Once again thank you for the reviews. I enjoy reading every single one and it's very interesting to see what people like about each chapter, as well as different thoughts about where it's going. The updates have been pretty regular thus far and that's because I've pre-written up to chapter 10. After this week, I'll be starting back at Uni and won't have time to update quite-so-often, but until then updates will be every few days. Having said that, here's chapter 7. (As per usual, all feedback is welcome :)
In Another Life
Chapter 7
The next morning you wake up early and begin your morning routine as usual. You get into the shower, scrub the anxiety from your body with lavender-scented shower gel and quickly get dressed into your work clothes. You look in the mirror before your leave, fix a few errand strands of hair, then glance at your reflection with a look of steely determination. Today, you will make it your mission to avoid the Irishman at all costs.
You exit your room and descend the hotel staircase, feet moving quickly beneath you until you reach the lobby. You pause before exiting the building, taking the time to peer through the large panel windows at the front ,which give a direct view of the pub outside. When you're confident that Brendan is nowhere in sight, you spring into action and walk speedily down the street with your head down. You exhale a breath when you round the first corner, confident that you're no longer visible. You feel certain that you will be able to avoid Brendan, providing you're alert and cautious.
You reach into your pocket to pull out your phone, but as you search yourself your heart skips a beat when you realize it's nowhere to be found. You glance up, eyes unfocused as you search your mind and try to figure out where it could possibly be. You're never without it. With numb realization, you suddenly remember the last time you had your phone. You were in 'Fitzcarraldo's', flicking through your messages, then you'd put it back into the pocket of your jacket, which was resting on the back of your stool. You breath out and lean back against the hard, brick wall when you realize that you have no memory of putting your jacket back on when you left the pub...you'd left it there.
"Fuck," you hiss.
You wonder if it would be possible to leave the phone and come back for it another day, but you immediately dismiss the idea before it's even fully formed. There's no way you can go a day without your phone, it's impossible. The thought is inconceivable. No, you have to go get it and you need to get it now. Slowly, reluctantly, you walk back in the direction of the pub.
You open the heavy, wooden door and slide in, trying to remain unnoticed. You look over at the bar, unsurprised to see that the Irishman is standing behind it with a frown etched upon his face, as he flicks through a book. You vaguely recognize the cover and it's not long before you realize it's the same book you saw him reading on the plane journey over...American Psycho. Almost immediately you realize that you will not be able to collect your jacket without the barman noticing, so you decide to approach with abandon. You straighten your back and hold your head high as you walk along the creaky, wooden floorboards towards to bar. The sound causes the Irishman's eyes to flick up from his novel, but his expression barely wavers as you come closer. Eventually, he manages to grunt out a 'hey.'
"Hi," you reply, eyes darting between the ground and his face in equal measure.
You both stand in silence, wordlessly staring at each other. Finally, the barman -seemingly fed up with the lack of communication- turns back to his book.
"Can I help you, Steven?" he asks, though his tone implies he can't be bothered.
"Uh, yeah," you finally bumble, your mind focused on other things...like Vinnie's words to you the night before, "did I leave my jacket here last night? It has my phone in it."
Brendan peers at you, then slowly puts down his book and drags his long limbs from their resting position over towards you. You feel your body tense as he gets closer, then relax as he turns away and bends down to reach into a tiny nook beneath the counter. He pulls out a coat and you immediately recognise it as your own.
"This it?" he asks, eyebrow raised as he sets it down on the counter before you.
"That's the one," you smile, then grab the jacket and turn, "thanks, bye!"
You try to make a hasty retreat, but the man stops you before you even have the chance to blink.
"Not so fast," he drawls, walking across the bar back to his book, "where are you heading off to?"
"Work," you reply.
"Hm," he nods, mouth set in a thoughtful pout, "that your plans for the day then, is it? Work?"
The older man seems disapproving, even though he's standing in the middle of his bar in the early day-time hours. You find the hypocrisy of it irritating, as if he's implying you're some sort of stiff. You know how to have fun, too.
"Well I've got a busy day, me," you nod, as if trying to convince yourself of the lie, "probably not be out of the office for ages."
The man nods and eyes you up and down, scrutinising every inch of you. You feel your muscles flex under his gaze.
"Fun," he replies, looking back to his book, "have a good one."
With that, you feel like you're free to go. Slowly you turn in your seat and make your way to the door. As you turn back to glance at him, you catch his eyes on you. You quickly look away, face red, but somewhere in your mind you know he is still watching. You're not sure why, but the thought makes your heart race.
Xoxox
It's close to five o'clock when you finally get out of the office.
When you entered through the front doors of work early this morning, everyone was congratulating you on managing to get another meeting with the 'Smith and West' executives. It seemed like everyone had heard the news and you felt like a celebrity as co-workers and acquaintances, even people you barely knew, all approached you with a smile and their hearty congratulations. In 'Smith and West' it is a rare occurrence for someone to get a second chance, you know this well, so for you to get another meeting felt like some sort of minor miracle. The people in your office seemed to feel the same way, judging by their reactions. You even managed to get Danny -one of the top managers- to check over your notes to make sure you'd covered everything for the next meeting. The man seemed reluctant to provide you with an edge at first, but when you provided him with some budgeting tips he was only too happy to pay you back.
You exit the office with a smile. It had been a good day.
You make your way to the deli at the corner of the street, a routine you'd grown accustomed to in the few short days you'd been in Dublin. As you enter the delicatessen, you expect to look up and see the owner, but instead you find that he is caught in the middle of a conversation with another customer. The man's thick eyebrows are furrowed as he glances up at the man in front of him, and his face looks serious as he speaks to him in a low mumble. You walk in slowly and the American's eyes immediately shift to you as the bell of the door rings.
"Evening!" you chirp, "me again. Probably sick of seeing me."
You look up with a smile, but as you do you notice that the deli owner is still grimacing at the man in front of him. Your eyes shift focus as the customer slowly turns around to face you, hands stuffed casually into the leather pockets of his jacket. You feel your heart jump into your chest and immediately you are speechless.
"I wouldn't say sick of you, that's a bit harsh," his mouth twitches as he glances at you, "not far off, though."
Your mouth drops open as you look from Brendan, to the owner, then back to Brendan again. The owner looks about as pleased to see him as you are. Somewhere deep inside, you wonder if you were damned from the moment you met the man. You think back to the day when you met him on the pier, when he said he wasn't easy to get rid of...you're beginning to think he was telling the truth. Never in your life have you bumped into someone so much, coincidentally .
"Brendan," your mouth falls open, "what are you doing here?"
"Can't a man get coffee from his good friend?" Brendan looks towards the deli owner, who glares back at him with huge, blue eyes, "Douglas...always a pleasure."
Brendan turns on his heel and walks towards you, coffee clutched in his hand as his free arm swings by his side cockily. He takes up the small space with his very presence. You remain rooted to the spot as the pub owner stops in front of you, invading your personal space, then says,
"I thought you were working all day?" his tone seems more conversational than accusatory, as he takes a sip of coffee, "what happened? Big boys upstairs let you off the leash?"
The man's lips peel back in a wide smile, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. He emits a low laugh and then the expression drops, as quickly as it appeared.
"I was meant to," you reply, mind racing for an excuse, "but they let me out early, didn't they?"
You look into his eyes, relieved when he seems to buy it. You don't want the man to find out you're avoiding him, because he seems like the kind of person who would seek you out more if he were to find out. Though to be honest, 'avoiding him' isn't turning out exactly how you planned.
"OK," he finally says, appeased by your explanation. He nods his head towards the door, "you need a ride home?"
You pause, frantically trying to think of an excuse. You can feel your mouth falling open as the time trickles by, extending out into what feels like an eternity. Brendan raises his eyebrow at you as if you're insane and you're beginning to feel like you are. Finally, you spit out the only answer you can think of:
"No, it's fine," you shake your head, "I like the walk. Love walking, me."
The man looks at you with lowered eyebrows, confused, like the idea is ludicrous.
"Nonsense," he dismisses you, waving the idea away with a flicker of his hand, "why walk when I can drive ye? Follow me."
The decision has been taken out of your hands as the Irishman walks over to the entrance and opens the door for you. He waits, taking up the whole frame, and his dark clothes make him look like a spectre on death's doorstep.
"Come on" he says, when the wait becomes too long, "let's go."
You feel powerless as your whole body deflates. You realize that saying no to this man is impossible. You tell him you'll be five minutes, that you're just getting a coffee and you'll meet him outside. He seems to accept this and you watch as he exits, letting the door snap shut behind him. You walk up to the counter and sigh,
"Can I have a strong coffee, please," you say, "extra strong."
Doug glances from you to the door, then opens his mouth as if to speak. You watch as the American slowly shakes his head, as if he can't find the words, then smiles at you and begins making the coffee. However, as you count out the coins in your wallet, you are highly aware of the American's eyes burning into your skin.
"How do you know Brendan?" the deli-owner (who you now know is called 'Doug') asks as he brews your drink.
"It's a long story," you sigh and glance up at him, realizing how painfully true that statement is, "a long, weird story."
"Right..." Doug replies, expression serious, "have you known him long?"
"Not really," you shrug, "I feel like I've known him forever, though. I've been in Dublin less than a week and I keep running into him everywhere."
"Yeah," Doug snorts, an unamused laugh, "sounds like Brendan."
You glance up at the blue-eyed man and you feel your forehead crease.
"What do you mean by that?" you ask, suddenly frustrated by the cryptic comments people continue to make in regards to the Irish man.
"Look, all I'm saying is keep your distance," Doug says, as he places your coffee on the counter, "that guy has a way of getting under people's skin."
You frown and take the paper cup in your hand, exchanging your money in payment. Vinnie's words to you the night before circle in your head, accompanied by Doug's. You want to ask Doug more questions about the man, but somewhere in your mind you know it will only be responded to with vague and guarded answers. You know if you are going to find out anything about Brendan, you'll have to ask the man himself.
You walk out of the deli and look around for the Irishman. For a moment you contemplate making a run for it, but experience has taught you that the man will eventually pop up again somewhere unexpected. It's a waiting game- one that you're sure the Irish man will win. Finally you spot him near the end of the street, parked by the side of the road. His leather jacket is zipped up mid-torso and his blue jeans are slung low on his waist. As you approach, your eyes widen as you fixate upon the car the Irishman is standing beside. It's the type of car you could only dream of owning; a top-of-the-range masterpiece.
"Ere, how can you afford that?" you ask, dumbfounded, "you only work in a pub."
The man's face twists in amusement at your apparent lack of tact. You've never been good at censoring yourself and you blame it on your upbringing. You were raised in a bad neighbourhood and tact is something you were never taught, nor is it something that was respected where you grew up. When you were growing up, you were taught to say what you meant or else people would think you were weak and walk over you.
"I have my ways," he replies, "now get in."
You slowly make your way around the car, admiring the shiny, black body as you go. You open the door and step in. You notice that the insides smell of clean leather and aftershave. You run your hands up and down the red, leather seats and marvel at the amount of buttons and gadgets on the dashboard.
"You like?" he smirks, amused by your awe.
"I'd be crazy not to," you reply.
"Got that right."
With that, Brendan puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine. The car rips into an all-mighty roar and you can't help but be taken aback by the power of it. Once again you wonder how a man who works in a pub can afford this, but you don't question it. Brendan pulls out of his parking space, barely looking both ways, then begins to travel along the road. As you reach the end of the lane, you immediately realize something is wrong when the Irish man takes a sharp left instead of travelling straight ahead. At first you think it must be a short-cut, perhaps one you don't know, but as you continue to travel further from the town you become less convinced.
"Hey," you speak up, puzzled, "where are we going? This isn't the way to the hotel."
You look to the dark-haired man, who is lazily leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other resting along the edge of his open window. You feel a swell of annoyance rise in your chest as the man continues to drive, barely listening as you continue to question his navigational skills. After a moment, he turns to you and says,
"I'm bored," the retort is simple and forthright, "you want to do some sight-seeing?"
The phrase 'sight-seeing' is something you could never imagine this man saying in a serious manner. You pause for a moment, stunned by the question, but when you realize he's not kidding you can't help but roll your eyes.
"Not really," you respond, bluntly, "I thought you were going to take me home?"
"What? You don't want to see the sights of Ireland?" he responds, peering at you from the corner of his eye, "must get boring, being locked up in that hotel room all day."
Although the statement seems harmless, you can't help but feel like he's having some sort of joke at your expense. You turn your head to face the man and sure enough he is smirking to himself.
"I don't just stay in me hotel, ya know?" you huff, face contorting into an angry pout, "besides, I'm not here to sight-see, right. I'm here to work!"
"Loosen up, Steven," he glances at you, "I bet you've never done one spontaneous thing in your whole life."
"Yes I have!" you sneer, words like venom from your mouth.
"Name the last time you did something that hadn't been planned in advance," he asks.
You pause for a moment, eager to prove him wrong. You think about all the things you've done, all the spontaneous and wild things... but you're crest-fallen when you realize that you can't think of anything. You wait for the man to rub the victory in your face, but he says nothing. Instead, neither of you say a word while the hum of the car fills the silence.
Xoxoxo
As Brendan drives, you begin to notice that every time you look out the window you are getting higher and higher. He's driven you both out into the middle of the country and you watch wordlessly as the car hurdles past a plethora of fields and hilly terrain. You feel yourself ascending even higher, until eventually you realize that he's driven you to some sort of mountainous area. The car chortles over the rough ground as Brendan slowly makes his way up a roughly laid path. Eventually, when you feel like this journey is going to go on forever, the car stops.
You look out the window and all you can see are green hills and fields. In the distance you can see a herd of cattle chewing on the ripe grass, while the sun paints the sky the colour of rose behind them. You wonder where on Earth he has taken you and for a moment you wonder if you might be in danger. However you can't bring yourself to feel worried. Despite Doug and Vinnie's words of warning about the Irishman, you can't bring yourself to feel scared of him.
Brendan steps out of the car and so do you. You watch as the dark-haired man slowly walks up a shallow incline towards the top of a hill. You try to see what's beyond the incline, but large pieces of rock and grass mounds stand in your way. Reluctantly, you follow the Irish man.
When you find him, he is standing against a huge boulder that has been planted in the grass. You struggle to find your footing as you climb up the slope, but eventually you reach the Irishman. You walk up to him in confusion as his eyes remain distant, and it's only when you look out towards the horizon that you realize you're overlooking the city. You peer out in awe at the wide stretch of land before you, watching the lights in the distance as they dance and flicker under the dimness of the blue, evening sky.
You walk over to Brendan and lean with him against the rock. The edges are sharp and incessant against your back, so you're forced to shuffle closer to get comfortable. You can feel his arm against yours under your jacket.
"Where is this place?" you ask.
"Not far from the city," he replies, simply. You can't help but scrunch up your nose at the answer. It felt like a long drive to you, "when I was a teenager, me and my mates would come up here to drink."
You glance at him from the corner of your eye, then look back out at the scenery. The cold, evening breeze makes the hairs on your skin stand on end. The smell of grass in the fields reminds you of Summer, even in the dead of Winter.
"Why did you want to come here?" you ask.
"I told you," the man says, turning his head towards you, "I was bored."
You find it hard to believe that the man would come here just because he's bored, but you say nothing. Finally, as if sensing this is not enough, he continues;
"When I first learnt how to drive, I'd come up here when I was feeling stressed," he says, voice casual despite the sentimental nature of the topic, "to get away, you know?"
You nod, knowing all too well. Still, you can't stop one nagging question at the back of your mind from pouring out;
"Why did you bring me?" you ask, turning to face the man.
You both stare at each other, eyes unmoving, until Brendan finally diverts his attention back towards the skyline.
"Don't know," you feel his shoulders shrug beside you, "thought you seemed stressed."
With that, you both fall into silence. As you sit on the rock, Vinnie's words begin to rotate in your head once more, like a broken record. You glance at the man beside you, who seems lost in thought, and you can't help but be sure that he's of no danger to you. So why were both Doug and Vinnie warning you to be careful of him? It makes no sense to you.
"That guy Vinnie..." you break the silence, then pause.
You wonder if it's a good idea to bring this up, but realize it's too late when the man beside you turns at the mention of the blonde's name. You look up at him with wide eyes and continue,
"I ran into him yesterday in the pub...while I was in the bathroom."
You gauge the man's reaction as you speak and suddenly you notice the tense firmness in his jaw. It's the only give away of his rising irritation, as his eyes seem like the picture of aloofness.
"And?" he asks, breathing heavily through his nostrils.
"He told me..." with each word you grow more unsure, but you feel like you have to say it, "he told me you're bad news."
You watch as his eyes narrow and scan your face, hanging on each word like it's vital information.
"...that I should stay away," you continue, "he said he was your ex."
You hear him exhale and suddenly he pushes himself from the rock and slides his hands through his hair in frustration.
"Vinnie, Vinnie, Vinnie," he huffs, breathing harsh and ragged.
The anger in his voice causes you to momentarily panic. You can feel your heartbeat increase in your chest and a fine sweat form on your brow. After a moment you can see the Irishman begin to calm down. You watch, hypnotized, as he slowly takes control of his body again- back straightening, head high and face the picture of composed.
"Sorry," he mutters, so low you can barely hear, "he just...he's a lying bastard."
You furrow your brow and stare at the ground, trying to figure out this increasingly confusing situation.
"I don't get it," you shake your head, "why would he lie?"
The man seems calmer now and he looks at you intently as you stare up into his eyes. You see his shoulders rise and fall in a brief shrug, while his eyes quickly move from yours towards the ground, then back up again. He looks like he's searching for something, anything. Answers.
"I don't know," he replies, cocking his head as his eyes dance over you.
"You must have some clue," you look at him defiantly, not accepting his response.
"I don't know," he let's out a weary, frustrated sigh. Finally, he looks up at you and says, "...jealousy."
You glance over at him and find that his attention has shifted towards the skyline again.
"Why would he be jealous?" you ask, confused.
The man peers back at you, expression stiff.
"No idea," he replies.
The comment hangs in the air like a thick, heavy fog.
"How about the guy in the deli?" you continue, trying to make sense of everything, "Doug..."
"What about him?" he snorts, as if the name is distasteful to him.
"He said you were bad news too," you explain.
You watch the man's shoulders hitch as he lets out a low, amused grunt.
"Douglas," he mutters, hissing out the word, "well he would say that, wouldn't he?"
"Why?" you ask, puzzled.
"Well, far be it for me to pass judgement on anyone," he begins, sardonically, "but it's not exactly uncommon for the 'new squeeze' to have a problem with the ex, now is it?"
He glances back at you with a raised eyebrow and suddenly you feel the pieces all coming together. Your lips part and your eyes widen,
"You mean-"
"Yeah," he nods, reading your mind, "Doug's gay, Vinnie's gay, I'm gay...everyone's gay!"
"Wow," you reply, shocked, "so Doug and Vinnie are a couple, then?"
"Yeah," Brendan mutters.
"So why does Vinnie keep bugging you?" you ask, irritation gnawing at your stomach as you think of the blonde's face.
"I don't know," he shrugs, then breaks out into a smirk, "guess I'm just hard to get over."
"Huh," you let out a grunt of laughter, "flatter yourself."
"Not flattery if it's true," he retorts.
You look up at him from your position on the boulder. You take in his long, built frame as he turns and looks down at the drop below. You push yourself up and walk towards him, until you are both standing on the cliff's edge. You stand in silence as the wind whistles through the air. The sky is becoming darker and you know you'll need to leave soon, before it becomes too dark to see.
"Don't believe everything you hear, Steven," Brendan says, with a look in his eyes that tells you he is being serious, "I'm not going to stand here and say I've been a Saint. God knows I haven't been. I've done things in the past I'm not proud of..." His words linger in the air. You listen with held breath, "...but the past is the past. It can't be changed."
You turn towards him and look at his profile as he stares out towards the city. The lights now seem like tiny fireflies dancing below.
"You telling me you've never done anything you're not proud of?" he asks.
Immediately, without a second-thought, you think of Amy. You say nothing.
You both stand in silence for a few minutes before Brendan finally clears his throat and turns away.
"I guess we should head back, then," he mumbles, "yeah?"
"Yeah," you nod, "sure."
You both turn and make your way back to the car. While the Irishman drives you home, you both sit in silence; the radio crackling in the background as you slowly head back towards the city lights.
