Dysphoria part four

It has now been a two full months of being, I’d say, best friends with Shrignold and we have been seeing each other practically every weekend and after our jobs or duties are done, we call one another or see each other for dinner. He’s seen my place many times for dinner and just to hang out, but I have never been to his place yet. We did not bring up the subject of the special one again since that day, but it was a subject that I didn’t want to hear about anymore anyway. I just wanted to be with my best friend, and have fun with him.

It is almost Christmas and though I know Shrignold doesn’t celebrate the holiday, I got him a gift. A gold watch with a diamond inlay on the face, with an engraved name.

“To Goldie”

I think he’ll love it as his old watch was not working anymore.

So we meet up at our usual meeting spot at the park and I see Shrignold waving with two portable coffee cups in his other arm. His wings start to flap and pick up off the ground as he flies gracefully over to me.

“Hello, good morning my dear! How are you today Warren?!” He says happily, “I brought you some latte with a bit of nutmeg, hope you enjoy!” He handed me one and we hugged.

“Oh thanks! And good morning Goldie! I’m sure I’ll like it.” I inhale his natural woodsy, musky aroma as we briefly embrace and as we pull away, he notices the bag I’m carrying.

“Oh! What’s this?” He points to the bag.

“A gift for you. I know you don’t celebrate Boxing Day.. y’know, but I wanted you to have something special.” I hand it to him and he hungrily takes it and unwraps it.

“Ohhhh!” He reads my card and wipes a tear. “So lovely, Warren! You’re my very best friend too!” He leans in and hugs me tight, and I hug him closer.

He then opens the present and gasps.

“Oh my Malcom, what is this?!” He jumps up and down, “You got me a golden watch!”

I nod and he practically leaps into my arms, and luckily I’m strong enough to catch him.

“Oh, you sweet man! Thank you my best friend!”

I feel my face go hot as his cheek rubs against my cheek and his arms wrap around my neck, as I’m painfully aware my hands are holding his lower body into my chest, I feel incredibly close to his own body, and I realize at this moment..

I caught deep feelings for this guy.

Crap.

***

I saw my best friend less and less after that early Christmas gift.

I called him and got the voicemail.

I went to our regular meeting spots at the park on the weekends and he was no longer there.

The city we had gotten to know together and it’s once full colored splendor felt dull, lifeless and gray. Like a cigarette that had been lit and forgotten, burnt out too long at the ash tray and made the room smoky—I couldn’t find him, my beloved friend, the one I had gotten to know so intimately even as I had this aching feeling I might never get to tell him my true feelings.

It was about a week after Christmas that I finally saw him on our bench.

He looked absolutely stunning as usual, but depressed. His usual robes were now pure white and strikingly long, and he saw me, and waved softly.

“Hello, Warren, my dear,” He said in a gentle manner, moving over as I sat down.

“Oh, Goldie, are you alright? I haven’t seen you in forever… what’s been going on?”

He frowns and sighs. “I have had many ceremonies and things I’ve had to attend to for myself and my parish. I’m sorry, Warren.”

“That’s okay. Nothing to be sorry over, after all. Would you like to come over my place? I’ll make you something to eat.”

We lock eyes but he doesn’t seem to want the gaze to stay, and I notice a dark spot on his face and near his shoulder.

He looks away.

“I.. I can’t. I can’t.”

“What’s with your robe? It looks nice on you, though,” I say with as much of a casual tone as I can, though I feel with more and more certainty that this might be the last time we get to speak.

“Thank you. I am in the last stages to… get my special one…” he grits his teeth and covers his face.

“Oh…” I feel a tremendous wave of anguish rip into my core, and I see it wash over Shrignold as well—he doesn’t seem happy at all. “Well, that’s good, right? How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Goldie? Please look at me.”

He doesn’t, but sinks further into his hands and sighs a pained sigh.

“Why do you have bruises on your face and body?” I say finally, and he looks up at me with wide eyes.

“That’s nothing. Just an accident.”

I stand up and frown, suddenly moving toward him to take his hands in mind, “Ok, stop, this isn’t right, and you know it, Shrignold. You look miserable, and downright abused. Who hurt you? I’ll… if I find out who did this… I’ll get them… I will call the police …” I see a look of terror in his flooding eyes, a teary expression of fear that hits my heart like a palpable sense of dread.

He doesn’t want me to help, I realize, as he shakes his head in a scared and helpless fashion.

“I have been hearing you go on non stop about Malcom and the love King and your love doubles and all of this … this… hogwash!” I say with a stomp of my foot and he gasps.

“Warren! No. Don’t say it!” He whispers and looks around in a paranoid way as if someone from his community might hear us.

“It is, Goldie! It’s… you’re in a damn cult, don’t you…” I grab his shoulders and shake him gently, “don’t you see?!”

He growls, “Shut up Warren!”

“No. I won’t. And that’s not how you talk to your friends!”

“You’re not my friend!” He yelled, standing up, our bodies too close for comfort, and my face hot from all the yelling.

I pause and feel tears run down my face.

“Wh-what?” I stutter out.

“Warren…” he says with a sad smile. “I remember how you made me feel like every time we spoke, even that first time right here at this bench. Like a warm hearth. Like a delicious homemade stew dinner. Like a funny, perfect conversation that leaves you feeling safe and loved. At home. Special.” He frowned. “And I told them. So they beat me.”

“They.. Beat you?” I said with a horror dripping in the words, as I imagine them hurting my beloved friend.

“To make me pure again. And I am. So I must leave. To keep you safe.”

“No. Please don’t go, Goldie..” I take his hand in mine and grip it tight.

“I have to. It’s my purpose…” he says, tears falling from his face.

He leaves me suddenly with a huge gust of his wings, flying up, and I sit on the bench, a slow drip of religious terror hitting me.

What if I am wrong, what if we were wrong?

I sob at the loss of my heart as I finally see the light.