Gabi’s foot rubbed the coffee spot by his seat as his evening with Eva replayed in his head. The dry octopus, the conversation running in circles and her vanilla perfume already haunted him. Paula, his therapist, would sneer at him the next day while he would mumble and twist his fingers. Not only had he met Eva again - when he was supposed to tell her they were incompatible - but he had also failed to fulfil his part of the deal for the tenth time. Paula had been clear: if he didn’t manage to speak up at least once before their next appointment, he would have to find another therapist. Gabi’s phone vibrated in his pocket and Eva’s name popped up on the screen. They had parted only twenty minutes ago and there she was, texting him already. “So nice to see you! We should do that again :) How about we... Read full message." Hi Eva, I'm sorry. You're boring. Of course, he could not say that. No matter the day, the tone, the media - he would never be able to say it. Gabi locked his phone and pushed it back in his pocket. "Gabi? Hey Gabi? Can you hear me?" Dammit, he had pressed the calling button. Gabi stared at the screen, paralyzed. The woman facing him on the tube cleared her throat. He picked up. "Hi... Eva." "Hey, so nice to hear you!" "Yeah, very nice to hear you too... I'm on the tube. Can I call you back when I get home?" He avoided the woman's eyes as she glanced from behind her newspaper. "Looking forward to it," he added. Even that old cow from the tube he needed to please. ... Gabi locked the door of his flat and leaned against it. It would only take two seconds, he would call Eva and tell her that – oh, no. She was calling him back. "Sorry, am I disturbing? I couldn’t wait to hear what you had to say." “Hey Eva, no, you... you never disturb." "You're so sweet." "Yeah, listen, it was really nice hearing you. Now I got to go, I have something in the oven and -" "In the oven? After dinner?" "Yeah, I was baking a lemon pie for my… dog." "I didn't know you had a dog! What kind of dog? What's his name?" "The kind that... moves his tail to samba. His name is Samba, actually." "Ha-ha, you're so funny. You should bring Samba along next time." “Absolutely.” "Great! Same day, same time next week?" "Same day, same time. Yes." “Amazing! Good night!” “Good night, Eva.” Gabi hit his head against the door. What was wrong with him? Alright, not everything was wrong, he still had two options. He could either call Eva back right now and tell her the truth or he could rent a dog for the following week. The latter sounded wiser. ... Gabi slipped off his shoes and tiptoed down the corridor - he didn't want to wake up his flat mate, Matt. The image of Paula shaking her head crept up in his mind and he ignored it. Yes, Matt still owed Gabi two hundred pounds and no, now was not the time to demand them back. Like it or not, Paula, Matt was asleep for now. Gabi held his breath as he approached the next door. Belen’s. Cold war was the only way with her. Gabi had figured she hadn’t paid the gas bill in June. He didn’t want to use that weapon against her yet - he was still perfecting his attack - but once he’d get the opportunity, he would hit. And strike. "Mr. Gabriel," a voice called as he climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. "Do you call that cleaning?" Gabi turned around, rehearsing his speech in his head: What do you mean do I call that cleaning? I have been cleaning the kitchen for the past two months, hoovering and taking the trash out. And by the way, I know you forgot to pay the gas bill in June. "What?" he said in a tiny voice. "The bathtub, do you call that cleaning?" "I shower in the office." “BS!” Belen threw her sponge at him, and he dodged it. Now was the time - he could do it. Gabi dropped his shoes, put his hands on his hips and took a breath. "Listen, Belen." "Enough of your non-sense!" "What non-sense?" "You know what I'm talking about!" "Guys, guys, guys!" Belen and Gabi turned around, Matt, their third flat mate, was standing in front of them, in underwear. "Can I get some quiet here?” "Sorry, Matt. Belen was -" "I told you I have an important meeting tomorrow! You’re stupid or what?” Matt slammed the door and Belen walked across the room to collect her sponge. Gabi felt his heart beating in his temples. He picked up his shoes and, before she could turn around to resume her scene, he was gone.
... Gabi headed to the 24/7 café by the roundabout. It was a small and dim space concealed from Shoreditch’s buzz by a building in construction. It served milkshakes that brought Gabi the three Cs he needed to survive in London: comfort, courage, and clarity. While he stirred his drink, Gabi sighed at himself. The evening was throwing opportunities at him to speak up and there he was, hiding behind a peanut butter milkshake. What would he tell Paula the next day? The truth? Certainly, not. He’d better write a farewell letter and disappear. Gabi grabbed a napkin and asked the waitress for a pen. She made eye contact with him and gave him a smile. That kind of smile. Gabi looked away, wondering why people had to be so intrusive. He grabbed the pen and mumbled “thank you” without looking at her. He started drafting his letter to Paula. "Gabi? Is that you?" Gabi looked up. Quentin. That was the last straw. "I didn't know you lived here, man! Hun’, this is Gabi. Gabi and I went to the same university.” Gabi hadn’t stayed in touch with Quentin, and rightly so - he had had a fling with Quentin's girlfriend back then, thinking she was single. "We're going to this new disco skate place nearby. Want to join?" "No, thanks. I -" "Come on, man. Don't be boring." "I'm not boring. I'm just -" “Depressed? You’ve been depressed since I've known you.” His new girlfriend laughed, and Quentin took off his sunglasses. "That place even has a milkshake bar." ... The place was so loud and crowded Gabi’s head started to spin. He hinted at Quentin he would skate with them later and headed to the milkshake bar upstairs as he didn’t want to be rude and leave too promptly. The bar had a low ceiling and blue neon lights winding across the walls. Waitresses in mini-skirts and maxi-socks skated from table to table with milkshake cups. A giant window overlooked the roller-skating rink where sequins jackets and LED sunglasses slid to old-school hip hop music. Gabi watched people roll and laugh as if there were no tomorrow, no feelings to spare and no people to please. "Want to dance?" Gabi sighed and, as he turned around to face the woman who had approached him, he prepared his sentence: "Thanks but I -" "Where are you from? I've never heard that accent before." "Brazil." "Cool. We can dance here if you want?" "Just leave me alone," he said between his teeth. "Say again?" “I said… sure, great idea.” The woman smiled and Gabi felt tiny ants crawling up his arms. “You’re a great dancer,” she said leaning forward. "Can you also dance salsa?" "Salsa?" "Like the Rio Carnival?" Did she mean samba? She did mean samba. Gabi bit the inside of his jaws and nodded without answering. The woman got closer. He stepped back. She approached again. His cheeks tickled and he opened his mouth gasping for air, but nothing came in. While the woman spoke, Gabi looked for an exit. There was one across the bar, where a waitress was picking up a tray full of cups - she would have to be his exit ticket. Gabi forced himself to dance and nod while the waitress slid in their direction. When she reached them, he stepped back and elbowed the waitress in the stomach. Milkshake flew up in the air and one of the cups hit his co-dancer in the face. Dammit. That was not the plan. The woman started to cry. The waitress yelled at Gabi as she tried to stand back up. Faraway voices addressed him, and someone pushed him to the side as people gathered around the two women on the floor. Gabi felt his legs shaking. He gripped the nearest table, aiming for the exit. What had he done? He was just trying to… Or had he? His mind was going blank, and his legs weighed a ton. He pushed on them, holding onto the wall until he reached the staircase and tumbled down. "Gabi, you're leaving already?" God, Quentin. "Yeah, sorry. My cab is waiting -" “Just text me, okay?” Text what number? For what? “Sure,” Gabi said and zoomed out. ... Gabi ran fast, past drunk faces, naked flesh, and sticky litter. His lungs threatened to blow up in his chest, but his legs were electrified. His whole body was. He wanted to scream, to let it all out but his throat was tight. His eyes stung and he pressed them to hold the water in. When his legs finally slowed down, he had reached the glass buildings of the City. He sank on a bench in a square of wilted flowers and held his face in his hands, shaking. A beggar sat down next to him and drew a flask out of his coat. “Want some?” Gabi’s heart hammered in his temples. “All good, young man?” Gabi nodded, still catching his breath. “Needed... a run." “Rum is always good.” The old man took a sip. “You look troubled.” “I… one week. One week… to speak up, okay? And I…” Gabi felt tears of rage coming up, like a fountain. He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “It’s okay. Breath in and out. In and out.” The old man said waving his hand. “I hate the word pushover but that’s what I’ve – “ “What?” “Drama.” Gabi shook his head. “I’m too judgmental, too blunt, a know-it-all or whatever-“ “Who said that?” “Everybody. I don't even know what's wrong… I get… I try to be nice but… doesn’t work. Now I get steamrolled and argh!” Gabi smashed the armrest of the bench. “That’s not who I am! I like to be direct; I like to move mountains; I like things to make sense. Not to waste my time around useless people that’s not… If Paula were here, she’d go ‘see, judgmental again’.” Gabi imitated her voice. “I spend my life on that. Look I even wrote her a farewell letter–“ “Wait, wait, wait. Why do you care about Paula?” “She's my therapist.” “And?” “She says I need to try harder. But that’s already a lot! And you know speaking up is not easy anymore because I know it will backfire.” “As in?” “Pfft, anything. Enemies at work or trouble at home. Hurting people. That’s why I’d rather be blunt – say what I mean. But people don't listen, or they care only about making their point, or they get offended for something I haven’t even said. Then I feel stupid for expressing myself.” “You should stop seeing that therapist and get yourself new shoes.” “What's wrong with my shoes?” “They look cheap.” “Better than yours.” The beggar laughed. “See! You can do it.” “Of course, I can. Because you won’t start stupid drama.” “People who start stupid drama are by definition stupid and you don’t need them.” “That’s an easy one!” “You need easy sometimes, otherwise you’ll kill yourself. If you’re naturally blunt, adjusting and making all those efforts is not who you are. No wonder it’s tough.” Gabi looked down. “Meeting halfway is okay but not walking the whole distance,” the beggar added. Gabi looked up at the dome of Saint Paul’s cathedral. “What should I do then?” “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, take things as they come and if you break some eggs, so be it! So. Be. It." “I might break some deliberately to make things even.” “So be it!” the beggar said opening his arms. His words resonated like an "Amen" to the toll of Saint Paul's cathedral ringing 5am ahead of them. Gabi closed his eyes and appreciated the sound.
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