The fear in me

Nay

I've been sitting almost twenty minutes on the upper step of the staircase in front of Jason's door. I could howl from frustration. Why does that chap stir me up so much? He really is a case of the carrot and the stick. He consciously keeps his distance from everybody, that much is clear to me. But why has he so little trust in others? If only he opened up all of that would no longer be a problem. What has he been through that makes him react so dismissively?

His mother said he's been in his room for a long time. Did he see Tim and me?

I can't help it: I don't want to go. After all, I looked for him for more than two hours. I was really worried. And he? He's unfriendly and mean.

I'd like to tell him he shouldn't act like an arsehole, that I somehow feel responsible ... but ... why do I feel responsible? That's really utter rot. I don't even know him properly. And yet I feel attracted to him.

And I don't want to give up. He has to see he hasn't chased me away.

I take a deep breath and touch the latch of his door. Slowly I open the door.

Meanwhile the curtains have been drawn right around, only a small lamp is shining. I let my gaze wander about. The first thing I see is the wardrobe, in front of which I saw Jason the first time this morning. Then I catch sight of a drum and a keyboard and even a guitar. He must have unpacked all of that recently. So Jason loves music. Great! On the other side are a weight bench and several weights.

Sport and music, two attractive things. A poster shows a moat castle surrounded by water. I have no idea where it is, but it looks mystical and exalted.

Slowly I go over to the partition that divides his sleeping area from the rest of the room. The partition shows two death's heads that are laughing. It doesn't look gruesome, just strange. It strikes me that not a single photo is hanging on his wall. My walls are full of photos of my friends. It dawns on me how alone Jason really is and how much he has cut himself off from the world outside.

That gives me a small stab because I want him to feel fine. Is that crazy? I'm a long way from knowing him, and yet nobody till now has touched me so much.

I expect to be yelled at again as soon as he sees I'm in his room ... but I don't care. I'm prepared for it this time and won't let myself be put off. He's doing it only for self-protection, I tell myself. Yes! I take a deep breath and get ready for his anger. I go past the partition and look behind it.

There he is lying down. He's listening to music through earphones. His eyes are closed and he's lying with a bare torso and dressed only in boxer shorts on his bed.

Here in his room he feels good. No winter clothing in his secure comfort zone.

A sigh forms on my lips and I can't suppress it. But Jason seems not to notice me. I go closer. Jason looks so sad. What might be going on in his head?

What is your secret? I ask. Why do I feel so attracted to you that I even forget about Tim?

My glance slides to the tube with the tablets on his bedside table. I'm shocked. Does he have to take them?

I wonder whether I should wake him. I'd like so much to talk to him and straight away. My eyes roam onto his muscular chest that is slowly rising and falling, then down to his training six pack which his long well-cared-for hands are lying, and then up again to his face. The mouth, which is sadly drooping, makes me unhappy and reminds me of the botched evening. His nostrils are moving in accord with the air he's taking in. His eyelids are twitching uncontrollably, and suddenly they open and his tiger eyes stare at me with their endlessly long lashes.