Tag: #romance

“Jim, stop acting like a madman,” Nate commanded my drunken friend. “Sit down there, on the mattress, and let us talk like adults.”

I felt a rush of heat. I’d never seen Nate acting so masterfully. It was so manly! It was so adult! To my surprise, Jim meekly obeyed and sat down where Nate had told him to. He kept glaring at us, though.

“Now, Jim, you need to stop acting like this,” Nate continued, sitting down opposite Jim.

I sat down next to him.

“If you have feelings for her, I am sorry for you. But she and I love each other, and your threats are insane. What good will hurting us do you? If you hurt us, will you be able to live with yourself? Is this who you really are?”

Instead of answering Nate, Jim glowered at him and growled, “You love her, do you?”

“Yes,” Nate said with feeling, pulling my hand into his. “I love her. More than my life!”

“And you,” Jim demanded, looking at me. “Do you love Nate?”

“Yes, Jim, I do. I’m sorry, I don’t love you. I love Nate.”

“Oh good! Finally!” Jim exclaimed with a grin and leapt up, no longer unbalanced in any sense of the term.

Nate and I looked at each other, completely discombobulated.

“You’re not drunk?” was all I could say after staring at Jim for two whole minutes while he leapt around my apartment, dancing some kind of weird jig.

“No, not at all. It was a good act, wasn’t it?” Jim demanded, taking a bow. “Had you both fooled. My improv teacher will be proud of me.”

“Improv teacher?” was all Nate could say in response to the oddly unreal situation.

“Yes, improv teacher,” Jim agreed enthusiastically. “You see, I have been taking acting classes for a while now. I never thought I’d be any good, so I didn’t tell you two. I thought you would laugh at me. Turns out, I actually have a knack for it.”

I couldn’t think of what to say. What on earth was Jim talking about? I looked at Nate. He looked as confused as I felt.

Jim, meanwhile, went on rambling, “So, I guess I owe you two an apology. You see, I realized that you were both too cowardly to confess your feelings for each other or do anything about it. I couldn’t take it any longer. The only way to get you both to come out of your stupid insecurities, I knew, was to threaten you. Sorry about that!”

Jim grinned sheepishly as he pranced into the kitchen. Seeing the plate of sandwiches, he distinctly perked up even more.

“Ham and cucumbers. My favorites!” he declared and promptly gobbled one up. “I’m starving,” he added and bit into a second one.

“Stop!” I screamed and leapt up.

Jim’s mouth fell open. Nate leapt up, looking equally shocked.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from my terrified face to Jim’s confused one.

I wrung my hands and bit my lip and moaned.

“The sandwiches,” I sobbed. “They’re poisoned! I thought it was the only way to get rid of Jim!”

Jim turned ashen. He dropped the sandwich he was holding abruptly, looking at it with terror. He then rushed into the bathroom, stuck his fingers in his throat, and tried to vomit. Nate rushed to help him as I leaned back against a wall, my face hidden in my hands, moaning and shuddering.

Several terrible minutes and loud retching noises later, Nate and Jim entered the room, the former supporting the later. Jim looked pale and about to cry. Nate helped him down onto the mattress.

“Stop crying and hurry. We need to take Jim to the hospital immediately,” Nate commanded me.

Oh, how I loved him then!

“I’m not crying,” I mumbled from behind my hands.

“What?” asked Nate, unsure of what he’d heard.

I could not take it anymore. I moved my hands away from my face. I was laughing hysterically. For a second, Nate looked like he thought that I had been driven mad by the shock and trauma that the whole episode had put me through.

Then Jim croaked from his supine position on the mattress, “The damn thing wasn’t poisoned, was it?”

“No, you moron,” I hooted with laughter. “But it serves you right!”

Nate shook his head ruefully and grinned. Then he leaned over me, kissing me gently but deeply. This time, as I melted away in bliss, there were fireworks. And that night, we went out on our first date.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

Nate still thought that going to the cops was a good idea. We argued for a while about the best way to go about dealing with the situation. We talked about leaving the city and going away. We discussed hiring thugs to scare Jim. We even considered telling his family!

None of these ideas were remotely sensible, as we well knew. They were just a way to avoid mentioning the only solution that we knew would work.

I knew that there was only one way to stop Jim. There was only one way to ensure that we would be safe from him. But I was too afraid to mention it at first. When I finally did, Nate reacted in a way I had never expected him to. I had been worried that he would freak out.

Instead, he nodded slowly and said, “How do you want to do it?”

“I think it is best if we call him over and do it here,” I suggested. “It will be easier to deal with everything.”

Nate agreed with me. We started talking about the details of our plan. It had to be done right or we would end up in a far worse situation. As we talked, I worked in the kitchen. I cut bread and toasted it. I sliced ham, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I spread mayo over the toast, layered it with the sliced vegetables and meat, and seasoned everything.

Then I added a special ingredient. These were special sandwiches. I was making them especially for Jim.

When I was done, Nate rang Jim and asked him to come to my apartment. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. I had calmed down after Nate’s arrival. Now, I started panicking again. What were we thinking? It would never work! Everything was going to go wrong! I rushed to stop Nate from opening the door. Jim would not dare to break it down. I reached the door a second too late.

Jim pushed the door opened and staggered inside. He reeked of drink. I gagged and stepped away from him. Even Nate looked a little stunned. This was a Jim neither of us had ever seen. Was he possessed? I would have been certain of it if I’d believed in demons or possession.

Perhaps, I thought with a growing feeling of relief, he was possessed. Not by a demon but by drink. Perhaps, unnoticed by his closest friends, Jim had become an alcoholic. Or even a junkie. That would explain a lot! I felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow for my childhood friend.

The next moment, my empathy was speedily replaced with terror as Jim drew a large knife from his belt and lunged at Nate. Nate managed to sidestep Jim and grabbed his wrist. I quickly closed the door. There was no need to draw attention to whatever was about to happen.

If Jim had been sober, things might have turned out very differently. As it was, Jim lost his balance wrestling with Nate over the knife, leaving the deadly weapon in Nate’s hand. Nate stood there, looking at the fallen Jim with a strange look in his eyes. I felt that he would stab Jim then and there! Then, with an effort of will, Nate turned away and dumped the knife in the kitchen sink.

Jim managed to stand up using the wall for support. He still looked murderous even though he was swaying wildly. How did he manage to stay upright despite all that lack of balance?

“I’m going to kill you both!” he shouted at Nate.

“No, you won’t,” Nate said confidently, his voice surprisingly calm.

I went to stand by him. My heart was thudding loudly enough to disturb the next-door neighbors! My arms and legs were growing cold with fear. What was going to happen now?

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

My heart sank when I read what it said. One side proclaimed that the flowers were from Nate.

On the reverse of one of the pieces, printed in pencil, were the words “Remember what I said. This is a warning!”

There was no signature, but I knew who had hacked the flowers to bits. When had he done it? Was he watching me?

I managed to open my door with difficulty. My hands were shaking so badly that the key slipped and scratched the keyhole a few times before I managed to finally insert it. I had been half afraid of finding my house ransacked.

Everything was in its place, which gave me little comfort. I just could not fathom what had suddenly come over my oldest friend. I cleaned the mess outside my door, hoping that no one had noticed it yet. I felt like crying as I swept the torn fragments into the dustpan and dumped them into the trash. My heart was breaking for the poor flowers. It was breaking a little for me, too, but mostly for the flowers.

I felt tired and overwhelmed though I was thankful that I was no longer bursting into tears every few minutes like some teenage girl. A strong cup of tea would help, I decided.

When I went to make myself some tea, I saw that I had put the pieces of the torn card on the kitchen table instead of throwing them away. About to throw them away, I noticed something else penciled in.

Below Nate’s name on the original message was a line: “See you at six tonight.”

Nate had finally made up his mind to ask me out, it seemed.

If Jim was spying on me, he would know when Nate came to visit me. What would he do to the man whose flowers he had destroyed so ruthlessly? No! I could not allow Jim to hurt Nate. I had to warn Nate not to come. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door, a glimpse at the clock telling me that I was too late to warn Nate. It was five past six.

Nate stood outside, looking somber. He opened his mouth to say something but apparently forgot what when he saw the expression on my face. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him inside, quickly shutting the door behind him. I hoped to God that Jim hadn’t been keeping an eye on my apartment, hadn’t seen Nate arriving.

“Are you all right? You look terrible!” Nate said, sounding really worried.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “You have to go now. Please.”

“It’s all right,’ Nate said, pulling me into a comforting embrace. “I’m not afraid of Jim. I’ll protect you.”

“Wh … what?” I asked.

“He’s threatened you too, hasn’t he? That’s why you are terrified. He threatened me too. But I’m not afraid of him. That’s why I sent you flowers. To show him that I didn’t care what he thought. Didn’t you get them?” Nate asked, looking around and failing to spot them.

I was feeling weak again. Only, this time, it was not born of fear. The warmth and comfort of Nate’s embrace made me want to forget the rest of the world, forget Jim and his threats. I did not want to pull away. I wanted to snuggle in his arms for the rest of my life. My face still buried in his wide chest, I told Nate what had happened to the flowers. I could feel his shoulders and arms go rigid with tension. Sighing, I pulled away.

“We need to take Jim’s threats seriously,” I said to Nate. “I don’t know what’s come over him, but I do know that he is not one to bluster. It’s like he’s not even the same guy anymore. It’s just so impossible, so melodramatic like a movie!”

“Regardless, I am inclined to agree with you that we should not take him lightly. Let’s go to the cops and tell them.”

“No!” I protested.

I could not go to the cops. What would I say? I had no proof. It would be my word against Jim’s. The card had no signature, and it had been printed. There was no way to convince the cops that Jim was a credible threat. No, we’d have to deal with him ourselves.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

I buried my face in my hands and moaned weakly. What the hell was going on? I wanted to cry, but I was fresh out of tears. Jim tried to pull me into a hug. I pushed him away. I wasn’t sure of his intentions. I was completely confounded by him.

“Go away!” I croaked.

“No.”

He grabbed my wrists and moved my hands away, forcing me to look at him.

“No, I won’t go away. I won’t leave you alone. I’m in love with you, you idiot! I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. That date of ours that apparently didn’t work out—since that date, I’ve been sure that you’re the only one for me.”

“But . . . but . . .” I protested weakly. “We kissed. There were no fireworks! Nothing. We felt nothing.”

“You felt nothing.” Jim still wouldn’t let go of my wrists. “It changed my life. As for fireworks, I bet you felt them today, didn’t you? Or should I kiss you again?”

He sounded so self-assured, so intense, so different from his usual cool self. Had I misjudged him all these years? How could I have been so blind? I was feeling faint and sick. I couldn’t deal with all this.

“Jim,” I begged. “Please go home now. I need to be alone.”

I began to tremble. All I wanted was to melt into my bed and vanish from the world.

Jim looked worried now. His intense expression gave way to his usual one of friendly concern. He agreed to leave, apologizing for upsetting me. I barely felt strong enough to see him to the door. Just before I shut the door, he turned round abruptly and embraced me ever so lightly, his lips just brushing my neck, my ear.

He whispered softly, “Don’t go out with Nate. You’re mine, mine alone. If you go out with him, I’ll kill you both.”

Then he was gone, waving at me like nothing unusual had happened. I stood frozen to the spot, my hands bloodless, my legs refusing to budge. I could not have heard right, could I? Jim must have said something else. Must!

My limbs were trembling so much that I almost collapsed onto the mattress. I wondered if I was overreacting, whether Jim’s threat was really worth getting that upset over. I decided that it was. I’d known him all my life. He wasn’t one to make idle threats. Yet, it was so unreal. I mean, one just doesn’t go around killing people for dating certain people, does one? Why, then, was I so terrified?

I don’t know how I passed that night. I don’t know when I fell asleep. When I awoke the next morning, I was stiff and sore. Somehow, it was difficult to take the previous night’s strange incident too seriously.

I had been hungry and upset, which was why I had overreacted, I told myself. After a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, I began to feel more like myself. I took a shower. I went for a walk. The day was bright and beautiful. It was difficult to think of murder on a day like that. I had lunch at a brightly painted, clean little diner. Then I sat by the lake, feeding the ducks. I didn’t think of either Nate or Jim. I bought some groceries. I was feeling happy again.

My joyful mood lasted until I returned home from my walk. I almost screamed out loud when I saw all the red scattered in front of my apartment door. I thought it was blood.

I gingerly stepped closer, my legs shaking visibly. When I saw that it wasn’t blood, I was almost relieved. Almost but not quite. The victims of the massacre were a dozen blood-red roses. A torn-up card lay next to the flowers, shredded into hundreds of pieces. My hand shaking, I picked up the card and tried to piece it together.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

I didn’t hear from Nate for several days. Those days were hell for me.

I alternately longed for him and resented him. I cannot tell how many times I started calling him and then changed my mind.

I hated Jim for putting me in this situation. What had possessed him to say such a stupid thing? He had ruined everything, everything! I didn’t want to see either of them again. Them or their stupid sandwiches.

Since I couldn’t take out my angst on them, I threw away all the bread, sandwich paste, ham slices, cucumber, and every other sandwich-making ingredient I had. I regretted it immediately when I realized how much money I had wasted. I regretted it even more when Jim turned up one night, alone.

I shut the door again when I saw Jim standing outside.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” he demanded. “Are you mad at me or something? What did I do?” 

He had the audacity to sound cross!

“Go away!” I yelled at him.

It wasn’t like I could actually explain why I was mad at him. He was a persistent bloke; you’ve got to give him that. He refused to budge until I opened the door and let him in.

I did let him in, but I lied that I wasn’t feeling well and wanted him to go away. He insisted on taking me to the hospital. I refused to go.

Suddenly, he said shrewdly, “Is this the same illness that kept you in the bathroom for an hour the other day?”

“Why’d you have to make that stupid comment?” I accused him in return.

By then, we had moved to the mattress. I suddenly burst out crying, all the pent-up tension taking its toll. Jim gently stroked my hair. Then he hugged me tight while I drenched his shoulder in salty tears, making soothing noises that, he probably believed, were appropriate for the occasion.

When I finally calmed down, he asked me, “Feeling better?”

I nodded, a tissue covering my by-now red and blotchy nose. Some women look pretty and vulnerable when they cry. I look like a boiled lobster.

“Do you have feelings for Nate?” Jim further probed.

“I don’t know,” I bawled out and again burst into tears.

When I was finally over with the crying, Jim went to my kitchen to make some tea for me. I didn’t object.

Suddenly he asked, sounding alarmed, “Don’t you have anything to eat? Have you been starving yourself?”

I had the wonderfully embarrassing opportunity to explain to him why I had thrown away all the food I’d had in the house. He listened with an amused twinkle in his eyes, trying very hard not to smile. Then he rang up the nearby Chinese restaurant and ordered some food for the both of us.

I can’t remember now what he ordered, but I remember the awkward silence in which we waited for it. I was relieved when the delivery boy arrived with the food and I could avoid Jim’s avid gaze on the pretext of getting plates and cutlery.

The meal was no less awkward than the wait had been. However, as hot food filled my belly, I began to feel much better. By the end of the meal, I was almost myself. Jim did not mention Nate or my strange behavior. I was grateful to him for that. We began to talk about our schooldays. Somehow, the conversation turned to our unfortunate date.

“I’m glad it didn’t work out between us,” I said. “I’m sorry if I sound mean and cruel, but it’s true. Who knows whether it would have finally worked out or not? And if it hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been friends today.”

“So, you’re glad that I am your friend, are you?” Jim asked.

There was something strange in his tone that I couldn’t place.

“Uh-huh,” I replied, slurping my drink.

“And are you glad that I introduced you to Nate?”

I almost choked on my drink. Jim waited for me to stop coughing before repeating his question. I put my drink on the floor and glared at him. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep bringing up my feelings for Nate? What was it to him if I liked Nate or not? I opened my mouth to reply angrily, but I did not get a chance.

Jim swooped down on me, grabbed my face, and lowered his lips on mine. He kissed me deeply, passionately, and I found myself too shocked to pull away. My senses were reeling, I couldn’t breathe! I pushed Jim away, panting. What was happening here? What had come over Jim? He’d never had those kinds of feelings for me. Had he?

I was so utterly confused. What made matters worse was that for a second there, when I’d been trying to pull away, I’d fleetingly wondered how it would feel to kiss Nate. I had stopped struggling for a second, overwhelmed by the notion of kissing Nate. Jim was bound to misinterpret it, wasn’t he?

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

That should have been the end of it. There’s just no good way to recover from a disastrous first encounter like the one we’d had.

Strangely enough, Nate was back in a couple of weeks, much to my astonishment. And he was alone. No Jim tagging along.

Before I could stop myself, I’d blurted out, “Back for more sandwiches?”

I blushed immediately. It was rude. And cruel.

Nate only smiled and said, “Why not!”

It became our thing as we began to hang out more frequently over the next three years. We’d meet, drink beer, eat sandwiches, and talk about our lives.

He had been born to a farming family. He’d been the first in his family to graduate high school. He was in college against the wishes of his family, who wanted him to stay on the farm and help his father and brothers work the land. He wanted to be an engineer and build dams.

I was a single child. My parents had divorced when I was six. Jim and I had been joined at the hip since the second grade. I wanted to be a teacher. Or a counselor. Help children going through a difficult life. We were idealists in those days.

We went on our first official date more than three years after that first encounter. Oddly enough, it was Jim who was responsible for that first date.

One night, we were hanging out in my apartment. Jim had ordered pizza to celebrate the end of our college days. For dessert, I had made fried bread triangles dipped in chocolate sauce and dusted with powdered sugar. I’d made sure that the chocolate sauce did not have milk solids in it. When I heard that Jim had ordered pizza, I told him to cancel.

“Nate can’t have pizza, moron,” I said to Jim. “He’s lactose intolerant.”

Jim threw me a weird look and called the pizza place. The delivery guy had already left, they told him. In the end, Nate had to make do with jam sandwiches for dinner. Knowing we’d be ordering in, I hadn’t bought any groceries.

Jim apologized profusely, though insincerely, to Nate. Nate brushed the whole thing off in his usual good-natured way. To this day, I suspect that Jim had deliberately ordered the pizza to wrangle a larger share than he deserved. He’s never accepted that, of course.

As we were eating, Jim suddenly asked, “Are you two dating?”

“Shut up, Jim,” Nate and I said together.

“Can’t blame a guy for being curious.” Jim shrugged and stuffed another slice into his mouth.

The rest of the night felt awkward. I liked Nate. A lot. I loved spending time with him. We met almost every day. I felt miserable on the days that we did not meet. I waited restlessly for him to turn up every evening. We talked and went on walks and bought groceries at the local market together. On weekends, he stayed in my apartment till almost one or two in the morning before going home. We went to church together on Sundays. Yet, I’d never thought of him as my “boyfriend”. We’d never kissed, never held hands, never been on a real date.

Suddenly, I felt hot. I looked at Nate out of the corner of my eye and saw that he was gazing at me with an odd look in his eyes, like he was seeing me for the first time. My face burned, my hands trembled. I wanted to be near Nate and far away from him at the same time.

To avoid his keen gaze, I looked away and noticed Jim looking at us with surprise writ all over his face. His pizza slice was held in his hand, dangled before his mouth. It made me feel even more uncomfortable. That look in his eyes, part surprise and part something else, was extremely disconcerting.

Finally, I excused myself on the pretext of needing to use the bathroom. I stayed in there until I heard the two of them leave.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0

The first time we met, I made grilled cheese sandwiches.

I wish I’d known he was lactose intolerant. He was a friend of a friend, and I was proud of my sandwiches.

Jim had brought Nate along because he was ashamed of turning up to ask for food alone. Jim and I were childhood buddies. We’d tried to date in high school, but nothing had come of it. We’d both burst out laughing in the middle of our first kiss; it had seemed so ridiculous to both of us. And that had been that.

Six years later, we were working part-time jobs, living in tiny apartments on our own, and trying to put ourselves through college. Though we didn’t see each other as much as we had planned to, Jim still turned up fairly regularly at my place in hopes of food. I resorted to sandwiches to save time and money. Soon, I found myself getting pretty good at it.

After I railed at Jim once about mooching off me, he felt mildly ashamed. Next time he turned up, he had Nate in tow, knowing that I wouldn’t shout at him in front of a stranger.

It was awkward at first. Nate was shy, Jim was voluble, and I was seething within but too polite to say anything in front of Nate. The three of us sat on the second-hand mattress in my living cum dining cum bed room (since my apartment had only one room, a closet modified into a kitchen, and a minuscule bathroom) eating sandwiches and drinking beer, which Nate had brought.

Jim hardly noticed that neither of his companions was saying a word. Soon, he stretched out on the mattress, talking dreamily of this girl he had met in his class and with whom he was in love, he was sure. I went to dump the empty plates and bottles in the kitchen. When I came back, Jim was asleep and Nate was looking distinctly green.

“Bathroom!” Nate managed to croak, clasping his hands over his mouth.

I pointed it out hastily. He leapt from the mattress like a gazelle in the African veldt and reached the door I had pointed out in two bounds. The door banged shut.

Horrible noises began to emerge out of the bathroom. I stood outside, unsure of how to feel. I wasn’t used to having strangers puking their guts out in my bathroom. Is anyone? Anyway, I was angry and upset and confused. Suddenly, I had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. The whole thing was so unexpected and weird and uncomfortable that it was oddly hilarious.

Nate emerged to find me laughing silently, my hand clasped over my mouth to stifle the sounds of my guffaws. He gave me a look of dire injury. I tried to stand up straight and look sober, but I only succeeded in bursting out laughing again.

Nate tried to look haughty. He looked ridiculous with his long hair, thin nose, round spectacles, and large eyes. He looked like a lost poodle, I thought. A lost poodle being sick in my bathroom, which I’d have to clean. That thought sobered me.

Nate said hoarsely, “I am lactose intolerant.” 

It was the last thing I had expected to hear from a stranger. One just didn’t share such personal details with people one had just met. One politely apologized for inconveniencing them. But then, one didn’t laugh hysterically when one’s guest was made sick by one’s food either. So, we were even.

“I’m sorry,” I said, although I suspect it sounded more like a question than an apology.

I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to ask him why he had eaten the sandwiches if he’d known of this problem. I kept my mouth shut less out of politeness than out of a desire to keep myself from bursting out laughing again.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2.0