I look blankly at Jim while I try to access everything I already know about him, tiny little pieces I got from him when I was in no condition to focus on them, but that I still know because I saw them and now I can concentrate enough to analyze them.
To begin with, he is left-handed I saw it when he wrote his name down on the blackboard earlier today and when he stopped my scape with one hand at the auditorium's door, but I only come to realize it now, that I'm watching how Jim stretches his hand over and over because that's the hand he offered for me to grab and the hand I almost dislocated for no other apparent reason than the hell of it.
Gay, but that's like the elephant in the room, I could be going through withdrawal right now and still notice that. It cannot be used against him though, because it's so transparent and clear and just laying there in the open at plain sight, that it makes me be completely positive that it is in no way a pressure point but something he wears like armor.
He is unfocused, unpunctual and cares too much too fast. My proof? We have only known each other for the last two hours and he has already tried to talk me off the drugs he can't be certain I'm under the influence of.
He looks tired and I weigh up the possibility of him suffering from insomnia, but he smiles at me as I tear apart every detail of his glowing complexion and I remind myself he has been in a constant cheerful mood since I met him, so not insomnia then, partying all night maybe.
As I realize James was not stuck in the traffic this morning as he claimed and he was rather stuck in bed, I start contemplating that he probably was stuck in that bed with some stranger he met the night before, or even worse, maybe he was in bed with someone that was not a stranger for him at all. I tilt my head to the side trying to understand why I'm focusing on such a trivial and unimportant matter and shake my hand in the air as if that was all my brain needed to move onto more important facts, it usually works for me, I push the thoughts away at will and bring them back if necessary, but for some reason this idea has settled in my brain and keeps bugging me like an annoying headache in the back of my head.
That's pretty much everything I get before James clears his throat probably feeling awkwardly self-conscious since I've been shamelessly staring at him without saying a word for several minutes now, he cracks his neck to the side when he realizes that's not going to be enough to make me talk and my eyes catch a glimpse of the silver chain hanging from his neck under his t-shirt. A flash of memory comes to me and I know exactly what's hanging from the chain, I saw it earlier that morning and now I have what I was looking for, some buttons to push on.
"Two brothers, you are the youngest and they are dead," Jim face flinches and I know that even when I made a bold guess with the age I'm right, "you were always the brains and they were the muscle, they died serving the country, soldiers, I personally don't understand why would anyone do something like that, give their lives for the motherland, like it gave a fuck if you did or not," I can see in Jim's eyes that he also doesn't understand, "your mother did her best to raise the three of you after your father abandoned you and now she is dead too," that came out harsher than I intended and I see his smile slowly fading away, "you are a siblingless orphan trying to overcome the fact that death always comes for everything you touch," the words leave my mouth before I can catch up with them and I regret it as soon as he stops looking at me.
"Time's up!" He yells and it takes me a second to understand he's not yelling at me, but trying to get everyone's attention, although it's all an excuse to hide his eyes that are filling with tears from me, his voice hoarse from the lump in his throat betrays him and I smile with no good reason, maybe I find it adorable that he is trying not to show weakness in front of me, maybe I like seeing that I managed to make him feel weak, "five more minutes, guys!" He looks back at me and his eyes have lost their light.
"Your name is Ryan Brook, you are an Irish actor who came to London looking for a way into theatre but ended up working as a drama teacher on a second-rate university in the heart of the city, you are broke and life isn't what you expected it to be," I state finally just for the sake of constructing the character I was asked for, knowing this university is far from my description and his salary far from being bad and I fold my arms over my chest and wait for him to reply.
"Ryan Brook sounds like a very bad porn star name and I refuse to go by it the rest of the semester, " is all he says, with his voice back to normal, "I'm going to call myself Richard."
I roll my eyes and try to discern what kind of name defines my character as a person, something posh I guess, but I don't come up with anything and decide to wait to see what's the name 'Richard' has in mind for me.
I give a lopsided look at Jim's right-hand clinging to the chain hanging from his neck as we stand in a circle listening to all the other couples in the room describing their banner made-up lives, with money, fame, love and everything they have ever wanted.
This is the perfectly boring life of worldwide recognized actress Alice Bloom.
This is the successful and predictable dreamed job of Frederick Martin.
This is the private jet of John Doe.
This is the 15th plastic surgery of Jane Doe.
Boring.
Boring.
Boring.
"This is Andrew Lockie Sherrinford," Jim says beside me, elbowing my ribs so I start talking about my character and it takes me a second to realize everybody else had already shared their imaginary lives with the group, while I pretended to listen and its just the both of us who are left to introduce ourselves, "Andrew—," he repeats and my nose wrinkles in disgust at the name he gave me, as I repeat it in my head, this time really listening to his really posh magnificence.
"If you are going to pronounce it do it right, my name is André accent à droite ignorant," I say turning to look at him with a sneer.
Everyone in the room gasp and I smirk in response, he wanted a posh brat, well he'll have it with all the crap that comes behind it.
Alors, André, qu'est-ce que tu attends? Faites-nous l'honneur de te présenter, si te plaît," He tells me with a sufficient smile knowing I didn't expect him to speak fluent French and I hate the fact that he isn't wrong about it because I didn't anticipate this.
"If I must," I shrug and Jim's description of my character start leaving my mouth word by word, I use the poshest accent I can manage and overall I sound like the arrogant idiot with a pole up his ass I am supposed to be, for some reason this makes me think of my dear big brother, "I take bigs amounts of heroin to feel alive," I plainly and simply say when I finish my introduction and I feel Jim stiffing beside me probably because he was hoping until this moment that I would say weed or cocaine even.
"My name is Richard Brook, I am a drama teacher at this university, I was born in Dublin and since my salary is not that good, I compensate it by selling drugs to my students as an international drug cartel dealer, Monsieur Sherrinford here is one of my regulars," I see surprised and concerned faces all around the room, more than half of the people here think he just described himself truthfully just because it's a lie based on truths, I can guarantee that at least five of them will try to get drugs from James at least once during the semester and I can't help myself from hoping I'll be there to see it when it happens.
The class is dismissed by Jim soon after that and I leave the rehearsal studio, complete rich twat attitude on before Jim has the chance of even thinking of stopping me.
AN/: this took me a while because I had a really busy week, but next one is half way in so I hope it will be out soon, I really value my readers opinion so don't be shy and tell me what you think about this.
