Volume 1 Chapter 3.2 | Fitting In

After work the next day I was given clean up duty. It just so happened to be the one duty I’d managed to avoid since I started working for the cinema.

It wasn’t so bad. It was just a case of picking up the excess rubbish for the actual cleaners in the morning. I filled a black bag full of empty popcorn boxes, half empty bags of sweets and cups of soft drink before heading out into the foyer and leaving the knotted black bag by the doors for the cleaners in the morning.

I left the cinema at about half past eight (I’d be claiming that last half hour back for sure) andf I left through the main doors and that was when I heard my name being called. It was Luke, the colleague I’d been put on clean up duty with.

Luke was gay and Luke was as camp as Christmas.

“Wait for me babe!” He called, dragging a black bag behind him and probably with it leaving a trail of Pepsi from half filled drinks cups. His use of the word babe didn’t have the same familiarity as when Chris used it. Chris said it out of jest. It was ironic. He was straight and I was a man. Calling me babe was funny but to Luke it was just something he said to all the boys.

We hadn’t really spoken since I started working for the cinema. The first time we had a conversation was after (shock horror) that I revealed I was gay. 90% of the staff were shocked with one girl claiming it was obvious. Everyone clearly had a different view of what made a person seem gay. Maybe it was because I was quiet. People often used “it’s always the quiet ones” as their reason.

He immediately asked me three things: What was my boyfriend’s name in case he knew him. Was I going to “Porn Idol” at G-A-Y and Why couldn’t he find me on grindr.

I didn’t even ask what “grindr” was. I didn’t think I’d want to know.

The answer to all three of those questions were of course negatives. I don’t have a boyfriend. No I’m not going to G-A-Y and I don’t use this “grindr.” His response was a simple “Oh” an awkward nod and then he went back to talking to Katie, the skinny gorgeous girl smothered in fake tan, massive eye lashes and thick red lips.

“Where do you live?”

“Islington.” I knew then that he was going to want to take the tube with me I just hoped he lived in the other direction. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t because I disliked him. It was because I wanted to avoid the inevitable awkward silence that would be the twenty minute tube journey.

“Angel babe. Before you say no I’m not loaded. I live with my parents still.” He tutted like living with parents was a bad thing. I missed living with my parents. I remember that was a time when I had money.

This meant we ended up sharing three quarters of the tube journey and neither of us seemed to know what to talk about. I wanted to get on with my book and he seemed tired anyway. Every so often I’d catch his eyes closing and his head slowly tipping back into the window. Still I felt this horrible twisting in my stomach and I felt ridiculously uncomfortable. I wanted to be able to speak, I wanted to be able to hold a conversation with another guy but apparently it was a skill I lacked.

I felt like I should ask him if he’d date someone who was a bit of a nerd and didn’t really do the whole “gay” thing very well but that would sound like I was hitting on him. I figured anyway. We parted ways at Kings Cross station he sighed and said “See you tomorrow then.” and I just said “Yeah” and smiled.

When I got home, standing in my bedroom I looked again at my “Wall of Nerd” I looked at everything that made me, me. Everything I knew. Everything that I could talk about if I had to. I began to wonder where I got this idea in my head. This idea that I wouldn’t be suitable dating another man. There had to be other men like me. Right?

“Just enjoy being single.” I muttered to myself.

“Thinking of taking it down again?” Said Amy from my door way. She was in her pyjamas and her hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head. “You know this is the media’s fault right? Portraying gay guys in a specific way. Every TV show has it’s judgey bitchy queen or the super model who happens to be into men. It’s not real life though.” I nodded.

“Fucking media.” I was tired and getting myself stressed out about nothing. “I took a tube home with this gay guy from work. I sat in silence the whole time. I didn’t know what to say. It was so awkward.” I paused for a moment and suddenly the answer came to me and I felt like an idiot. “He’s just a person. Why didn’t I talk to him like another person. Shit. Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean we have to sit and discuss Madonna and HIV awareness. I’m an idiot.”

“You are love. You’re just getting your calvin kleins in a knot over Tom. That’ll go with time. You’ll feel comfortable with yourself again soon.”

“You think so?”

“Oh I know so. Right now you feel like shit. You feel worthless and you feel because someone dumped you that the qualities that… changed his feelings toward you will be the qualities that will put others off from even going near you. Right?” I took a deep breath and sighed. Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe. “And please don’t take down the wall of nerd. Changing to impress the future men in your life ain’t the way to go love.”

“You’re right.”

“I know. You should just enjoy the freedom. You’ve been shacked up since you were 16. I think it’s time to enjoy yourself. Don’t think too much about it. Just let loose.” I smiled. “You should start by texting Carlo. Or whatever his name was.”

“Angelo.” Amy rolled her eyes.

“If that even is his real name.” She laughed. “I’m going to bed. I gotta be up at 5. Night.”

“Night Ames.”

I sat in bed. Glasses on and a book in my lap. I thought about texting him. It wouldn’t be so bad. It had been a couple of days. Maybe he’d have forgotten about me anyway. I took my phone from the bedside cabinet and stared into the LCD screen. I twisted my mouth up and clicked my tongue in thought.

“Sorry Angelo.” I said as I put my phone back on the cabinet.

I wasn’t ready and enjoying being single wouldn’t work if I was texting after some bloke. Tom may have already met someone but that wasn’t for me. My relationship with Tom had meant something even if it hadn’t to him. I needed to get over him but first I needed as Amy said, to be comfortable with myself.

As I lay there with my eyes closed trying to shut off and go to sleep my mind went back to the conversation I’d had with Luke in the staff room. The one from a week or so ago where I had shockingly revealed my sexuality and where everyone but Emma was shocked. I don’t know why but I began to piece together bits of the conversation that I had then glazed over. When I was aksed what my boyfriend’s name was and I said I was single. Luke said something, something which then I didn’t even take on board.

He said: I started seeing my fella about a month or so ago. He’s a production manager for Studio One. He works on movies. He’s met a shit load of celebrities. He’s a northerner too. You might know him.

My eyes shot open and I sat up right in my bed. Luke was dating Tom.

 

 

Volume 1 Chapter 3.1 | Fitting In

Texting Angelo back completely slipped my mind.

I went about the next couple of days as normal. I went to work and I came home. I sat on my laptop looking for “career jobs” in between watching American Horror Story and “working on my blog” both things that were not going to help me further my career prospects.

Then one day as I sat on my bed, a hot cup of coffee to hand and a copy of Neo Magazine I looked out across my bedroom. It had seemed smaller since Tom left even if nothing much had changed. He didn’t have much in the means of “things” and all of his clothes were always neatly tidied away in cupboards and draws. I still had the same double bed. I had debated getting a single but as Lesley reminded me: What if you pull? (Yeah. What if being the key words) so everything was pretty much… the same.

I looked up at my walls. I still had that bloody Star Trek: Into Darkness poster I picked up from HMV on my wall and a floating shelf that proudly showed my varying sci-fi and manga memorabilia. It was how I’d always displayed it at home and even Tom agreed with me that it would be a waste to just box it all away.

He never judged me for being a “nerd” not once but now, being single, 26 years old and struggling with the idea of “starting over” I began to judge myself.

“Should I re-invent myself?” I asked Amy as we stood in front of my “wall of geek” both with thoughtful expressions on our faces like we were thinking about actual important things. Like the meaning of life or is Captain Janeway was in fact the best Star Trek Captain in the history of Star Trek Captain’s despite her domineering male counterparts.

“What’s the point?” I shrugged.

“I don’t see many guys being into a guy who still collects… shit… at 26.” I said as I picked up a model Pikachu. Sometimes I just couldn’t help myself. I’d drop by Tokyo Toys or I’d go visit China Town and I’d come home with some new toy to sit on my shelf.

“It’s not shit. It’s cute. It’s you. It’s what makes you, unique.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe tone it down but don’t make yourself out to be something you’re not.”

“What if who I am is what drove Tom away?” I didn’t mean to bring him up nor did I mean to make this another sop story about how devastated I was that he’d left me. But it seemed lately everything linked back to him. Amy sat on the end of my bed.

“Listen, love, Tom’s a prick. Don’t let him rule over you even after he’s gone. Be yourself. If guys don’t like you for you then fuck ’em.” She paused, realizing what she’d said. “Not literally. Lesley would mean it literally, use them and abuse them pet she’d say.” We laughed. It was true. “But nah. Fuck ’em. You don’t want to rush into things anyway. Enjoy being single and eventually you’ll find someone who will love you for you.” I scratched the back of my head. I felt irritated. I didn’t realize how bothered I was about relationships until after my relationship had ended.

“You’re right. Why am I even bothered? I’m only 26. Whole life ahead of me.” I fidgeted for a moment and took my mobile from my pocket. “But why can’t I bring myself to text this boy. Lesley said he was fit. His name is Angelo. All I can imagine is some tall, tanned, muscular Latin god and then I look at myself and see a pale skinned and fat mess. I mean maybe he was drunk too? Maybe the dim lighting in that club made me appear attractive. Let’s face it. I’m mediocre at  best.”

“Ah shut it. You’re gorgeous and you know it. So what you’re not ripped and tanned. You’re handsome and I would if you, you know, swung that way and of course if I wasn’t with Chris.” She said with a smile.

“But you’re a girl. Maybe I appeal to girls but am I gay hot?”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.”

I knew exactly what I meant though. The last few days I’d spent reading gay literature. Magazines and the likes. I’d followed a couple of gay news outlets on twitter as I was curious to what they’d be talking about. Never once did any of these websites tweet pictures of “average guys” it was always ridiculously sculpted models with perfect skin wearing tiny underwear. It all made me feel awfully self conscious and like I should go on a water diet or better: Just die because there was no cure for my ugly.

The front covers of magazines were the same and underwear adverts, aimed at gay men as there was no way they were aimed at straight guys. They all had semi-naked gym freaks touching themselves up to entice similarly looking gay men to buy their wears. I imagined myself rolling around in a tight pair of Bjorn Borg’s or Aussie Bum’s and all I could think was what a off putting sight to anyone that would be.

I finally understood how women felt when it came to the “sexualisation” of women on TV. How they felt they just had to buy the most expensive make-up. How they had to buy all the latest fashions if they wanted to look even the tiniest fraction more attractive than they did before to appeal to their shallow and quite frankly sexist boyfriends.

Turns out it was difficult for men too and even more so for your average gay.

Volume 1 Chapter 2.3 | Rubbish

I said nothing and I didn’t let him say a single thing. Although he tried.

I left the toilets and rejoined my friends. Forcing a smile I took the drink from Lesley and I downed it. I ordered another before we took to the dance floor. The last thing I wanted was for the night to be about Tom. In a sense it was. It was about me and my break up which Tom played a massive part of and it was about me celebrating my new found single-dom. Something I could hardly celebrate with my ex being in the same building.

I was almost thankful for the dizziness that had overcome me. As we danced to, yes, what was in fact Abba, I felt my inhibitions go and I felt my worries of Tom leave me for all it would be temporarily it was still a relief.

Me, Lesley and Amy had engaged in what could only be described as a gay sandwich as I danced in between the two of them the girls using my body as a pole. Chris held his drink in one hand whilst taking pictures on his mobile with the other until finally we roped him into joining us.

I spent the evening with my friends. I made no passes at any man, nor did I even notice any made towards me and if passes were made at me which I assume they weren’t I must have ignored them or the sad truth may have well been that there were no passes to actually ignore.

That aside as I drunkenly scanned the room as I danced with Lesley, Amy and Chris. I could see numerous couples dancing closely, bodies rolling against each other, hands grasping tightly onto arse’s and lips locked. I tried to ignore the severe shitty feeling that began to brew in my stomach. The feeling of being alone. Remembering that it had been well over a month since I’d last been kissed. The knowledge that I was having to start again from scratch. The thought of approaching strangers too create new relationships. Or it could have been the fact I had one too many Jager and Cokes on an empty stomach and I was in fact just this: Sick as a dog.

So after throwing my guts up in the toilet cubical I managed to find my way through the sea of gay men and back outside again where the fresh air hit me like a tonne of a bricks. Doubled over be the entrance to the tube station I continued to be sick and eventually I heard them.

“There he is.” Said Amy with a hint of pity in her tone. I looked at her briefly before turning away to bring up more of my stomachs contents (or lack their of) onto the pavement.

“What are you like!” Exclaimed Lesley as she patted my back as if that would help the situation. All I could do was apologise.

“Babe. Get a burger down your neck and you’ll be fine.”

“I couldn’t possibly th-think of eating.” I said before dry heaving. There wasn’t even anything left inside me to throw up but my body insisted on continuing convulsing painfully.

“There was this well fit bloke wondering where you’d gone. He’d been eyeing you up all night.”

That had to be a lie. I was a mess.

“Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean you have to say nice things to me.” I said, a trail of saliva and vomit hung from my bottom lip like a spiders web. Thin and translucent.

“She’s not lying. He was gorgeous.”

“Well it’s a bit late now.” I tried to stand and I wiped the back of my mouth with my hand. The idea that I still had a half hour bus journey ahead of me before being able to sleep made me want to cry. All I wanted was a glass of water and my bed.

“I told him you were throwing your ring up and you were pretty wrecked. So I gave him your number.” I looked at Lesley with what I thought was a look of judgement. I probably looked half conscious and sick.

“So this guy already sees me as the guy who was throwing his ring up. Great.”

“His name is Angelo and he’s gonna give ya’ a ring tomorrow pet.”

Angelo? Really? That had to be made up. A pseudonym. A name used to pick up guys in bars that made him sound exotic when in fact his name was Alan or Derrick. I thought nothing more of it and focussed on getting home.

I must’ve dozed off and my mind must not have fully become aware of itself when I came too as somehow when I woke I was in my bed in a vest and boxer shorts. It was also 10am the next morning. I had a bucket beside my bed that already had traces of bile splashed about the bottom and my head felt like a sack of sand. I rolled onto my side – which apparently was the most agonizing thing I had ever experienced and I kicked the covers off of my boiling body. All I could think of was how I hated alcohol. How I hated night clubs and how I hated Tom for making me feel consistently like a bag of shite.

“Hello?” I called out helplessly. My room was adjacent to Amy’s. I just hoped someone would hear me. I needed water and I was scared that if I forced myself to sit up that the whole world would spin on it’s head and I’d throw up again.

Unfortunately no one heard me. Nights out normally meant the girls would be asleep until noon whereas no matter my condition I was always awake early. I reached down for my phone which somehow was on charge. I just hoped to god that my three friends hadn’t had to dress me into my night clothes and that somehow in my state I’d gotten myself into my room, changed and somehow remembered to stick my phone on charge. The things you could do when you weren’t even aware you were awake.

The notification light on my phone flashed a rainbow of colours and when I unlocked the screen I saw I had two new messages, several missed calls and a whatsapp message. The missed calls were from Tom. Typical. I cleared them from the call history and was in the right mind to block his number and remove it from my contacts. That would be a big step to take in the “moving on” process but I couldn’t do it. Next I read the whatsapp, largely because the “New Message” was from a number I didn’t recognize.

Amy: Hiya love. We’ve nipped out to McDonalds. Bringing you back a massive McDonalds breakfast. Hope you can stomach it. Bless. x

That explained why no one heard my pitiful cries. I smiled though. At least at times like these I knew I had people to depend on and people who cared about my well being. Even if that caring nature was what got me into this situation in the first place. Deep down I knew they meant well.

Lastly I checked the messages and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Unknown Number: Hey there. Hope ur ok and not too hungover. lol. Ur friend gave me ur number. Hope u don’t mind. We should meet up.

Unknown Number: Oh my name is Angelo. Dunno if ur friends told u or not. Haha. Txt bk when u can. x

Volume 1 Chapter 2.2 | Rubbish

I ended up having two of Lesley’s lethal  doses of Jagermeister. It seemed equal measures were beyond her but I couldn’t complain. It meant I’d spend less when we went out and it wasn’t as though London nights out were realistically within my pay grade.

Slightly tipsy I sat in the living room next to Amy’s boyfriend Chris who had decided to join us for the evening. I liked him.  He was a nerd, quite like me and we were into the comic books. I also liked the masculine we he called me baby in his cockney accent. He said it as though it was natural though and not in anyway “condescending to the gay.”

Another predicament I found myself in. Was being a nerd and a geek accepted in the “gay world” that I had yet to truly venture into? In a world that seemed dominated by slim, fake tanned Ken dolls and muscular gods was there room for a slightly overweight nerdy 26 year old single?

I guess I really took for granted the little things Tom accepted about me. The things that I was teased about in school. I was passionate about my hobbies and it was difficult to find someone accepting of the guy who collected comic books, who watched Japanese cartoons and played video games.

Starting from scratch was definitely going to be… an experience.

“You alright babe?” Chris had asked mid-conversation.

We’d been discussing the new Transformer’s trailer. I didn’t like the franchise nor did I like Michael Bay as a director but he was quite the fan. Something must have been amiss with my tone as he changed the subject to ask about my well being. I just shrugged.

“I’m fine.” And I drank my third Jagermeister and red bull.

Maybe if I got ridiculously drunk things would be fine. I knew drunk me was fun. Drunk on wine me however wasn’t so I’d stay clear of that poison for the evening. I was the kind of drunk who loved everyone. I’d have embarrassing heart to hearts with my friends and the only dance I knew was the bump ‘n grind. However, drunk on wine me was a sit in the corner and cry drunk. I caused trouble and deserved a slap when I was drunk on wine.

We officially started the evening with a traditional game of “Never have I ever” which saw everyone drinking and left me sat there with a half empty glass and everyone else managed to get through another two glasses of their chosen poison. We learnt however that since our last game of “Never have I ever” that Amy and Chris had “tried it up the bum” as Lesley put the question, a question that seemed to be put out there to allow me to at least have one mouthful of booze. We discovered that Lesley had “done it outside” and that Chris had wore women’s clothing. Another question that seemed to be there to permit me a drink but much to my friends disappointment I had never cross dressed and nor would I ever.

Regardless of a drinking game that left me pretty much out of the picture the atmosphere was good. The company was great and as always the crack was top notch. We took the tube to Leicester Square station and Lesley had prepared Capri Sun cartons filled with rum. Straight rum. Rum that tasted like what can only be described as a deathly burning sensation for all of the senses. Just a couple of sips and my vision was skewed.

Oh no.

We walked from Leicester Square to Charring Cross. Me and Lesley arm and in arm and Amy and Chris walking ahead of us. Before I knew it we were at Charring Cross station. We walked past the bus stops and down the side of the station building. There were numerous pubs and restaurants to our left but we skipped them all to join a queue inside the building. There were a few other clubs and bars that were closing up on the inside and I group of bouncers in florescent jackets outside the entrance to the infamous “Heaven.”

The queue wasn’t so big. Around 50 people waited to be let in by the heavies at the door. I could feel the heavy bass from inside the club vibrating through my feet and the faintest tune of whatever chart hit they were playing. I didn’t recognize it but Lesley already had her hands in the air and had started to sing.

“You want a Lamborghini, sippin’ Martini’s…you gotta work bitch.” She turned to us and yelled. “I fucking love this song!”

I just laughed. I was rubbish at chart music too. I knew the odd song here and there but I didn’t actually pick up what was popular until nights out quite like this one. I did know that I wanted to at least hear Neon Jungle again. “Braveheart” had become “my song” apparently and if I was drunk enough I’d be dropping it low as soon as that bass dropped.

“I just want to get inside. Get another drink down me. Or six.” I said.

“Take it easy. We don’t want to be carrying you home.”

“Amy, love, I’ll be fine. Honestly.”

After a half hour wait we were finally inside. After paying the entry fee we made a bee line for the bar. I decided it would be safe to stick with the same drink. I didn’t want to mix. Not after the last time I mixed drinks and ended up home after half an hour. It was my 24th birthday and one of Tom’s friends had gotten me a “top shelf cocktail”. It was a thick black liquid that had the following: Sambuca, Apple Sourz, Cherry Sourz, Vodka and Absinthe. I couldn’t even hold my own head up after that one. I ended up locked in the toilets in some bar and had to have security help me out and into a taxi. Not one of my finest moments.

Lesley however, as usual, had other plans and she handed me a shot of tequila. I hated the stuff and so did she as far as I could remember. Regardless we licked the salt from our hands downed a shot that was indescribably vile and sucked on a piece of lime which I could only ever assume was given to wash the disgusting taste of tequila from your mouth.

“Tequila, really?” I asked, raising my voice slightly above the music.

“You want to get drunk don’t you? This will do the trick pet!”

I smiled. “Okay okay. But no more shots. Can you watch my drink? I need to pee.”

I handed her my Jager and coke and walked through to the toilets. I’d needed to pee since we left the flat but I didn’t want to “Break the seal” so early. I was terrible for toilet breaks when drinking. I knew now that I would probably visit the toilets for a piss at least another seven times throughout the night. Was that natural? I had no idea but alcohol seemed to go right through me.

I stepped into the crowded men’s bathrooms and only then I remembered I was in a gay night club. I felt suddenly nervous and self conscious even despite my slight intoxication. The toilet cubical was engaged and the only place for me to relieve myself was a space in the corner next to three other guys. I took a deep breath and walked to the urinal. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and if I was going home early I wanted it to be because I was throwing my guts up from booze not because I’d pissed myself.

I unzipped, got “it” out and stood at an awkward angle so know one could see as I pissed into the corner of the long urinal. I never used urinal’s anyway. Never. But this was a slight emergency and I didn’t want to look like I was loitering around a men’s toilets in a gar bar as I waited for the only cubical to free up.

“Noah?”

I heard my name being said. I really did but it took a while for it to compute that I was the only Noah in the toilets. It also took me a while to recognize the voice. A voice that had once been oh so familiar. I finished my business, put myself away and glanced up to see Tom staring down at me.

Volume 1 Chapter 2.1 | Rubbish

Chapter 2

Rubbish

A month had passed since “the incident” and I never heard or said another word on the matter.

I didn’t even tell my friends what really went down and nor did Tom. Over time I’d even managed to kid myself into thinking it never happened. Then from time to time the image of his macchiato covered face came to me and I wanted to curl up in a corner and die.

I’d quit my job and I started working in the ticket office for the Empire Cinema in Leicester Square. Far from my dream job but at least it wasn’t a telephone role.

I worked decent hours. 9-5 or 1-9 which meant I never had to get the night bus home. The pay was mediocre but it would do whilst I planned my next move. I spent my evenings either job hunting or netflix binging. I watched Star Treck: Into Darkness five times in one evening.

Star Trek. Good. Chris Pine. Good. Zachary Quinto. Yes please. Any day of the year. Even if he was wearing a burlap sack.

However on this particular Friday evening on a 5pm finish as I headed for the tube station I received a text message from Lesley.

Lesley: Piss up tonight pet! x

Me: Maybe. x

Lesley: Heaven? x

Me: Neither of us are religious Les. No matter how many times we repent or confess our sins neither of us is going to heaven. lol. x

Lesley: No dick. Heaven, Charring Cross. Cheese Night. Getting you LAID. x

The use of capitals in the word laid truly emphasized her seriousness. I didn’t know how to reply so I decided to tackle her suggestion when I got home. The idea of getting “laid” absolutely terrified me.”

It was sad really. Tom was my first crush, my first boyfriend and my first love. He was my first time and naturally went on to be the only person in ten years that I’d slept with. Hell, he was the only man I’d kissed or even hugged.

I didn’t know if I was even ready to, no, the sickly twisty feeling in my gut told me I wasn’t. I definitely wasn’t.

Maybe I was over thinking it. I’d barely interacted with other gay men whilst in my relationship. I didn’t have a clue about “other men”. I wouldn’t know, as an adult, how to approach “other men” I didn’t even know if I appealed to “other men” and what on earth was Heaven? Was it a gay bar?

It dawned on me. I had never once in my adult life been to a gay bar, night club, festival or event of any kind. It brought to memory the time I went shopping with Lesley. I hated shopping and I didn’t have a clue about what looked good on other people. (I liked to think I dressed myself quite well) and all I did was grumble and complain – to which Lesley had said:

You make a rubbish gay.

At the time I laughed about it. I was 17, maybe 18 and I thought yes, because shopping with girlfriends is the definition of gay and I hate shopping so yes, I’m such a rubbish gay!

Of course that’s not true. However I started to think in all my years of ignorance, essentially living as a “straight man” (whatever that meant) a straight man with a boyfriend, that I didn’t actually have a clue about anything… gay.

I was well aware of the stereotype that people expected each and every gay man to live up to but you didn’t have to conform. But you should at least know about all the recent gay rights protests, about marriage equality and that Heaven is one of the most famous gay night clubs in the world.

I was completely clueless.

As I stepped into the flat the music was already blaring from Lesley’s room. It seemed pre-night out drinks had already started. I could smell deodorant, perfume and that distinct smell of hot hair from the straighteners as I passed her room.

I tried to stay as quiet as I could. I at least wanted to get out of my uniform and assess the damage (aka my unshaven face) before I came to any decision in regards to a night out. So I stood in front of the body length mirror by my closet and analysed myself.

I removed my Empire Cinema polo shirt and threw it to one side. I stood there, in all my shirtless glory, which wasn’t glory at all and picked at all my faults. I really needed to work out. The slight podge I always had was getting a little out of control and my “muffin top” was more visible than ever. I needed to trim my body hair – which was something I did out of cleanliness if anything else and I needed to shave my face.

My facial hair shades of ginger and dark browns made it look like I’d lived in a cave for a month. My hair was messy and needed cutting. Pimples had reared their ugly red heads on my cheeks and one little bastard in the corner of my nose one of those really sore pimples that actually made your skin ache. There was no way I was going anywhere. How I’d even managed to leave for work looking like I did I had no idea.

“Stop starin’ at yourself. You look like a budgie.” I laughed. I wondered how long Lesley had been stood in the doorway watching me.

“I’m not staring at myself. I’m-…studying. I’m studying myself. You know it’s not uncommon for a man to want to see what needs fixing before a night out. It’s exactly what you and Amy do.” I said in my defense. I didn’t want to tell her I’d picked at every single fault on my body and that I wanted to just go to bed and stuff my face with Oreos and milk.

“Here.” She handed me a glass of Jagermeister and coke. I knew it was Jagermeister from the strong smell. It must have been a frigging triple.

“That’s enough to wake the dead.” I said as I took a sip, my face tightened and I looked as though I was sucking on lemons.

“Well we will get you drunk here and you’ll be dying to go out. You’ll love it in heaven. Lots of good looking gays, lots of Asians. You like Asian men still don’t you?”

She was of course referring to my teenage obsession with Korean boy bands. Yes, I still liked Asian men, at least I think I did. Call me a loser if you want but when I was with Tom I seldom thought of other men.

“Can’t we just have a night in?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because since Tom dumped you you’ve had about 31 nights in. You’ve gotten sad and boring. There I said it.” She swigged back the last of her triple jager and coke and folded her arms in a huff. “Besides drunk Noah is hilarious. You need to let your hair down. Go wild.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it pet. We’re taking you out and that’s that.”

It looked like my decision had been made for me. A month after officially being single for the first time in 10 years I was about to experience my first gay nightclub.

Volume 1 Chapter 1.3 | Breaking Up

I met with Tom the next morning. I was running slightly late thanks to part closures of the tube which was infuriating at the best of times. I honestly thought I was going to burst. Experiencing the most uncomfortable replacement bus service in the history of the replacement bus services.

He was sat by the front entrance in front of the window. He was supping on a straw of what seemed to be an iced coffee. It would be an Iced Mocha. It was his favourite whereas I personally loved the Iced Caramel Macchiato. They were our summer drinks and in the winter we’d resort to the hotter equivalents. It wasn’t anything significant but the fact we could order at a Starbucks without even thinking about it was special. The feels like we’d be together forever kinda special.

Nervously I scooted around the side entrance. I pretended I hadn’t seen him and I stepped up to the bar to order my Iced Caramel Macchiato and upon hearing him call my name I turned and acted surprised.

“Oh there you are!” I said, mock hitting myself in the head. D’oh. “You know. I just didn’t see you. Head in the clouds as usual.” I said as I sat in front of him.

I placed my drink on the table and as I sat down I realized the Starbucks staff had found another wonderful way to spell my name. Fair enough I had the occasional Noa. Which was cool and looked rather Japanese. However I’d had and not entirely limited to: Noar, Nouh, Noauh and lastly David. David because I was fed up of them misspelling Noah. So I gave them a coffee pseudonym.  Today however they’d gone completely off the wall for a mixture of the lot. Noaurh.

He didn’t say anything. He just huffed and raised both eyebrows. He’d actually dared to be pissed off that I’d kept him waiting twenty minutes. Dared to be pissed off when it was he who had “pulled a Tom” and here I was, totally okay with everything and ready to forgive and forget.

“As you’re aware I haven’t been around these last couple of days.” He said. How awkward. It was as though he was purposefully pushing my buttons.

“Days? You mean you haven’t been around for a week. It’s been a week Tom. Seven days which constitutes a week.”

“I’ve been away for a week. I needed time to clear my head. Time to think. You know, about the future… about us.” It was still beyond me why he couldn’t have just told me that. Sure I’d have still freaked out but no where near as much as I had done. I sighed.

“Then why didn’t you say that instead of that one message: I think we should seperate. And then disappearing. I mean, who does that? You can’t just do that to someone.” I stopped myself. There were other things I felt like I needed to say but I could feel it welling in my throat. The tears. If I kept on talking I would have ended up… screaming.

So. Tom filled me in on his week away. He’d gone to Brighton. Apparently that’s the gay capital? I wouldn’t know. The only thing remotely gay about me as far as I was concerned was that I happened to like men and the odd camp classic but your music taste didn’t define your sexuality. He’d gone there to see if he could see himself being single at his age. (He was 29.) He’d went to a couple of parties, met up with some old college friends and he’d read a couple of good books.

It took him a while to get to the point. It got to the point where I struggled to hear his words over the sound of my own heart belting out in my ears. It could go any which way. He wasn’t giving any clues away. I felt like that moment three of your balls had been drawn for the lottery and you’re literally another three away from being a millionaire. You know, when you’re already planning what you’ll spend your millions on? However, my last three balls wouldn’t be called only the numbers would be the one below or the one above. Screwed at the last minute.

“And whilst I was away. I met someone. Someone who really gets me.”

I was too busy thinking about my lottery analogy to fully come to terms with what he’d told me. I sort of took it in backwards. I’d heard the last bit perfectly, then I was hit with the “I met someone” and finally. “Whilst I was away.”

I was utterly speechless. Or at least I would have been speechless if he hadn’t run away from the problem. If he hadn’t cut me out entirely and left me panicking and thinking the worst. If he hadn’t been a complete and utter twat I might have been speechless. I felt like Piper. I felt like he was Larry and there was this invisible Poppy sat beside him.

“I think you’d really like him and I think you’d understand that we’re more suited to each other.” He said, reaching out to take my hand. “You need someone who is more.” He hesitated. “You know. Like you.”

I felt the rage bubbling within me. A rage like none I had ever felt before. I liked to think I was a pretty stable and peaceful person. I’d never resorted to violence but with my drink so close to hand apparently I couldn’t resist the urge to throw it over him and throw it over him I did.

“You dump me. Disappear for seven ffff-ucking days and you finally call me to what-… ask me to give you my blessing? Or something? What the fuck Tom. We’ve been together for ten years and this is all you’ve got to say to me. You’ve met someone else and you think I’d like him? Are you fucking kidding me with this?”

I’d zoned out completely lost in the moment. I’d forgotten we were in Starbucks. I’d forgotten we were in the busy Picadilly Circus.  I’d also forgotten I had taken a seat at the only available seat in the place which was as it happens chock full of tourists.

The room was completely silent. I slowly gazed across the room to find everyone’s eyes were burning into me, slack jawed and in complete awe of the spectacle that was the end of my relationship. Even the barista’s had stopped serving. One guy in the middle of probably incorrectly misspelling a customers name watched me with wide eyes like I was dangerous.

I left as quickly as my legs (which felt like jelly) could carry me.

Volume 1 Chapter 1.2 | Breaking Up

I liked to think that quitting my job was not a byproduct of being dumped out of the blue. I liked to think that taking the time to discover myself and truly find my place in the world was the the actual byproduct. Quitting my job was just a stepping stone.

Like Amy said. It was a bad idea. I knew that. I’d been working my whole adult life to know the prospect of being jobless was scary. I’d also quit enough of those jobs to truly know the fear. Still it only ever pushed me to look even harder and this push would undoubtedly… send me over the edge.

But hey, you only live once and if Tom could do a “Houdini” which, henceforth a disappearing act shall be known as “a Tom”, then I could take the plunge and find a job worth keeping. Maybe it would change my life. Gotta make a positive out of a negative after all.

“Maybe you should stay where you are until you find something better? Might be a good idea. At least you’ll still have money coming in. I know you have your savings but isn’t that best kept for a rainy day?” I tutted.

“This is a rainy day.” I paused for a moment and thought about it. Thought about looking for something better whilst still being in a stable situation. “You don’t think.” I stopped myself from saying it. The thought was enough but Amy pretty much got the gist of my thought process.

“That Tom did the same? Looked for someone better whilst reaping the benefits of his stable relationship?” He scoffed. Rude.”What? You and Tom have hardly had the best of relationships. You were at each others necks six days out of seven and before you say another word. I know when you were happy you were great together but one day in seven ain’t good enough. You were miserable. He was miserable. There wasn’t much-”

Amy quickly realized how what she was saying sounded. Thankfully for her I understood where she was coming from and I wasn’t a person to take everything super personally.

“Forget I said anything. That’s not even the point. Tom’s a nice guy. He wouldn’t do that to you.” She said in attempt to fix it.

“If he’s such a nice guy why has he done this to me?”

For the next couple of hours we sat silently watching episodes of Orange is the New Black on Netflix. The character, Larry, Piper’s (Who is in prison) fiance had fallen in love with Piper’s best friend, Poppy and they’d gone to the prison to ask for her “blessing”. All I could think of was what a load of shit that was and I half hoped Piper would launch both her estranged fiance and apparent friend half way across the room.

She didn’t. Sadly. It seemed people just allowed relationships to crumble and for new ones to blossom in their place. Was nothing worth fighting for anymore?

“Tell you what. Why don’t you sleep on it. If you still wake up in the morning wanting to quit your job then do it. If you have any doubts, even one small tiny stupid doubt then don’t do it. You’ll regret it.”

I agreed to do as such and before I went to bed I tried one more time to call Tom’s phone.

Voice mail.

Surprisingly I slept quite heavily. Must have been the “emotional exhaustion” either that or it was due to the fact my body was totally fucked from binging on junk food for a week. I awoke to the sounds of “Braveheart” by Neon Jungle.

Disorientated I sat up in my bed. Rubbing my eyes I tried to figure out where the music was coming from. It wasn’t Amy’s cup of tea and Leslie (our flat mate and my fellow northerner) was at her boyfriends. So where the hell was that song coming from and loudly so?

I forgot after a night out weeks ago I had changed my ringtone after hearing it played in a club. I also forgot that for once I’d changed my phone from silent to loud. You know, just in case Tom tried to call.

I scrambled for my phone knocking it from bedside my pillow to the floor. I sprawled out and reached to the floor and saw that it read “Calling: Thomas” my heart raced and I quickly slid my finger across the touch pad to answer.

“Hello? Hello. Tom? Where have you been? What’s going on? Are you safe?” I couldn’t help it. Word vomit.

Silence. Only the slightest sound of breathing.

“Tom. This isn’t funny. Will you at least answer me now that you bloody decided to call me. Please.” I felt an ache in my chest and I felt like a balloon being pumped full of water. On the verge of bursting.

“Can we meet? Starbucks at the Trocadero. 11?”

I didn’t even have to check the time nor did I have to worry about work. this was something I saw then as worth quitting for. Excitedly I agreed to meet him even though I had no idea what he wanted. I told no one and within the hour I was ready and out of the door.

Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe everything will be okay.

I would never be able to show my face in the Piccadilly Trocadero again.

Volume 1 Chapter 1.1 | Breaking Up

Chapter 1

Breaking Up

Breaking up is never easy. Or at least that’s what people told me.

I was new to the whole thing. The headaches, the uncontrollable crying at inappropriate intervals, the inability to sleep or eat. Then the physical heartbreak and by that of course I mean the fact that I felt like, on a regular basis, that someone had sunk their nails into my fleshy aortic pump and were trying with all their might to rip it from my chest.

For a day all I did was lay in my bed, knees held up against my chest with Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball” playing on a constant depressive loop. Then I got drunk (alone) and paraded about my flat singing the power ballad at the top of my lungs and of course my flat mates walked in mid pitchy shriek.

Of course I was being overdramatic. Apparently I was a bit of a drama queen and I didn’t know this until now. No one understood my pain and they never would. That is what I would defiantly scream at anyone daring to tell me it will be okay as I threw up my stomachs watery contents into a bucket beside my bed after binging on straight Jägermeister and Southern Comfort.

Before I knew it an entire week had gone by since he’d left me. Almost as quickly as the ten years we’d been together. Gone in a blur. I only decided to pick myself up out of my rut when my manager at work, Susanne, an overly chirpy never miserable red head who smelt like wet dog and biscuits threatened to stop by my house to “assess my capability of returning to work.”

Apparently having your still beating heart torn from your body wasn’t a good enough excuse to go on the sick.

Truth was I didn’t want to go back to work. Fuck it. I thought. My boyfriend’s left me. I deserve at least a month’s rest and one week of that should be purely dedicated to stuffing my face with Ben & Jerry’s and watching trashy TV. Preferably Geordie Shore as it reminded me so fondly of home. That’s a lie. Watching Geordie Shore reminded me exactly why I moved to London in the first place and it stopped me from running away to my mother’s bosom when shit got tough.

I was ready to quit. Again. Another job down the toilet. It wasn’t even like I hated working there, selling shit over the telephone to the British public was an easy job and the pay was okay. The on target commission was a pretty decent incentive. But it was a call centre none the less and every day made me feel like a worthless buffoon destined to spend my life glued to a desk with a head set surgically attached to my ear.

No offence to all those who work in call centres though. You guys are troopers and I admire the guts you have to stick these jobs out, no, to actually enjoy the job to see it for what it is. A means to make money and nothing else. Good for you. I’m happy for you and quite wish I was like you.

However it didn’t help that I now had no one to come home to. Someone to make me feel worthwhile after a day at a job that was clearly going nowhere. I was worthless in the office and I was worthless at home.

I went to work again on the Monday. Precisely one week and one day since he left me.  I had a “return to work” meeting with Susanne in a small and humid room that only emphasised her homely but altogether gross smell.

She told me: “Chin up Noah. I’m sure you’ll meet someone soon. Someone who loves you for you. But remember to leave your personal life at the door and when you come into the office think only this. Sell, sell, and sell!”

Needless to say I didn’t sell a fucking thing that day and it was mostly out of spite. I didn’t speak to anyone in the office not that I ever did and I logged off my computer at precisely 5pm whilst some poor saps opted for over time to “secure this definite sale.”

When I arrived home I could smell the distinct smell of lavender and cinnamon emitting from the living room. It meant Amy was home and everyone else was either at work or had gone out for dinner. Everyone hated the smell of Amy’s incense sticks but I quite liked them.

She popped her head into the corridor as I was taking off my shoes. Greeting me with a hug she ushered me into the living room and joined me moments later with two cups of tea. She sat beside me and we started to discuss work and how I wanted to quit. She told me about a new herbal remedies stall in Camden, one of the only ones not to smell like weed and then we went back to talking about Tom.

Tom being my ex-partner. Tom being the only man I’d known my whole life. The same Tom had left me without even an explanation. Just packed his things and left.

“So you have still not heard anything from him? That’s shocking man. I can’t believe he’s just trying to cut you out like that.”

“He’s blocked me on whatsapp. I call him it goes straight to voice mail. He’s deleted his twitter account and he’s not responding to Facebook messages. In a world where there are infinite ways of contacting someone… it’s like he’s disappeared. Completely. Poof. Gone.” So you can see why I had gone slightly insane. For all I knew he’d left the country. Or worse.

“Maybe he feels bad for leaving and is trying to let things cool down by making himself un-contactable?  It’s not entirely unbelievable. You know what it’s like when someone is easy to contact and you know what you’re like when you get upset.” I huffed. When I was upset. I was just normal person upset. I had no idea what she was implying. “Uh- don’t huff. You know that if his phone was switched on you’d have called him 199 times. Today.”

I didn’t say anything. That might have been slightly true. But only in these extreme circumstances. At least he’d have no actual record of how many times I’d called his phone today. Except for the one or twelve accidental voice mails.

“You never know love. Maybe after he’s had time to think, alone, you’ll both get back together. You’ll apologise for your shortcomings and promise never to hurt each other again. You’ll get married and adopt a gorgeous Chinese baby. Or whatever you crazy kids are doing these days.” She brought her legs up onto the couch and arranged herself so she was comfortable. “You know I don’t get that. You gay guys have it so easy. You can be with the person you love without the awkwardness of marriage and if you split up you can just… go. Quite literally. You can do a Tom. But if you get married there’s the paperwork, court proceedings, a broken home and you’ll be the guy who was divorced.” I shrugged. I wasn’t particularly in the mood to discuss politics and gay rights. I had a clue about neither.

“I guess it normalises what is seen as abnormal? People, gay guys, girls can get together and dream about getting married and having kids. Not, oh, we’ll be together forever unofficially and we’ll baby sit for our friends. We’ll be those uncles who aren’t real uncles but are good family friends and their kids are brought up to say: Oh! That’s Uncle Noah and Uncle Tom.” I wanted to get married. I wanted to have kids. Tom, did not.

“Sorry for bringing it up.” Said Amy, taking a sip from her tea before leaning across to place it on the coffee table.

“Don’t apologise.” Tom clearly thought the same way Amy did about relationships. They were easy to get out of and if you didn’t have to watch the other person break down in front of you then what did you have to lose.

“Noah. Maybe, you know. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you can start living a little?”

“What do you mean by that?” As far as I knew I was living. Breathing in and out. That constituted a living person. I was by no means dead.

“Well you’ve been together since you were 16. He took the best years of your life and now here he is pulling a Houdini and leaving you in the dark. It’s time to start experiencing new things. Meeting new guys, going on holidays with friends and you know… living.”

“I’ve been living just fine.” I smiled despite the fact I was annoyed by the implication. The implication that I’d been some sort of boring, lifeless shut-in who lived purely for their partner. I was also annoyed by the fact the implication was closer to actual fact than I’d care to recognize. “I think I’m going to quit my job.” I said. Changing the subject.