You will never walk alone
Title: You will never walk alone
Pairing: Mario Ancic/Juan Carlos Ferrero
Other character: Novak Djokovic
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 6,199
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and this is a fiction.
Warning: Angst throughout most of the story and not much dialogue.
Summary: Mario and Juan Carlos take their usual post-dinner walk.
Author’s note: This is a Mario’s POV story, set during Australian Open 2008. I would like to dedicate this piece to dear crystaleyesd. Happy birthday, my angsty friend! :)
No. Don’t.
I said, don’t!
Please. Don’t let go of my hand. Not yet. I need it. And, I know that you’re not ready either.
You and I, standing here, walking hand in hand, like a normal couple; well at least, like a normal gay couple.
It’s our fourteenth day, pretending that we’re enjoying the luminosity of the neon signs and the joyful sound of people greeting, whispering love words, and making fun of each other. The streets are full of people but I know that we both feel empty.
I don’t even remember who suggested this new tradition of ours, but after every dinner, we’re out on the streets, holding hands, trying to figure out what the heck we’re still doing together.
Do I love him? I wish I could say yes right away. Sure, I deeply care about him but I’m not sure if I want to kiss him anymore. Then, does he love me? He’s probably struggling with the same feeling as I do. We still want to stay in each other’s world but can’t rekindle the flame of love.
I still have his hand in my own. It’s some sort of an unspoken rule that if we let our hands go, we’ll break up, just like that. At times, people push us and he’s almost letting my hand go, but then, I jump forward, squeeze his hand, making sure that he got the message; I still need him. Then, at other times, I loosen my grip and feel him tense up; he’s probably worried that he might lose me as well.
He’s a gentle soul and I’m a coward. When will we finally be ready to say goodbye? Will that day eventually come? Am I looking forward to it or do I fear it?
If there's anything that I'm sure about, it's that I remember how we fell in love. It wasn’t dramatic or that romantic, actually. When I had mono, lying in bed, at my place in Monte Carlo, quite a number of fellow players had come to visit me. He was one of them. I didn’t know him well so it was a surprise to see him come in with Marat Safin, but I thought that he just dropped by because he was in the neighborhood.
At first, he only asked how I was doing, just like everyone else. I suppose I told him the same thing as I did to everybody else; that I’ve felt terrible all week but I hope it will get better each day. Then, he tilted his head and said something that nobody else dare tried to say.
‘How can you expect to feel better when you just said you’ve felt terrible all week? It doesn’t work like that with mono, no?’
Sure, he has always been pointy like that when he couldn’t understand something. I remember that I had my mouth open, trying to come up with less rude words to say ‘Get out of my house if you’re not here to offer me some words of comfort’ and Marat apologized, poking Juan Carlos hard in the ribs, which caused him to frown.
Yes, it’s that frown that drives me crazy. It took me quite some time to realize that I’m actually into his frowns. His face looks rather gentle most of the times, but when he wears that hint of discontentment, it suddenly jumps up to the highest level of sexiness. Luckily for me, I got to see a lot of frowns while he was nursing me.
It was more than strange of him, but after that awkward visiting day, he had come back on his own the very next day, offering to nurse me. I laughed and told him that if it was about what happened the day before, it was fine. But he shook his head and said that he was staying a week at Marat’s place and Monte Carlo was too small to enjoy any kind of fun. Besides, he boasted about how good of a nurse he was and after that week, I had to admit that he was right.
I never asked what he was doing at Marat’s place for a whole week if he was bored enough to nurse somebody and he never spoke about it. He only came by one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening, but after spending so many weeks in bed, his daily visit was what I impatiently looked forward to.
His nursing skills didn’t have anything special but his hands were soft and caring. He took my temperature each day, sticking the electronic device in my ear, and he also used the stethoscope whenever I told him that I was too tired to even breathe properly. I’m glad that my heart didn’t beat faster during those days even when he was so close to me.
"Look at that."
At his voice, I suddenly snap out of my thoughts and glance at whatever he's pointing at.
"Uh… what am I supposed to look at?"
He eyes me with an expression that says he can’t believe that I have to ask such a question. So I concentrate and try to find something that stands out, something that made him talk to me during our mostly silent walk.
Seriously, what am I supposed to recognize here? All I can see is normal people, normal stores and normal cars passing by. Why can’t he just tell me what it is? He always likes to play these kinds of annoying games. What’s wrong with him? Human beings use language for a reason. I so wish he would get that someday.
Did I just "someday"? Someday? Ha, as if I’ll be with him for a long time. Well, even if he leaves me, or I leave him, he should still learn how to talk better. I don’t want him to screw up yet another relationship with his next boyfriend. I’m not blaming him for what happened to us, but still, it would be nice if he could communicate better with his new boyfriend.
Why do I have to care about his future life though? I know that I’ll be a mess when we finally pop the pus out, so maybe it would be wise for me to rather worry about my own self. It’s almost funny to think that there were days, not so long ago, when I thought the sun wouldn’t rise until he woke up and the raindrops wouldn’t fall on top of his head when he didn’t have an umbrella. I was so stupid and naïve and hopelessly in love. I thought that everybody loved him, that every creature on Earth cared about him. He was that lovely, that precious.
I really wonder how I turned into this person in only ten months. I feel like I’m a monster now. What’s wrong with me? I'm supposed to love him. I’m supposed to make small talk during our walks, enjoying his smiles and sharp remarks. People used to say that we were the perfect couple, that we were sharing something so unique, something that not many got a chance to taste even a bit. I do agree that our relationship was pretty special and that’s probably what made me kick that horrible mono.
"Let’s just go back."
He turns around so abruptly that I barely manage to hang onto his hand. No, it’s not going to be today. I won’t lose him today; some other day maybe, but not today. I strengthen my grip, silently saying that I’m willing to go through another torturous night with him, meaning that we will share the large bed, facing different sides of the room.
I don’t know if he’s aware of it, but I never fall asleep earlier than him these days. I don’t want to admit it but I guess that’s because I fear that he’ll pack his bags and leave me while I’m asleep, breaking our secret tradition. I’ll only accept our breakup when we’re walking after dinner, not in any other way.
"Hoo…"
I subconsciously let out a sigh of relief as I absorb the fact that our walk for today is over. I’ll get another twenty-four hours with him. I don’t know if that would be enough time for me to get ready but it’s still better than seeing him leave today. I’m just not ready yet.
He walks faster and I’m grateful that I have such long legs. For some reason, I look back one last time, probably in hopes of finding what caught his attention.
What could it be… what should I…
"I found it!"
I startle him with a shout but that’s not what’s important right now. I finally got what he wanted to make me see. It’s that huge machine that has dolls in it, the machine that he really sucks at. I’ve never seen anyone, kids included, suck so badly at picking dolls like him.
That stupid thing was also in Marseille, in front of a cheap restaurant near the tournament site. It was still a chilly February when I was buying him dinner there, which was my way of thanking him for his very generous nursing. I remember that we came out of the restaurant and he pointed at the machine, telling me that we should give it a try. I wasn’t into small, cute dolls, but I nodded, another way of saying thanks to his kindness.
I was standing aside, replying to some text messages and keeping an eye on my gracious savior. Much to my surprise, he really sucked. Since the robot’s hand was heading to the centre, I thought that he was aiming for the rabbit or the frog. But then he told me that he couldn’t even get near the bear. I took a few steps forward to see where the bear was and found a few bears in the right corner.
I tried to be nice and offered him help but he insisted that he wanted to pick up the bear with his own hands. So I nodded and gave him a few more minutes and decided that I had to take a drastic measure. I still have no idea where that kind of insanity came from, but in a few seconds, I had my hand on his, guiding it to the right direction.
He was utterly adorable when the little bear finally jumped into his arms. I never expected to use the word “adorable” to a grown-up male athlete who’s even older than me but that’s what he was like that day and I had no power to resist what I felt. Perhaps nothing would’ve happened if he was satisfied with one bear, but he claimed that he wanted another one, and that’s when I started to feel something different about him. My hand on his hand was doing a simple job but I was enjoying the feeling a little too much for my own good.
Then, out of nowhere, he kissed me lightly on the lips and said thanks. I didn’t see it coming and I guess that’s why he laughed at my expression. I let out a small “You’re welcome” and saw him take a cab back to his hotel. He left me there in a pool of confusion with one of the two bears. At first, I didn’t really understand why he would give me one, but after putting two and two together, I figured out that he was suggesting something.
So the next day, when I saw him on one of the practice courts, I dragged him aside and asked if I should keep the bear. He looked up with an amused smile on his lips and said that it was up to me. I wanted to ask what happened to Marat but didn’t want to wipe away that smile and after that moment, I never really got another chance to ask about the Russian again. Foolish as I was, I didn’t even ask for time to think things over. I just nodded my appreciation of him offering me that stupid bear right there, right then. When I got a proper kiss in the corner of the locker room, I even felt that I was extremely lucky.
Really, what a fool I was. If only I had known that my heart would be slowly poisoned by his presence, that my soul would gradually be drained by all this emptiness… If only I knew that he could completely change me inside out…
Anyway, I was so happy. Who said the power of love could beat anything? Whoever it was, he or she was so right. I miraculously -even my doctor used that expression- recovered and managed to play in Marseille in February. What was even more miraculous was the fact that I even managed to win four matches, meaning that I got to the final! I was ranked at number one hundred and thirty five by then, but still got to the final. Each day, I got the sweetest encouragement and I was on cloud nine all week.
Then, when he beat me in Indian Wells, 9-7 in the third set tie break, I felt that I got nothing to fear and asked him to spend the night in my hotel room. He had a 4-0 head-to-head record against me, which means that he has always been dominating me even when I wasn’t aware of it.
"Doesn’t matter. I’m cold. Let’s go back."
I realize that I was out of this world again.
"But I know what you mean. That doll machine."
"Yeah, right. How quick."
Did he just mock at me? Well, I guess I deserve it entirely. I don’t have time to think about my next words or action when he starts to walk again.
"Juanqui…"
"Don’t call me. Just walk."
It’s only then that I realize that we haven’t called each other’s name for quite some time. My desperation has just broken one of our implicit rules; no love left, no calling names.
No love left. No love left…
Can I really say that? Am I absolutely sure? If I am, what’s stopping me from letting him go? Am I waiting like the coward that I am to see him leave first? So that I can blame him as if he was the bad guy and I was the innocent victim? What the hell am I waiting for?
Suddenly, I feel my hand all alone, shuddering in the cold. Did he just leave me…?
"You’re going to stand there?"
I look at him and realize that we’re back at home. Oh, so he’s not going to leave me today. What a relief and I just hate to say that.
Since we already had dinner, we’re probably going to watch TV and go to bed like we're used to. How boring, but at the same time, how disgustingly comforting, knowing that I’m still not alone. I’m not alone, at least for the next twenty-four hours. I'm not alone.
"Wake up."
I hear his voice in my dream. It must be a dream since he hasn’t been waking me up ever since we started that sad walk.
"Wake up, you lazy thing."
His voice sounds much clearer now and I rub my eyes, wondering on which planet I woke up today.
"Ju… amm…"
I barely manage not to call his name and cover it with a strange yawn. I can’t tell if he knows that I'm acting but he gets up from the bed in his usual pyjamas and walks out of the room.
Wait. He woke me up. This can’t be good. Is he now going to make me the most delicious breakfast and pour me the tastiest coffee ever and say goodbye? Or did he already prepare a letter for me and will hand it over as soon as we finish our last meal? What will he be like when he breaks up with people? I can safely say that I know him well but after all, he’s Juan Carlos. Nobody can know him inside out, not even himself.
"We’ll go out and have a nice brunch today. So get dressed in half an hour."
As soon as I walk towards the fridge to get myself a glass of water, he throws those words in a neutral tone which doesn’t give me any kind of information. I’ve been his boyfriend for ten months and I still can’t tell his mood properly. I suck. Maybe that’s why he stopped loving me. He stopped loving me…
I try my best to gulp down all my sadness and frustration with the icy water. Of course, I also suck at drinking fast, which leaves me choking hard, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands. Tears start to form in my eyes and I want to cry when I don’t feel a soothing hand on my back. I thought today was the day that he was going to be nice to me for the last time. But I take it that helping me from near-choking isn’t part of being nice.
"I already washed so you can use the bathroom."
I wipe the tears away and my eyes immediately swallow the freshness of his hair. So he woke up much earlier than me. For what? To write that goodbye letter? Now I sound like a paranoid. Do I still want him here? Is that what I honestly want? If I’m so terrified of him leaving me, why can’t I drop to my knees and beg him not to?
Too bad that I know that’s exactly what will lead him to leave me instantly. He doesn’t like people begging for money or love. The only time that he accepts my begging is in bed. Or should I use a stronger word than “accept”? He makes this short, low purring sound from deep down his throat whenever I beg for his mercy. I’ve always wondered if he knew the power of that sound. I doubt if any of my future boyfriends would be capable of such a sensual, dangerous sound.
Ha, as if I’ll have any future boyfriends. Given my whole experience with that guy who’s getting dressed in the bedroom, I don’t think I’ll be interested in another relationship ever again. It’s just… it’s too… I can’t even define this sentiment that I’m feeling. I just can’t do anything about the present which means that I probably won't have control of the near future.
I’m screwed. Yes, I’m totally screwed. But if I think that I’m screwed right now, think about how much more I’d be screwed without him. Haha. Just wait and see.
When I say that today has been one of the best days that we ever had, I really mean it. He wasn’t particularly nicer in his gestures or words, but his gaze wasn’t accusing and his voice wasn’t angry. I was happy to spend the entire day, cleaning the house with him.
Normally, I wouldn’t consider cleaning a fun activity, but for some reason, it was soothing until it hit me hard that this must be his way of erasing his traces from my house, from my mind and from my life. I still can’t figure out if he did that for himself or if he had some empathy left for me, but he cleaned like mad almost all corners of our collapsing nest and I helped him, dying inside.
We’re done with the house now and he’s watering a few plants that we have on the terrace. It’s soon dinner time, which means that the dreadful hour will arrive yet again. Will we survive another walk? I should know better after all the signs that he’s been giving me all day. Why else would he have cleaned the house and arranged everything in order? “Order” is a funny word to use, I feel, when we’re drowning in the very centre of utter confusion and despair.
Does his heart feel numb like mine? With aching fear? With this inexplicable hopelessness? I hope it doesn’t. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, let alone someone I deeply adore… or adored. I can’t decide.
"I think I’ll make spaghetti for dinner."
He’s already back from the terrace. We should’ve had a hundred plants out there, too bad.
"I’ll call you when it’s ready."
He picks up the apron and I just stand there, not being able to accept my fate. I don’t want to be a drama queen but I can’t stop thinking that this is our last dinner, the last time that we sit at the table together, facing each other. My chest tightens up and I’m so disgusted at this feeling.
What if I tell him that I don’t feel well? It’s a cold December, everybody’s sick. I’m sure he won’t push me out of the house to take that disastrous walk. We’ve never skipped our walk before so maybe today’s a good day to skip it for once. It’s not obligatory even if something tells me that it’s a serious rule between us. It’s not exactly my own fault that I feel light headed and dull, right?
"Dinner’s ready."
Huh? How did he cook a meal in three minutes?
The traitorous clock tells me that I lost my seventeen minutes somewhere. No, every second with him is my very last one. Give me my seventeen minutes back!
"I said, it’s ready."
"Okay."
I stop pouting and get up from the couch which I didn’t even know that I was sitting on. Well, let the Last Supper begin.
So here we are, taking our final walk together on the same old streets. If anything is different, I should say that there are slightly more people today. I guess it’s natural, given how close the Christmas season is. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll spend this year’s Christmas together. We’ve never spent a Christmas together before so I would very much like to try, even if we’re in this mess.
Who knows? Maybe all the joy and love around Christmas will give us a nice miracle. We’re both good people; never robbed or stabbed anybody. If anyone deserves a miracle, I think it’s us.
I’m so tempted to lace fingers with him. More people on the street means that the risk of losing him today has increased to an intolerable level. But whatever I do, it’s going to happen today anyway, so I don’t feel the point of acting desperately and leaving a bad last impression on him. I wish that he would remember me as someone who had enough pride left until the last minute of his fall. Yes, that sounds decent enough.
As usual, we don’t talk. We just walk, looking around, observing different people and stores. The streets of Monte Carlo are very beautiful. It’s a blessing that we can walk here every day for as long as we wish. I know that it should also be a blessing that I’m walking with such a beautiful guy. He has a big heart which seems to have endless kindness in stock for everybody on this planet except for me.
I’m thinking of walking a little bit slowly today. We’ll probably take the same course so that’s the only way that I can make our walk last longer. I take a quick look at our hands while he’s looking at one of the Christmas trees in front of a store. Haha, we’re wearing gloves on our other hands but not on these ones. These two hands are the lucky ones that have something better than simple gloves to warm them up. Well, they should enjoy the short time that they have together. Sadly, nothing lasts forever.
"Shall we go back now?"
What? Already? But we didn’t even finish our course! My eyes go from his face to my watch, then back to his face again. He wants the walk to end earlier. Oh, no. No way.
"Can we walk a little longer?"
Yes, I'm selfish. I don’t care if the cold wind is hitting his face, forming little tears in his eyes. I don’t care. I just can’t.
"Mario…"
Oh, no. Don’t call my name.
"It’s really cold today, Mario. I think we shou…"
"No! Stop it!"
He stops talking as I yell in the middle of the street, drawing attention on us. Oh, great. This is our last walk and I just yelled at him. I’m sorry, Juanqui. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.
I open my mouth to let out a sincere apology that would hopefully reach his heart when a bunch of young people come out of the cinema. Oh, perhaps I should’ve suggested that we watch a movie or something. A movie these days last two hours or so and I could’ve forcefully extended our shelf life.
I take a step to the left so that they won’t bump into us but he doesn’t budge, probably taken aback by my shout. I’m sorry, so please move. I put more pressure on his hand and gently pull him to my side but he still resists.
Juanqui! More people are coming out! I know it’s today but I don’t want it right now! Can’t we just have five more minutes, you heartless soul?
I beg with my eyes and I can tell that he’s about to take a step towards me when a girl falls down, her stiletto stuck in the manhole cover.
"Eek! Sorry!"
She shouts but it’s too late. My love loses his balance and my world falls down.
No! I said, five more minutes!
I look down at my right hand. It’s empty.
I see him help the girl get up and feel the urge to hurt them both. Who are they to destroy someone’s dream? Is he okay though? Was it an accident? Or was it carefully planned? I wouldn’t be surprised even if it was, but I don’t want to believe that he plotted this. And, what I also don’t want to believe is the sheer coldness that’s creeping into my right palm.
Where are you, Juanqui? I’m losing air.
Hello. Can you hear me?
Where are you?
Juanqui…?
Please?
…
Life goes on, unfortunately. I don’t even want to think about how December finally ended and a new year started. A new year also means that a new tennis season has started, which explains why I’m here in Marseille again. I wish that I would’ve been wise enough to avoid this city but I’m not only a coward and a selfish person, but also a dumb one. God bless me.
Ironically, I’m very fit and I played well during the last few weeks. Apparently, my body doesn’t care whether my soul is waiting for an autopsy. I heard that he's not physically well though. At first, I heard issues about his leg, then after the Australian Open, rumor said that he’s suffering with his wrist.
I’ve been tormented with remorse, not even leaving him a text message when he was the angel who kicked my mono far away to Neptune. I’ve picked up the phone countless times and told myself that it’s only basic manners to check on a fellow player who’s having a hard time with injury, especially if he’s the one who helped me with mine.
But if he signed up to play here, I suppose he’s doing better, if not completely healed. Perhaps I can stop torturing myself and rather keep an eye on his scores. Does he even have anyone to take care of him? Something like a boyfriend? I don’t know if thinking of him having a boyfriend should hurt more or less. It hurts to the point that I have to put down my fork for a moment.
"You’re done?"
Oh, right. I was eating with Novak; my good friend, neighbor and practice partner. Even if I didn’t put down my fork because I was done, I suddenly don’t feel like eating anymore. So I nod and look over at his plate. When did he finish? I thought that he’d need more time than me because he was the one who has been doing most of the talking. Well, his fast eating is a mercy then.
He pulls out his wallet to pay for his share but I put a hand on his arm and shake my head. This is a special place for me so I am going to pay. I don’t care if it makes sense, I just feel like paying for both.
"Oh, there’s a doll machine."
Of course, he has to notice it as soon as we’re out. I don’t lay my eyes on the stupid machine and just nod, looking down at my awesome shoes.
"Maybe I can try and pick up a doll for Ernie."
"He likes dolls?" I ask, shocked at the fact that there are more male athletes other than Juanqui who are into dolls.
"No. But he’ll take it as a nice gesture and give me something in return."
Novak beams and I don’t need to ask what he particularly wants in return. You lucky boy. Then I remember the days when I was lucky myself and before I can stop it, my eyes follow my friend’s feet and I see a blond guy in front of the machine.
"Juanqui!"
Oh God.
"Uh… Mario, that’s not him."
Novak corrects me and I get angry. "Why not? Why isn’t that Juanqui? That should be him! How do you even know that’s not him? You…"
My young friend looks at me with a strange face. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know how special that machine is, how special my Juanqui was.
"Sorry."
I apologize and he nods with a smile. He’s a good friend, a good guy. No wonder he got himself a caring boyfriend. Would he and Ernests be in a similar situation in ten months? If we couldn’t make it, shouldn’t everyone else fail too?
Oh, Jesus. Since when did I become so mean? If we couldn’t make it, all the others should. That’s only fair because no matter how hard they try, they’ll never achieve what we shared. We are that special and that unique. Try all you want, people. You’ll never get there.
"Are you okay? You don’t look too well."
I put on a weak smile and shake my head. I’m not okay. How can I be okay? How can I breathe another day, sleep another day and have meals with friends like this? How did I dare come up with the idea of bringing someone else here? I don’t want anything to taint our memory which is already fading little by little.
I can’t accept this and no matter how much I’ve been thinking about it, I still can’t decide what really happened that day; the day when I lost everything.
I’ve been coming to eat at this restaurant twice per day; lunch and dinner, since breakfast is covered at the hotel. I admit that the food is good but of course, that’s not the reason why I’m finishing my dessert alone in the corner.
He’s still in the tournament and I’m still in it as well. We’ve ended up… or rather, he and I have ended up on the other side of the draw and I have no idea if it’s a blessing or a curse. If he’s still winning matches, does it mean that his wrist is alright? Does it also mean that I lost my last chance -as if there were any in the first place- to read one of his messages or to hear his voice again?
I abandon what’s left of my pie and get up. It tastes more and more bitter each day and I guess that I won’t be coming here anymore. I’ve had enough of the same patterns on the suffocating walls and enough of this depressing music. Even if I linger around that stupid doll machine, he’s not going to come. I’m not going to see him struggle with that robot arm again, that killer frown beautifully displayed in the middle of his forehead. He’s gone and he won’t come back. It’s the undeniable truth.
After paying the bill, I push the door even though I’m not ready to go back to the world. The metal bar isn’t cold but somehow I feel a chill go through my bones. Strange. Perhaps I’m not feeling well. It’s February, people still get sick.
I feel the door swing lightly behind me and take a few steps to leave this place forever. This was my last meal here and probably my last time playing in Marseille as well. What’s with me and last meals though? It’s funny that I didn’t finish my dessert in there. I wasn’t in a hurry; it would’ve been nice if I could've finished it like a man.
I take a quick glance at the despicable machine for one last time. Of course, there's a blond guy standing in front of it, just like that day when I came here with Novak. I bet if my Serbian friend was here, he would've kindly told me again that it isn't Juanqui. But since he's not here this evening, I guess I'll have to say that to myself. Mario, that's not Juanqui.
I shake my head and turn around, feeling sick.
"Shit!"
I stop. Did I really hear that voice or did I imagine it?
"Grmm…"
I hear it again. That low purr. Oh my god, that low purr!
I turn around, left out of breath.
Juanqui? Is that you?
Can’t be. No way.
But is it…
You?
I blink. I can’t see the person’s face from here. He’s facing the machine, his back towards me. But that can’t be anyone other than him, right? I know him. I know what he looks like and what he sounds like. That’s him.
"Ho…"
Okay, that satisfied sound makes me confused now. That can’t be him. That guy just managed to pick up a bear. Juanqui doesn’t know how to use that machine. Or, did he learn? In two months? How long is two months exactly? Is it long enough to learn simple tricks like that? Is it long enough to forget me?
I turn around again, determined to leave properly this time. That’s not my Juanqui and I have no business left here.
"Mario?"
I have to stop again. Yes, that's me. I'm Mario. But who are you?
"You left your bear here."
What did he just say? I left my bear? Where? My bear is safely at home in Monte Carlo, thank you very much. I still hug him in bed to avoid horrible nightmares.
"But… I already have a bear."
Unfortunately, that’s all my lame mouth can come up with as I slowly turn around to face the guy.
"Oh, you didn’t throw it away? Well, we’ll just have to raise quadruplets then."
"Excuse me?"
I’m puzzled. That looks like Juanqui alright but why would he offer me another bear? And, why would he say "we"? Is there still a "we" left for me and him?
"Quadruplets mean same four bears, Mario."
I know what quadruplets mean! I manage not to yell at him this time and how proud I am for that.
"Do you still take a walk on that beautiful street?"
He changes the subject and I wonder if I should answer honestly.
"Yeah, I walk alone."
What an honest and pathetic answer. It’s true that I walk alone but I didn’t have to give it away like that. Now that I think about it, maybe I should’ve stopped taking a walk there. There are plenty of other streets to walk on. Yeah, good idea. From now on, I shall take another path.
"I could always join you."
I’m very tempted to say "excuse me?" once more but I suppress the urge. I don’t want to look like an idiot again.
"So are you going to take it or should I give it to someone else?"
He pokes the bear’s belly and I snatch it immediately. Give it to someone else? Ha, as if I’d let that happen! Over my dead body!
I hug my bear instinctively and hear a soft chuckle. It’s then that I feel from the very bottom of my heart that I will never walk alone.