Aiden and Tristan

1: Slush and Snowdrift

Aiden Evans leaned forward as much as he could, his face close enough to the windscreen that the cold seeped into his skin. The snowflakes were coming down at a rapid pace, making it impossible to see the road in front of him. The windscreen wipers swished back and forth, back and forth, on top speed, but it didn’t help.

His was the only vehicle on the road. No sane person would drive in this weather. Aiden didn’t have a choice. Or he guessed he could have waited until the morning, but the walls in his rooms had been closing in at the same rate as his lungs had contracted—he2rsquo;d had to leave. He couldnursquo;t stand his tiny white flat, couldnursquo;t stand sitting there all alone, when the rest of the world was preparing for Christmas.

The heater spluttered again. It had done so a few times during the drive, but now a smell of burned plastic followed. Aiden turned it off. It hadn’t helped much anyway; the small car cabin was still cold enough for his breath to mist. He squinted at the road. Where did it go?

Aiden slowed down even more. His hands cramped from his hard grip on the steering wheel. The thick snow drifting over the road made it impossible to see where the paved surface ended and the shoulder began. He glanced at the lampposts and tried to guess the road’s angle. Steering slowly, he took aim at the lamppost after the one closest to him. The sound of the snow rasping against the underseal was worrying. A Smart car wasn’t built for this kind of weather. Aiden was used to the brightly lit city, with its ploughed streets and gritted surfaces.

The wheels spun, the engine revved, and Aiden yelped. Then, after an excruciating moment, the car miraculously started to move forward again. Aiden sighed in relief. For a moment there, he thought he’d be stuck. He had no idea where he was, and he hadn’t seen anyone in ages, so how he would get help if something happened, he didn’t know.

For a few hundred metres, everything went well. The forest was thick on both sides of the road. The light from the lampposts hardly reached the ground—not even the white from the snow helped the visibility. Snowflakes the size of biscuits continued to fall on the windscreen, smearing as the wipers struggled to get through the slush piling up.

Aiden could kill for a large latte with amaretto syrup at this point. He was starting to get tired, not to mention cold, and the ball of nerves in his stomach grew tighter with each mile he travelled.

He’d tried to call his mother several times since he’d left Whiteport, but she hadn’t picked up. He didn’t think she knew his number even though he’d had it for a couple of years now. She couldn’t be ignoring his calls—what mother ignored her son rsquo;s calls a few days before Christmas?

Sure, it had been five years since he’d last spoken to her, and he probably should have made sure he was welcome before he’d packed his bag, carried it out to his car and started driving, but he simply couldn’t stay in his flat any longer. Knowing he would have to leave it in a few days made it impossible to spend another minute in the confined space.

Mother would understand.

Though there were several things she wasn’t willing to understand. He tried to shut down the hurt that wanted to take hold of him. Even if she couldn’t accept his lifestyle—he scoffed and tried to blink away the tears that threatened to spill—she wouldnersquo;t let him become homeless. He could bet his life his room looked the same as when he rsquo;d left it five years ago.

He’d borrow her car and go back after Christmas to fetch his things. He didn’t have much, but he needed his massage table and his clothes, and his coffee machine, of course. He’d spent a fortune on it, but it was worth every penny. Maybe he should keep his TV, too, and his books. He sighed. He shouldn’t have left so hastily, but he couldn’t spend the holiday there, it simply wasn’t an option.

If his stupid boss hadn’t decided to close down the spa section of the hotel, he wouldn’t have lost his job. And if he hadn’t lost his job, he would still be able to pay his rent. And if he still had his flat, however small it might be, then he wouldn’t be driving around in a fucking snowstorm in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t have been trying to get a hold of his mother.