The cab idled in front of Stanley’s apartment, meter ticking slowly upwards as he sat staring at his door in the distance. The cabbie was clearly growing impatient that his passenger hadn’t moved from his seat after he had asked and confirmed that this was the right place. His fingers drummed loudly against the steering wheel and he glared at him through the rearview mirror. It was around the third time he cleared his throat that Stanley finally handed him the crumpled twenty without a word and made his leave.
As the bright yellow car retreated Stanley approached his door with a sinking feeling. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Knuckles white with how hard he gripped the bag in hand. He knew no one was waiting for him on the other side of his door but he couldn’t help the fear that grew within him while he fumbled the key into the lock. Slowly he pushed the door open and stood at the threshold peering in. With all his shades drawn closed the only light that made it into the apartment was that from behind him. It made it eerie and unfamiliar even in the daytime. Eyes darted around what he could see of the space that lay in disarray as he made his first step inside. Part of him wished Gaston was there for some kind of moral support, even if it was just to call him an idiot for cowering at literally nothing. Anything would have been better than to be scared and alone in his own house. Had he waited to be dropped off later, a complimentary walkthrough probably wasn’t part of the deal and wouldn’t have happened anyway. Rolling his eyes at his own thought he flicked the entrance light on and closed the door, locking and bolting it behind him.
The click of the lock set him no more at ease. In fact he found his heart racing. In the back of his mind he couldn’t shake the unrest he felt until he had combed over his destroyed apartment. Making his way from room to room, turning every light on, checking every lock and place someone could possibly hide. Once he was satisfied that no one else was there with him he locked himself in his bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed his initial state of panic stayed steady in the deafening silence of his room. A place that used to feel so safe now made him feel like a trapped animal waiting to be executed.
Slowly the small rush of adrenaline that had helped him search his apartment waned and the dull pain that throbbed in every tense muscle replaced it. The effects of the second Percocet he had taken started to pull his eyelids downward even though he had a decent nights sleep. He laid back on the bed and with a groan pulled a pillow over his face to shield his eyes from the light that still shone brightly overhead. Vivid thoughts played across his eyes of the night he had let the truth slip from his lips. How happy he had felt right before that. How badly he wanted that back, and how that would never be.
The exact same thoughts and feelings played on constant repeat for weeks that turned into months. His physical wounds healed but the emotional wounds felt like they never would. Self loathing turned into a depression he couldn’t shake even after moving out of his tainted apartment a little less than a month later. They had never caught the men responsible for his assault and the anxiety that had woven itself into him wouldn’t let him stay there any longer. He had called his boss at Eros at one point saying he wouldn’t be able to come back to work for a while, but after so long he just never bothered going back in. Leaving Stella and her persona behind in favor of pursuing the job he had actually went to college for. Something much less flashy and more low key.
Application after application went unanswered. As in demand the field of nursing was he was hard pressed finding a job. The large gap he left in his resume probably to blame. Finally he was called in for an interview to do home nursing and got the job. It didn’t do much to curve his dejected mood, nor did it come with much of any interaction beyond the sickly people he cared for in the comfort of their own homes. He had isolated himself almost purposefully from the world. Sometimes he would find himself scrolling through Facebook, checking in on people he barely knew anymore but never trying to engage in conversation. He felt the lowest he had in his life.
Stanley had to force himself to start going out more, force himself to try and escape his crippling loneliness and the memories of Gaston that still played every night he lay awake in bed.
His new town was quiet and far enough from Villeneuve that he didn’t run into anyone he knew from the life he had abruptly left behind. Small neighborhood bars is where he found himself most nights he was off, becoming a regular rather quickly. Talking with the town drunks did little to fill the void in his life but they helped cover it with. Merely acquaintances that meant nothing at the end of the day. Chasing after some semblance of normality in his life he would sometimes muster up the will to take someone home for a night of meaningless sex. Some wanted more than that but Stanley just sent them on their way, avoiding any type of commitment whatsoever.
Even with his now consistent routine he never fully was able to push Gaston from his mind. The smallest things making him think of the other fondly, but no longer in a way that would make him completely break down. He was sure Gaston had moved on, so why couldn’t he?
Another night surrounded by people trying to drown their own sorrows at his now favorite local bar, Stanley made light conversation with the bartender he had become fuck buddies with. Neither of them looking for anything more than casual sex it was something Stanley could handle. As they talked about things that no one really cared about he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and took the opportunity to excuse himself from the bland conversation. The bartender took the hint and immediately and flirtatiously chatted up another patron.
Stanley pulled his phone from his pocket, hitting the home key to see who could possibly be messaging him so late. He stared at the message that was accompanied by a number that wasn’t saved. He had lost all his contacts when he had gotten his new phone. A moment passed before the last four digits registered in his brain as Gaston’s. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his phone to the message. Cursor blinking at him while he read and reread the two words. A pang of sadness he hadn't felt so deeply in a while stabbed through his chest.
Yea... but I think you might have the wrong person....
He texted back as nonchalantly as possible. Only to notify the other of his clear mixup in who he sent his all too familiar booty call text to. It had to be a mistake. It had been so long, there was no way Gaston actually meant it for him.
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