English Affair

Upon arriving home, Rollo's scent lingered about me even longer than last time, and fiercer had it clung to my senses now as was the feeling of light-heartedness and glee fluttering within me, despite having to involuntarily flee his place in the hasty fashion I did. It was when I found myself smiling just by the thought of our recent encounter, or even of just him alone, that it had become official to me, that I, Bliss, was finally crushing on the man. Before I knew it, I was internally giggling like a high school girl as I mentally replayed the events from last night.

When we made love, when he tickled me…

When I kissed him on the cheek before going to the bathroom..

For all the intimacy we’d shared, one might think such a kiss would mean nothing, yet to me, that fleeting brush of affection, so tender and brief, was achingly sweet; and as I slipped out of bed after pressing it to his cheek, I couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts lingered in his mind. Did it have an effect on him?

When afternoon had come, I was most amused and at the same time disturbed upon the recollection of the happenings of the dream I had that night by his side.

Me: "Oyeeee. I just remembered, I had the strangest dream last night. There were other people living in your unit, but in the dream, the place was bigger because there were one or two room extensions. And then there was a man... He was told I was 'off limits' especially to him because he's too big, even bigger than you—LMFAOOO, yet he still tried to get to me so it was kind of thrilling because I was so scared (he was giving off serial-killer-hunting-victim vibe) and I was trying to hide and get away from him. You were also trying to stop him from getting to me and, uhm.. I don't think you'd want to hear what happened after 🤣"

Him: "What happened after? That Jungle Book film really made an imprint on you 🤣"

"Uhm…" I began through recording and laughed before I could compose myself. "So you were fighting each other on your bed, and he had the upper-hand because, you know, you're basically injured because of your tailbone, and…" I laughed some more. "He ended up doing… you."

Him: "Wtffffffff 🤣 Your dreams are off the charts crazy. Lmao."

Me: "Yes, and I could only watch as you screamed. Lmfaooo."

Him: "Damn, why didn’t you help me?"

Me: "Idk. But I went to church after that."

Him: "In the dream."

Me: "Yes, Rolloliyo."

Him: "I thought you meant today cos of the dream 🤣"

Me: "LOOOL. To what? To pray for your defiled purity? 🤣"

The dream included Erwin, actually, in the church scene. He attended with a classmate of mine from high school, and not gonna lie, it bothered me because the thought of him replacing me with someone I know, stirred a form of jealousy only arising when the rival is someone you were once acquainted with. But only in the dream I was bothered. When I was recalling the events at present, I couldn't care less.

It was Thursday night when I had popped unannounced at Rollo's place, and by Saturday, I was thinking of coming over again, so I sent a voice note of me calling out his name to get his attention. But the Brit didn't open my message until the next day, 25th of September. It was to my utter dejection for I had already prepared myself for my visit that night and was only waiting for his response to see if he was available. But it seemed to me he had gone cold now. I'd already felt it after imparting to him the dream I had, for the conversation was no longer followed by anything else, and, I don't know… Perhaps because feelings were slowly developing from my end, so I was more susceptible to slight changes of his actions now.

Sunday, his response came, and there definitely was a change in him, alright.

His voice.

It had turned raspier and deeper and groggy with a little cough into the mix.

"Oh my God… You sound sick. Are you alright, Rolloliyo? Or... is that just your morning voice?"

"I'm... a little bit sick but it's nothing to be concerned about... just yet. I don't need a hospital... just yet. Talk to me about this typhoon. Is this gonna hit the city? Are we all gonna die from the storm or are we okay here? It's certainly gonna hit the capital."

"Yes, we're all gonna die," I straightly affirmed, then chuckled lightly. "Just kidding. No, no. I think the city will be fine, I mean... we survived the last super typhoon and that was like the strongest typhoon I ever had to live through in my life. So... yeah. We're gonna be fine, don't worry."

Him: “What happened in the last typhoon? Was it just heavy rain and winds?”

Me: “Some rain and A LOT OF WINDS. It broke down trees, my window, our firewall… Ah, it was TERRIBLE. But only because the city was its target and this time, I think it's just the capital.”

Him: “Well, I’m not dead yet from the rain 🤣”

Me: “Did the rain mess up your health, Rolloliyoooo? Hahahaha. Lemme hear that sexy sick voice again, please 🤣🤣”

Despite feeling bad about his health, I was actually relieved upon this news because it meant he wasn’t being intentionally cold to me. He was just… indisposed.

"I'll take that as sarcasm about my voice,” he replied the next day, still in the sound of a hoarse utterance which only so gratified my request.

"Oh, you are so sarcastic that you suspect everything as sarcasm,” I told him after spending a good time grinning from ear to ear when his throaty voice delighted me with satisfaction.

“I don't know what gave me the flu. You probably gave me the flu, but I don't think it's a flu, I think it's just—” (sniffles) “—a head cold at best."

All at once, guilt struck me upon hearing this dreary speculation. “Oh my God, I gave you that? I'm so sorry. It wasn't my intention to make you sick, Rolloliyo. I hope you feel better soon."

"I mean, maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it was somebody at the gym. I don't know. Could've been from the delivery driver, could be anybodeh. But, more likely it's you. Blissetta, etta, etta, etta, etta.”

Well, he did swallow a considerable amount of my saliva so it was a fair assumption, I supposed.

Two days passed when nothing was exchanged between us and within this period, I had taken the interest to study the Brummie accent a little by replaying several of his recordings (both from Bumble and Telegram) and even watching a few videos on YouTube. When I watched a show on Netflix, the leading man got sick, reminding me of him, so I asked how his cold was.

"Blissetta, etta, etta, etta," came his voice which still had a trace of scratchiness in it, but sounded a lot better than last time. "I'm okay. I'm surviving because I'm a top-G alpha," he slowly said, then after a pause, added: "I'm good."

I told him I was glad, and asked him on text to say some sentences for me.

"Why do you want me to say that sentence?" he asked, but proceeded to say what I wanted him to utter despite his confusion. "'I made him shut up before I shot him.' What the fuck does that even mean.."

Me: "Hmmmmm… Now say 'shut up' and 'shot up'."

Slowly, he read the words and added: "Why are you making me do this, Bliss?"

I was so used to him calling me "Blissetta" that it was almost strange to hear him say my name properly.

"I'm just trying to see the difference," I reasoned. Then I made him say other words and this time, he pronounced them like a tutor would do to his pupil, and even repeated them with patience. When I thought my Rolloliyo had gone cold to me now by being unusually proper than the usual, to my gladness, he resurfaced by once again—(although done a little weaker because of his cold)—saying my name and prolonging it for several seconds, and even adding the sound of that whirring machine he compared to that of a vibrator some nights ago, and ending the recording with a chuckle because of how silly he sounded.

"You know, I'm starting to think that's like your mating call or something," I said, intentionally pronouncing the hard 'g' in 'something', and then saying the word again to give more emphasis (jokingly) that I could finally speak his tongue. He said my accent was "no bueno" and proceeded to call my name again for several seconds until he ran out of air.

Me: "I dare you to do that in one minute."

Him: "My voice will die."

That reply of his came the following day, 29th of September, a little before noon. I couldn't find anything to talk to him about anymore, so it wasn't until the evening, I chose to respond in the form of singing his name to rival the one he had created for mine, but my attempt only turned out lame and even cringe.

"Rolloliyo, are you still in the city?" I added in the end, although I was quite relaxed that he still was. Just to have something to talk about, I guess.

And of course, his answer consisted of him singing my name as well, an updated version it sounded, for it had some twist in it now and more beat. He was laughing in between with this version, because it went on for so long. With his playful tone back in its usual vigour, it really made me smile so wide despite the butchery he had done to my name. But it wasn't long before that smile was abruptly wiped out of my face when I heard his response to my question.

He was still in the city, yes, but he was leaving tomorrow morning. To go to another island.

My heart dropped. And for a time, I was confused.

But I thought.. I thought... 

"WHAT?" I exclaimed. "YOU'RE LEAVING? ALREADY? Why didn't you tell me, Rolloliyo? Why, why, WHY?" There was no point hiding my real emotion now that he was to depart on the morrow.

To make it worse, he didn't open Telegram again for the rest of that night. I took a bath in hopes to wash away this heavy feeling in my chest, and out flowed they came in the form of silent weeping. Although the emotional blow was nothing compared to the ones I’ve endured with Chace or Patch, this news hit harder than when Kaladin’s departure to Thailand.

Kaladin who? It all suddenly seemed so ridiculous now, my woes for the tattooed soldier.

Although the bath worked in lightening the heaviness in my heart, some weight still prevailed in the pit of my stomach. This is my toxic trait. What I take for granted suddenly holds meaning to me when it’s no longer there. The attachment is only realised once they’re gone.

But I was already developing feelings ..

Lancelot, who had casually asked me how things were with Rollo when we were having our usual late-night-calls, urged me to come see the Englishman for the last time after relaying to him the man's departure in the morning.

"No, it's so late now," I told him quite indifferently, although my real sentiments felt otherwise. 

He knew of Rollo—even before I met the Viking in person—because we were very open to each other. He had asked me once how my Bumble was going, and that was when I had told him I might be hanging out with someone from Birmingham soon. He even knew of Kaladin. He was a very good confidante. The thought of showing up at Rollo’s door one last time, as he had suggested, certainly came to mind, but I was reluctant about the whole thing and was far too dispirited to go out. Besides, I reckoned the Brit would want to have an early night-rest for his early departure tomorrow.

Alas, tomorrow came, and along it his response to my outburst upon his news.

"I'm like 99.99999% sure I told you on Bumble I'm leaving at the end of September. Sorry, I forgot to say, Blissetta.”

No, he didn’t just simply say Blissetta at all. I just don’t have the energy to transcribe it accurately for he murdered my name in another intensity this time and threw into the mix the whirring sound and some gasp and plenty of “tattattatatta” as if he was firing a machine gun. Fuck, I would certainly miss his crazy, stupid arse.

"Yeah, I think you mentioned it to me..” I seconded musingly, recalling the conversation. “But you also said that you'd be leaving the country next month so I just assumed that perhaps your plans changed a little bit because of your tailbone. I didn't realise that you'd be going to another place, so... Had I known that you'd be leaving today, Rolloliyo…” I suddenly got emotional and paused to change tone. “My dear, Rolloliyo…” I fake-sobbed to wrap humour around my despair, then back in my regular voice, bravely confessed: “I would've come over days ago to... fuck you. One last time." I laughed, then added: "Nah, you enjoy your trip and have a safe flight. I'm going to miss you, though. Like, right now. I am missing you, you... bastard.” Another laughter because hey, at this point we just laughin’ the pain, aye? “Nah, take care.” I finally ended the recording on an earnest note.

"You take care also, Blissetta, etta, etta,” returned he later that evening, which meant he had long since arrived at his destination. And as if encouraged by my burst of honesty, he let out some of his solemn thoughts as well. “To be fair, I didn't think you wanted to come over again that's why you're just being a bit off-ish, but I dunno. Maybe I was wrong to assume such things, but… oh well. Anyway.. Take care, Blissetta, etta, etta, etta, eh, eh, eh, eh... Miss you, too."

Whether he meant it or not, his last words melted the ice I was trying to construct around my sensibility. That was the first time he expressed such sentimentality without the sarcastic note he usually puts. Even when it was done so curtly as if he was forced against his nature to say such a thing.. But I guess that’s what made it special to me. Because I’d like to believe he’s the type of guy who masks his genuine feelings through jokes, sarcasm, and indifference. So when he finally says something akin to that of affection without any of these elements, its rarity gives off more effect to the person he’s telling it to.

But.. wait. What? He thought I was being “off-ish”? Where was he getting this from?

"You were the one who was a bit off-ish,” I countered indignantly. “I thought you didn't want me coming over again."

"Maybe a miscommunication, then. Big miscommunication.”

But was it because of how I left so early that morning without so much as a kiss? Was it why he was suddenly distant to me?

Carefully, I tried to recall how I had seemed from that very morning, when I rolled away from his embrace, and then retracing my actions farther back when we laid in bed that night, when I almost completely ignored him after sex because I was occupied with Duolingo…

Interesting. So Rollo overthinks these things..

I chuckled and told him to have a great time on the next island and that I also hoped he wouldn't get laid there because I wanted to be the only cardboard box he’s ever had here in my country. I laughed, of course, and waved it off with: “Nah, have fun.” But I was also serious so I added: “No, seriously. I hope you don't get laid."

“Uhm, that's pretty mean. Pretty mean that you don't want me to get laid." He laughed and said, "I'm kiddin’, I'm kiddin’, I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddingggg. Blissetta. Etta, etta. Rrrrr. Haha."

So that’s what he had made of my name now. A whirring machine seemed to be permanently attached to the already eccentric form he had transformed it to.

"Ah, just go get laid when you get back to England,” I told him a little too casually to detect a care in my voice, until that care immediately proved present when I was at it again with my dramatics. “Why? Is there another cardboard box in the pipeline? Already?? Rolloliyo?? Who is she???"

"No cardboard boxes have been delivered to my door just yet, Blissetta, etta, etta, etta. But if there are, I will tell them to watch Netflix with me and watch shitty movies." He chortled in a sudden burst of amusement, probably at the awful memory of what he went through with me.

“Just yet!” I repeated in an overly dramatised misery. “So there will be. Ugh. Rolloliyo. Rollololololiyo.. You break me. My heart is literally broken on the floor right now. I'm gonna need three months to get over this." And then in a separate recording, I chirped: “SELFIEE.”

The next day…

October 1st

"I'm gonna have to take a year to get over it, you…” he trailed off to think, “not coming over again.” With this satisfactory conclusion, he laughed and continued, “Yeah. So who's the mean one now, Blissetta?”

"Oh, please, what's a year? I'm gonna need a lifetime to get over you. A LIFETIME." I laughed, too. “And where’s my selfie?" I demanded. "I miss you. Come back here.”

“Well.. Actually, Blisetta-etta-etta-eh-eh-eh-eh, I’m gonna need ten lifetimes so… Fuck you. And where’s my selfie, yeah?”

He sent a selfie of him in bed, glasses on, face smiling lightly, and of course, shirtless, exposing the hairy chest I had just buried my face on a week ago. Instantly, I was filled with longing and the intense desire to be there on the same bed with him.

“Ugh, the urge to jump on you.. Why do I want you more, Rolloliyo, now that you’re not here?”

I sent a selfie of myself as well, as was demanded, only in a towel for I had just showered when I got his reply.

We talked for a bit more, but by-and-by, for the most part of October, we scarcely sent each other anything at all. Which was only normal, I guess. If you’d think about it, there was really nothing that much between us. It was just a casual hook-up so we were bound to dissipate from each other’s lives eventually. But still, during the first few weeks, his egression left a lingering melancholia in the atmosphere, and although the chances were low, I still hoped, deep down, he would come back ..

Oh, what similar sorrow I just recently had from another man! I should be used to this, but..

"How goes your Bumble experience?" one man had asked me when I shortly dribbled with the app out of my loneliness from Rollo's absence.

"It's alright, I suppose. No matter how much you've made yourself accustomed to fleeting situations, it still leaves an effect, no matter how little, when it's all over."

Layla found the man very attractive, and though I agreed with her, it's just hard for me to take delight in the beauty of others when my affection is already taken.

Like with Rollo, for example, when we first started talking. I had my eyes set on Kaladin that time, and I don't remember being remarkably captured by his Viking good looks. 

Speaking of Vikings… I actually haven't watched Vikings in a while and when I picked up where I left off a week or two after Rollo had left, it was to my great delight having decided to call him Rollo, because now that I was watching the show again, it only proved fitting because the Rollo on TV and my Rollo in real life have almost the same smile. The small mouth and thin lips framed with a thicket of dark mustache and beard..

So similar.

So familiar..

I should've left something in his place so I'd have had a concrete reason to come back.. Tsk. But it seemed we were far too skilled in hiding our sentiments, and far too prideful in revealing them. Why didn't I just stay a little bit longer that morning? This regret still haunts me up to this day.

After about a week of leaving my city, he had his Bumble account deleted, which upset me immensely and rendered me nervous because I was already beginning to write this novella at that time, and I hadn't transcribed a lot of our conversations from there yet. Thank goodness the chat history didn't disappear with him. It was very relieving.

I had been coming over at Layla’s and going out with her almost every week since Rollo's leave, and like what best friends normally do when they’re together, we talked about plenty of stuff and even included Lancelot in our folly sometimes, whom we’d call on Telegram.

When I told her about Kaladin, though, she was being awfully mean towards him, and I wasn't sure if it was chiefly because of his ghosting me, or that those were her actual impression of him, because she held her opinions quite strongly and rather severely, to my offense. Yes, I was actually offended even when the man did me wrong because Layla was just being absolutely harsh about him. Can you believe what she said?

She said he was ugly!

Which isn't true at all!

"No, he is not! How could you say that?"

"Because he is. He's nothing compared to Rollo and Lancelot."

Alright, the two Europeans are, without doubt, remarkably superior when it comes to facial attributes, but Kaladin is far from bad-looking! He might not carry the same rugged handsomeness these two gentlemen do, nor do his soft brown eyes appear so striking a pair like the hunter-gaze and bright green orbs of Lancelot's, nor his nose sculpted in the Roman godly form like Rollo's narrow one, but altogether he's cute.

And above all, hot! 

And I was pretty sure that out of the three of them, he was the strongest, bravest, and manliest.

"Okay, he does have a well-built neck," Layla considered after my attempts at making her see that she was wrong, by showing another photograph of the soldier. "But he's still ugly."

Ah, it was pointless changing her mind. Her opinion was adamant.

She also said she doesn't like his voice after I told her I particularly liked it, and followed it up with: "He sounds gay."

My, but I didn't even hate Kaladin that much! At that point, I just felt bad for him seeing as Layla strongly preferred Rollo by the way she was bullying the former and praising the latter.

"Kaladin is boring. Rollo is more fun and playful." (She had listened to some of my conversations with these two.)

I didn't even know why I still continued defending Kaladin when it was officially over between us. Furthermore, my feelings for him were long since subdued by the still growing sentiments I had for Rollo, until the whole infatuation I had for the soldier seemed to me so frivolous now. I wouldn't say insignificant entirely, for, afterall, it was because of his ghosting me I met Rollo in the fashion I did. If anything, I was grateful he left me hanging. Very grateful.

As the days of October rolled around, I’ve already accepted that I wouldn’t be seeing Rollo anymore, so I had no problem when either of us would reply almost a week later. If anything, I found myself relishing the feelings that still burned for him while they were still burning, because I was certain they were to fade away soon.

So I missed him while I still could, and longed for him in gloaming satisfaction to the point where I ended up writing a song about it using Layla’s guitar.

Miss your blue eyes

Which I thought were grey

Cos the first time I saw you

I didn't think you would stay

Stay in my mind

Cos it wasn't the plan

I only held your hand

To distract me from

From somebody else

Who stole my heart

A tattooed soldier from

The Texas land

And you were a traveller

From Birmingham

A fleeting affair…

But I'll never

Never forget

The way you kiss me

The taste of your lips

And I.. I still hear

I still hear the way

You call me Blissetta

Etta-eh…

It was mid-October when I wrote that, and on the same day, elated with pleasure of the creativity I had produced, I asked him if he was already back in England because I remembered him telling me it was around this time he was to return. But his response, two days later, only sank my heart the second time around.

“BLISSETTATATATATTTTAAAAAA. No, I'm not back in England. Now, I’m in Bali.  I go to England in November, BLISSETTATATTATTTAAAAAA.”

Having read that, I felt a weird stir in my innards.

Bali?

His plans changed, then?

There was only one thing I could think of why.

“Ooh, you went back with your ex!” I exclaimed teasingly and laughed, but deep down, my stomach churned with unpleasant emotions which clumped together like a knot for I was too overwhelmed to dissect them yet.

For almost a week, he didn’t go online on Telegram, leaving me with my ongoing speculation that he really went back with his ex. And because I’m a stalker, I went through his 130+ following list on Instagram and saw a profile of a girl who had the Indonesia’s flag in her bio. The account was private, but it was her I suspected the most to be the Viking’s ex-lover. For almost a week, I was jealous of her so much as to share it with Layla and my strong objections to Rollo’s “stupidity”.

Me: “I think Rollo got back with her ex because he’s back in Bali. His return to England has been moved to November. Stirred my feelings a little, darn it.”

Her: “Oh, shit. What does she look like?”

Me: “Idk. I didn’t pay that much interest to his story when he was telling me about it. I should’ve.”

Her: “Awee :( He deserves better, honestly. Wtf.”

Me: “Ikr! He still hasn’t replied to my ‘teasing’ audio that says ‘Ooh, you got back with your ex!’ If he truly did, I judge him 🤣🤣🤣”

Her: “Hahahahaha. Omg. Do you think he did? I have a feeling they got back together.”

Me: “That’s what I think, too. AHAHAHA. How could he be SOOO STUPID, though? 🤣 Maybe it’s his first time falling in love.”

Her: “Grr, I wanna see what she looks like. LOL.”

Me: “Me, too! Fudge, I should’ve asked during the first night 🤣 Also the French the girl cheated on him with.”

Her: “Hahaha. The fuck is wrong with these people, they don’t get contented at all 🤣 If it had been me, I’d  absolutely be satisfied with him.”

Me: “IKR?! Like, he’s so fucking good in bed, I could keep him forever just for that alone! JKJKJK. HAHAHA. From what I can remember with what he told me, I think it was in April he returned to Bali but was isolated for two weeks, I think, because he got Covid, and it was apparently because of this delay his ex cheated on him, like, what the fuck? What a bitch. The guy got Covid, she couldn’t wait for a little more time for him to recover? 🙄"

Her: “Wtf. That’s the reason?”

Me: “That’s what he told me.”

Her: “She was that itchy down there? She couldn’t hold it in?”

Me: “And he wouldn’t have had known it had he not seen the message from the French saying—‘I can’t wait to fuck your body again.’ I feel so bad for him. His first girlfriend.. doing him so dirty. Like, she was really doing them both within the same time frame.”

Her: “Damn. He should have picked better. First girlfriend, of all things. Shit.”

This occurrence certainly disturbed the melancholic and even enjoyable despondency I was feeling for Rollo, and with this internal agitation, it made me think of him in the way I never did. I never tried digging him deep.. Why should I? I never thought I'd have feelings for him and was even so certain about it as to insist it upon Lancelot who relentlessly warned me I would.

Things that didn't spark my interest before were bombarding my thoughts now. I never wanted to get to know him better. I just wanted to know him enough.

Now, I regret not asking more questions. When he wanted to show me his ID to prove he was half-American… Why didn't I just let him show me? I wonder what he looks like in the picture… And when he opened up about his ex-girlfriend…

How?

How did that happen? 

Knowing him, who asked who out? 

"But have you ever loved anyone before?" I had asked when I thought he was a fuckboy, then immediately retracted my question. "Oh, right. You had a girlfriend."

"I did love her, yeah, " he said so casually as his eyes were set on the TV.

Looking back now, I fairly recalled he never looked me in the face during the few times he mentioned his ex despite his frequent turns and regards at me. If it still pained him, it was understandable, of course. That, or I might just be reading more into things.

I wondered how things went as soon as he discovered his girl’s infidelity. What kind of fight did they have? Were there screamings? Did he… cry? Aww, poor Rollo.

But why, though? Why did he love her? What did she have? What was she like? How did she break through his walls?

It was agonising obsessing over these trivial conjectures that only stressed my mind, but at the same time, there was a strange pleasure in it..

At last, after almost a week, the agony was over when Rollo finally annihilated these dismal thoughts when he responded to my question at once.

“Nooo, I didn’t. I am still single waiting for cardboard boxes. I am very much single,” this he said in a rather slow cadence and I was absolutely relieved upon hearing it. He wasn’t stupid after all! More importantly, it abated the irrational jaundice I was feeling.

All of those worries and overthinking for nothing.. It’s clear to me now that men don't hurt me. I hurt myself.

Me: “You should really stop objectifying women, Rolloliyooooo 🤣🤣🤣”

Him: “I’d never objectify women as a cardboard box 🤣🤣 What would make you think that, Blissettatatatatatattaaaaaaa?”

“Oh, yes. You never, never, NEVERRRRR, objectify women as a cardboard box," I sarcastically said, laughing lightly because after all, it was I who gave birth to that objectification.

What I noticed about Rollo was that: he'd only (usually) open Telegram whenever I posted a story on Instagram, and only then would he respond to my messages, as if my insta stories were a reminder for him to get back to me on tele. And because of this observation, the only reasons I would publish a story was to:

1) capture his attention

2) make him think of me (because my stories are sometimes cute or "intentionally" gorgeous shots of myself)

It was never really my intention to stay on Instagram that long, but for him, I did. I wanted to see whatever he'd post there no matter how rare it was. I wasn’t very active there myself either, seeing as I’d only post at least once a week, but he was the only audience I cared about. And he was almost always the one who’d view my stories first. My face would always lighten up with joy whenever I'd see his tiny round picture on the viewers list shortly after releasing my post online. Although sometimes, it would get annoying because when I’d change my mind and wanted to delete it 30 seconds later, the bastard had already seen it, and there was no point deleting it anymore because, like I said, he was the only viewer that mattered. Although there were a few users that brought a smile to my face whenever they’d react to my posts with a flattering message or a heart, nothing could beat the feeling of Rollo just viewing it. Yes, "just" viewing it, because the bastard never for once hearted any of my posts at all. Which was unfair because when I was stalking some public profiles from his following list, I saw he liked their stuff even when they were blah compared to mine. 

On the same day we talked about him objectifying women, I added a text to my good-humoured voice note relating to that of the notorious serial killer: Jeff Dahmer.

Me: "I'm watching Jeff Dahmer on Netflix. Thank you for not being a psychotic murderer, Rolloliyooooooo."

Him: "Lmfaoooooooo. And thank you for not cutting me up in my sleep also or anything else weird like Dahmer did, Blissetatattaaa. Or drug me to have sex with me 🤣 Of course I haven’t watched it but I’ve heard about it."

Me: "Impossible to cut you up, you seem to be a veryyyyy light sleeper. HAHAHAHA.”

Him: "Hahahaha. So you would have if I wasn’t a light sleeper 👀” 

Me: "I had no plans to cut you up at all, Rolloliyo, because you are precious. You’re precious to me. Hahaha. No, actually, Dahmer’s victims were actually precious to him, that's why he kept them with him, their bones, their skulls, and ate their hearts. So, so creepy.”

Him: "Damn, maybe you was gonna kill me then cuddle me when you was lonely 🤣🤣”

Me: "Yeah, if you had sung my name for one more minute the way you always did, I prolly would have murdered your arse. Hahahaha.”

Him: "Blissettatattttaaaatatttaa. If you had picked one more awful film, you’d have defo got the chop 🤣🤣🤣”

Me: "You said you enjoyed Mowgli!! And oh please, you chose the first film, you're as much to blame. Hahahaha.”

Him: "I did enjoy the jungle book one, to be fair.”

That conversation branched into more reminiscences of our intimate affair—his colossal weapon, the blood, the pain, the pleasure; into the regrets—the miscommunication, the mistranslations, the nonchalance; into the possibilities—his return, our married life, the number of our children; into more nonsense, like how I jested that I was pregnant with his child and would name it “Odin”, how he would come back to raise Odin as the alpha male he should be, how I would throw the child away if he didn’t inherit his father's height, how he would REALLY return to save his son from my “evil” grasp.

Oh, but the idea of him coming back… For a split second, I considered having truly conceived “Odin” with him despite my fear of being pregnant.

By November, he finally made it back to England.

Me: “Awwww, you so far now 🤣”

Him: “So far but so close.”

From this point on, our conversations were reduced to ironic one-liners every once in a while—nonsensical, irrelevant remarks that I looked forward to giving and receiving, for I was starved for any form of communication with him, and it was to these silly one-liners that I clung so desperately, in the name of trying to keep our connection alive, even if only barely.

“So bad but so good.”

“So round but so square.”

“So fast but so slow.”

“So hot but so cold.”

“So wrong but so right.”

“So butterfly but so cockroach.”

“So Harry Potter but so Voldemort.”

Such were our exchanges from November all the way to December, until he broke the streak by saying:

“I keep seeing that Wednesday Adams dance on Tiktok and it reminds me of you lmaoooo. You’re like another version of her 🤣”

Me: “How in the world am I in any way a ‘version’ of her 🤨 You never saw me dance like that! It's the fringe, isn't it 🤔”

Him: “Hahahahahaha. It’s the fringe, yeah, probably, but first time I seen it, I was like—that’s Blissettatatattataeeeee 🤣”

Me: “I watched the video and she looks like she's on crack or something. Lmaoooo. Hang you! That's HOW I remind you of??”

Him: “Hahahahahahahaha. Nah, it’s the facial expressions and the fringe. I swear to God, it’s you 🤣”

After that, he never once initiated messaging me anymore. A heavy amount of might and self-discipline was necessary on my end so as not to send anything first, but on the few occasions when the strong impulse and temptation overcame this resolve—and though he still showed the same playfulness and sarcasm as he always did—it was evident that I was the only one trying to prolong the interaction I had created. On Christmas, I sent him my greetings. By January, I told him about the dream I had of him which occurred months ago, feigning it just happened “recently”, playfully adding that he was haunting me. Creating ways to get his attention was agonising when, in the moments in between, I kept daydreaming about him and hoping that he missed me terribly, so terribly that he would surprise me with a message out of the blue..

But.. it seemed they were only my girlish hopes. Foolish hopes that only existed in my head, my internal world

.

Him: “Lmaooo. A threesome in a cemetery 🤣 Wild dream. I’d have to be really turned on to get hard in a cemetery 🤣🤣🤣🤣”

Me: “Maybe alcohol will help 🤣”

Him: “Defo going to hell, alcohol and sex in a cemetery 🤣🤣”

Me: “Nahhh, we going to Valhalla 🤣”

Him: “Well I am anyway :)”

Me: “Nah, actually, if you'd think about it, I am more qualified to be there because I know more about this mythology and I worship Odin, I named my child after him. Haha, bleh.”

Him: “Maybe I’ll have to have a word with Zeus to make sure your entry to Valhalla is denied 🤣”

It should have been at this point that the spell cast upon me was broken. After all, the dumbness of his reply was as heavy as Thor's hammer, so heavy that it should've crushed my very idea of him as a Viking. Yet, my obsession with him weighed heavier.

Me: “Oh wowwww, what in the cross-over is this 🤣 If you want to talk to Zeus then we won't be meeting each other in the afterlife, don't worry. Hahaha.”

Him: “Zeus be allowing and denying entry into Valhalla, that’s all I gotta talk to him about 🤣”

Why does he say that with so much confidence? Surely he trolls?

Me: “But Zeus has nothing to do with Valhallaaaa 🤣🤣”

Him: “In my Valhalla, he rules it 🤣🤣”

Several days after that, I pretended to have “drunk-texted” him just to create another conversation, telling him I missed him in deliberate wrong spelling. Then I finally started to learn chess so I could once again "pretend" I needed help understanding something, just to have another excuse to talk to him again. And then Valentine’s came. I greeted him; he greeted me back. It was at this point that I resolved to stop chasing him. For multiple instances, I had watched myself drop my dignity in the name of keeping our connection alive, even when it was clear as day that I was the only one pouring fuel onto our dying fire. But on Valentine’s, I’d had enough. My mind still chased him, yeah, but no longer would I manifest it into reality.

So I continued daydreaming about him, romantisising our past, and replaying the impossible scenarios I directed in my head, thinking perhaps, if I thought of him enough, the universe and fate would conspire to bring him back to me..

I saw a video on Instagram whose caption said: "When they make the 'let's compare our hands' move"—and then a person’s reaction to this being that of an apparently pleased, shy, and coy expression.. It made me think of when Rollo started comparing our hands, too.

So that was a… move? Was I too dense, then?

Sometimes, I’d fantasise about him, still far away, and then, randomly, Rihanna’s song “Umbrella” would play somewhere within his hearing. He wouldn’t realise it at first, but the moment the chorus reached that part, that very tune he so often sang my name to, I’d pop into his head—and remember me.

The thought of Wednesday Adams suddenly painted a small smile from my lips.. It brought me great pleasure to know that some things reminded him of me, even if it was in the form of crazy dancing by a creepy-looking lady.

But just who does he speak to on Telegram? He always opens it every day now… When I first searched for his username there, his activity status said “active within a month,” which meant he hadn’t used the app in more than a week. The unspecified date and time were due to my settings, but the moment I added him, these specifics were no longer hidden. Because we had made the app our main medium for chatting after ditching Bumble, he was always active there for two weeks. That changed, of course, as you’ve already read, when he left the city, being able to go a week without launching it. But ever since we talked again because of Jeff Dahmer, he was present there every day again… When he returned to England, his activity had gaps but never reached a full week like last time. And because of Wednesday Adams, we had a decent chat once more. Ever since then, he’s been opening the app daily, even when we wouldn’t talk for weeks—or, at present, more than a month.

So… who is he chatting with now?

One time last year, when I was online and staring blankly at my chat list, I saw the green dot for “online” pop up under his picture. As quick as a blink, it disappeared.

Hmm… of course, my deluded arse wanted to assign meaning to it. I stayed for a few minutes, staring at the screen, waiting to see if he’d return. And he did. And disappeared just as fast as the previous time.

Was he lurking? Did he not want me to catch him online?

A few more times, this happened—until these “few times” became “a lot” over the course of four months. 

Sometimes, I’d catch him by accident. Other times, I’d intentionally wait.

I am pathetic.

Another hypothesis is that: he’s checking for somebody else’s reply, and seeing he hasn’t got one from that person, he quickly exits the app—without any care for my activity status at all, whether he’s even seen it or not, for he’s moved on and found somebody new.

Because a lot of times, I see him lingering on the app for a minute or more. That could mean he’s truly chatting with somebody… or maybe he’s doing the same thing as me…

Ah, fuck conjectures! Why do I continue feeding my delusions? Why do I dwell on imagined truths?

Someone will always be better—a line that always echoes in my head when someone special exits my life. But what if I don’t want someone better? What if I’m tired of sharing my body and affection with someone new? The chances of Rollo coming back aren’t unlikely, but the possibility of us happening on a higher level than an affair gets farther and farther each day. The hope dwindles smaller and smaller, until it’s reduced to the tiniest speck of ember glowing weakly in the pitch-black obscurity it’s wrapped in. But still, deep down, I cling onto this hope. And not because I’m even genuinely in love with him, but because…

Because…

BECAUSE I WROTE A FUCKING BOOK ABOUT THE GODDAMN GUY.

That’s fucking why.

A feeling so frivolous transformed into fifty thousand words..

Because of this shit, I’ve grown even more attached to him, because I have to reminisce EVERYTHING that happened between us. Recall his expressions, the things he said, the fuss we made… I literally have to think of him EVERY DAY. And the more I think of him, the more my feelings grow. I could’ve been over him in like two weeks or a month at most, but nope—I had to turn a tiny plant into a goddamn tree! I watered it for months and months when it could’ve been dead a long time ago. And now that it has grown several feet taller than me, my attachment to it rose up too!

Fuck. That tree I drew on the note… The one I left in the drawer before leaving his place..

By reflex, I wanted to draw a heart.. but I didn't want him to think I was in love with him so I drew a tree instead for “neutrality”.

“You could've just put a kiss at the end, you know, be sweet and kind but obviously, obviously you're not…”

"I was supposed to draw a flower, actually, but I realised a tree is bigger so.. HAHAHA. It's MORE SPECIAL, Rolloliyo.”

WELL, NO SHIT!

All I wanted was to “properly” introduce him here, and I ended up doing it in fifty thousand words. Damn. Just how special our dear Rolloliyo is! I’m not even sure if these feelings for him are actually genuine—or if I just created them myself. Because the goddamn guy isn’t just a real person now. He’s also a fucking book character.