on her neck. My anxiety and anger banished. She gently tilted my head back and stared at my eyes with deep affection.

“Oh... Alice... you'll be fine.” —compassion. She smiled and stared at me for a while. It was pleasant. She was unburdening me.

Then, she unexpectedly kissed my mouth. She didn't even do a progressive approach to the kiss, she went all the way in. All the comfort that she had given me was stripped abruptly. By her. The giver became the retriever. And she took a bit more than she gave.

Although it might sound I’m being unfair to her, I wasn't in control of how I felt. And I felt empty again, as if every connection had been brought down. I froze. She went onto kissing my neck and ear lobe. Not having moved far from their previous position, my hands weren't in contact with her anymore: a thin layer of air separated them from her back.

She finally understood my body language, even if it took her a while to repress that burst of passion. Still staring at my then evasive eyes, she instantly felt regretful.

“Sorry...” —she softly said.

“No, no. Thanks.” —I replied frigidly.

I stood up and walked to my room. I hugged the pillow, finding a speck of comfort in an object which interaction was simple to predict.

That's how, in my low moments, Eve confessed her attraction to me. Or maybe she got carried away by the moment. Even if I didn't feel that it had been an appropriate moment, I want believe that she wasn't trying to take advantage or exploit my vulnerability: that she genuinely felt connected due to her compassion, leading to the expression of some underlying feelings. Knowing Eve, those feelings weren't volatile.

In detached retrospect, it was fine. I did kiss her back. Not really. Maybe. That I felt uneasy instead of excited could have been circumstantial. Although I had no doubt that her intentions couldn't have advanced much further without me feeling assaulted.

I can’t lie: I found much comfort when hugging her. And I wish that I had been able to respond to her sexual attraction, that I could be more open. After all, she had most things I wished for on a guy, and more. It could have been a love for the ages. She wouldn’t leave me for the cliffs. Still... for whatever mix of cultural and biological reasons, I couldn't feel the same for her. Part of me wanted, and a tricky door had been opened that night: with the blurry border between affection and sexual desire, there were many landmines that —if hit— would spoil everything. I had to tread lightly if I didn't want to lose her.

At least initially, my course of action was going to be governed by sincerity. I told her that I was sure about my heterosexuality, or something like that. That I felt honored, but I couldn't see a way forward in that aspect. She already knew that.

Over the next weeks, she would try to keep things straight. However, her emotional side would turn bitchy at times. Or so it seemed, to me. Whose wouldn't? She would set traps in my already embarrassingly barren sentimental life. She would then put distance between us, when I needed her the most. I couldn't blame her, but our friendship was bleeding to death. And that specific friendship with Eve was one of the only things —if not the only thing— that made sense back then.

Not that it mattered —in the end, nothing mattered.