Spoiler! :
Munich, December 2010
Will awoke with a terrific hangover.
He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, blocking out the light and trying to piece together the events of the night before.
There had been a party, he knew that. Here? No, not here. Someone else’s flat. He couldn’t recall whose, but that didn’t seem to matter very much. What mattered was what he’d done, but he couldn’t remember that, either.
Briefly, he toyed around with the idea of asking his flat mates what had happened, but he could hear them snoring in their rooms down the hall. They’d most likely awaken with hangovers worse than his own, and in that case they wouldn’t remember what they’d done last night, let alone what he’d done. And on the off chance they did remember, they’d tease him about it mercilessly. Any of his friends would – except Rafael…maybe he should call Rafael and ask. But he couldn’t even remember if Rafael had been there.
In lieu of making a phone call, therefore, Will decided to take a shower. His head spun and his stomach lurched as he stood up. He stood still for a moment, breathing deeply until his dizziness had passed. Then he stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. He got in the shower without taking his clothes off, then remembered and stripped, getting tangled in the pant legs and nearly falling over in the attempt. He righted himself and threw his clothes into a sopping heap on the floor.
The hot water pounded on his back soothingly, and the steam cleared his mind a little. Will leaned his head against the wall of the shower with his eyes closed, concentrating.
It had definitely been at someone’s flat, not a club. He pictured, vaguely, a dimly-lit living room and a smoke-filled kitchen. They’d all squeezed into the kitchen, shot glasses ready, smoking and playing a drinking game. He couldn’t remember which one. He’d played almost enthusiastically at first, like he expected something exciting to come of it, like a drinking game could add something to his life. He’d played, even though someone else had been pouring the shots and he’d had no idea what it was he was drinking. Everyone had become increasingly boisterous as the night wore on, and someone had started them singing. It had given him a headache. So he wouldn’t have kept sitting there, right? Will frowned. Right?
Right. He’d slipped into the living room, which had become a sort of club in its own right. Girls danced and flirted and giggled too much and made the most of their figures. Guys dropped pick-up lines and snarled at each other and took advantage of the girls’ drunkenness. Will hadn’t participated in all that, had he? He rubbed his forehead. It felt like his blood was too thick to flow to his brain properly, and he was thirsty, but he forced himself to think.
No, he hadn’t danced, despite the four or five girls who’d tried to push themselves on him. He’d leaned against the wall, feeling strangely distant, until the outrage of four or five intoxicated boyfriends had made it necessary for him to steal away.
Will shut off the water. There had been more, he knew, but it eluded him at the moment. He dried himself off and realized he hadn’t brought any fresh clothes into the bathroom with him. Unwilling to once again don last night’s clothes, soaked and stinking of cigarette smoke and alcohol, he walked down the hall in nothing but a towel, rubbing his black hair dry with a second towel.
He had it in mind to dig up some clean clothes, but his head still ached. Finding clothes seemed like too much work. Instead, he recycled a pair of boxers from his laundry basket, sat back on his bed, and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.
What else? What else? Will had the feeling he’d done this last night – just sat on a bed. His eyes snapped open. Yes, he had. An empty bedroom was where he’d gone to get away from the living room. The bedroom on the end, because it had been the only one not crowded with drunken couples. He’d closed the door and sat alone on the bed, staring into the darkness. He’d felt strangely morose, and like the party was pointless. Like everything was pointless. None of it made life any easier, better, more exciting.
Will shook his head, willing himself to move past the memory of those thoughts. Meaningless deliberations brought on by more than too much alcohol, that was all.
He closed his eyes again. He was pretty sure he’d closed them at some point while sitting in that dark bedroom, perhaps with the idea of getting some sleep. But he hadn’t fallen asleep… He’d been trying to, but then…then…
Ah, yes.
He’d been sitting on the bed, just like this, when someone petite, soft, and smelling strongly of Eristoff and perfume had slithered up before him in the darkness and pressed her mouth to his hungrily. Automatically, Will had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, harder and harder, until she whimpered and tore at his belt. He’d clutched her convulsively, his lips grazing her neck, and rolled himself over until he was on top of her.
Then, there had been sex. He couldn’t remember much of it, except that it had been eager and hard, but it didn’t matter. He figured it hadn’t been very good sex anyways, seeing as how they’d both been drunk. The only thing that bothered him was that he hadn’t any idea whom he’d had sex with. He hoped it had been Kristine, because he was in trouble if it hadn’t. Will tried to remember the smell of the perfume the girl had been wearing, whether or not it matched Kristin’s, but the Eristoff had been too pervasive.
Well, hopefully Kristine would never find out.
The phone jangled. Will winced at the sound and picked up quickly.
“Ja?”
“Good, you’re up,” Rafael said. “Are you sober yet?”
“Mostly.” Will hesitated for a moment. “Were you at the party last night?”
“If you mean ‘do you know what I did last night and can you tell me,’ you can just ask.”
Will kneaded his forehead with his knuckles.
“Do you know what I did last night, and can you tell me?”
“Well,” Rafael said, “I don’t know where you disappeared to in the middle of that ridiculous drinking game, but I found you passed out in a bed around three in the morning.”
“Did I…?”
“You were half-naked and you looked like you’d got some, yes. I take it you already figured that out?”
Will drummed his fingers on the top of his bedside table, frustrated.
“I can’t remember who,” he said.
“I can’t help you there. You were alone when I found you.”
“And you got me home?”
“Yes.”
“I hope Kristine doesn’t find out about this,” Will said.
“You don’t think it was her?” Rafael asked.
“It could have been. I don’t know. It’s just easier if we never have to discuss it.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? She breaks up with you, and you find someone else just like her to bring to your bed.”
Will said nothing. Rafael paused.
“Sorry. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay after all that drinking last night. I’m leaving for France in an hour.”
He sounded wistful.
“Going to see Anneliese, ja?” Will tried to keep the note of jealousy out of his voice, but Rafael laughed.
“You could find someone too if you weren’t all about sex,” he said. “Instead you just keep on with girls like Kristine. Hey, I have to go now. Gotta finish packing.”
“Packing,” Will echoed.
“You haven’t even stared yours yet, have you?”
“Nein. I probably should. Tschüss."
“Tschau.”
Will glanced around his room dully. Packing seemed like a huge chore at the moment. On the other hand, it had to get done – and maybe it would require so much concentration that he’d forget the little stab of jealousy.
He shuffled to his closet and pulled out clothes at random. Who gave a damn if they looked good? He was just going to his parents’ house, and he already had a girlfriend. No need to impress anyone. Ordinarily he’d dress well anyways, but his headache diminished the importance of looking good. He pulled on the first shirt and pair of jeans he found and threw more on the floor behind him until he had a sizable pile.
He had just started searching for a suitcase when a pair of arms wound themselves around his neck. Their owner smelled of her usual perfume and badly-disguised Eristoff.
Good, Will thought. It had been Kristine.
“Guess who,” she purred. Her breath stank of alcohol, and most likely it was not just last night’s alcohol. Kristine tended to handle hangovers by drinking still more.
Will turned his head. The smell made him nauseous.
“I liked you better last night,” Kristine pouted. “You were much friendlier.”
We were both much drunker.
She ran her fingers down his shirt and rubbed against his back. He tensed, annoyed.
“Not now,” he said. “I have to pack.”
“Pack later,” she breathed in his ear. Her hand started towards his thigh, but he grabbed her wrists and turned to face her.
“No,” he said.
She looked a mess. Her blonde hair frizzled out in all directions and appeared unwashed, and too-dark mascara lay clumped on her eyelashes. And she wore hardly any clothes. Normally Will would have taken advantage of this, but he wasn’t in the mood this morning.
Morning? Is it morning? What time is it?
She was pouting again, her bottom lip protruding so far it seemed like it might fall off her face.
“Look,” Will said, “I really have to pack. My wallet…” Where was his wallet? “…my wallet’s on the kitchen table.” I think. “There should be a couple hundred Euros in it. Go shopping.”
Kristine’s expression immediately brightened. Without so much as a thank you, she wobbled off in the direction of the kitchen.
Will slumped against the wall. What had he expected? That was why she was with him, and he knew it. He was with her for the sex, and she was with him for the money. Sex was just a nice bonus for her, and a way to guarantee more money.
When had this started, this whole dating-for-sex phase? He knew he hadn’t always been this way. Yet it felt like he’d been doing it forever. Will sighed.
Slowly he crawled back to the closet and resumed his search for a suitcase. He found one buried behind a stack of drawers. He pulled it out of the closet and unzipped it, preparing to put his pile of clothes in it, but it was already full.
“What the—?”
He examined the contents carefully: Souvenirs from New York and Chicago, seven years old; photos, crumpled and creased; lined paper covered front and back in neat cursive. With a jolt, Will recognized the girl in one of the photos, a girl with soft auburn curls and hazel eyes, and realized the papers were letters. With trembling fingers, he picked one up and read it.
8/25/04
Hey, Handsome! Guess who!
How very different “guess who” sounded in this letter than it had when Kristine had breathed it tipsily in his ear.
So, I’m at my cousin’s wedding reception right now, and my feet hurt from dancing, and I’m bored. So I thought I’d write a letter to you, even though I’ve already sent you like five thousand e-mails! I don’t actually have anything to say, but I’m sure I’ll think of something! Eventually.
How are things going across the Pond, as our dear friends the Brits would say? Things here are pretty normal; nothing’s going on except this wedding, and that’s just a one-day thing, you know? For me, at least. Not my cousin. I mean, she’s not getting married more than one day, but she’ll BE married for more than one day. (At least, we all hope she’s not getting married more than one day, but, you know, what with the divorce rate and all… Just kidding!)
Anyways, I’ve been dancing a lot by myself, and since I’m the only person here dancing with air, the photographer’s been taking lots of pictures of me! Gack!
Will chuckled.
“Sound effects again,” he murmured.
I was having a pretty good time, but then my feet started hurting, so now I’m sitting at a table. That’s okay, though. I kind of like dancing alone, but it’s nicer when I have someone to dance with.
Only, you’re the only one I really want to dance with, and I can’t dance with you, because you’re thousands of miles away.
*sigh*
Do you remember the dance we did for my recital? I really wish we could do that dance right now.
Oh, well.
Well, I think I’m going to go dance some more, Handsome. So I’ll close.
I miss you a lot.
Love,
your crazy American girl
Will suddenly felt incredibly tired.
“I remember,” he said.
This is going to sound disjointed, but bear with me.
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