And Yet This Is How Someone in Exile Feels

"Do you think that being with a man is a creepy? That a guy can't be with a guy?" Greg's voice was harassing and provocative, as if he was looking for a fight. His eyes were so close that Luke felt uncomfortable.

"I didn't say that!" Luke shook off his hand and Greg reluctantly retreated back into his seat. "Don't make stupid jokes about me. I said that I didn't have a situation in which I felt like do it with a guy. Stop acting like the last asshole!"

Luke should get out of the car now, but for some reason he didn't. Greg had his own problems, and he didn't want to part with him conflicted, because that would only make his friend's bad mood worse.

"I think a guy can be with a guy, a woman can be with a woman, I really don't care who anyone sleeps with, and if you had a boyfriend, I wouldn't mind either. I'm just not interested in the same sex. Stop attacking me because I didn't feel like picking up some boy, that I prefer girls. After all, it's not a crime! Or is it a crime, huh?"

"It's not," sighed Greg. "Sorry, I've been a bit... lately."

"That's okay," smiled Luke softly feeling truly relieved. He had no idea that Greg's strange behavior had moved him so much. "I guess that sometimes you just want to get it out of your system, but you know, don't cross certain boundaries. It does hurt, you know?"

"Sure. Sorry."

Luke got out of the car and headed for his house. After a few steps he looked around, but Greg's car was gone. For some reason, a deep sadness overwhelmed him. He had the feeling that Greg was emotionally in a place where he might do something very stupid and he, his friend, had no idea how to protect him from this mistake.

***

Greg entered his house and was immediately assaulted by his parents' argument. Really, at this hour? It's a good thing that the house was a single-family house, a big one and their property wasn't that small either, so at least they didn't bother the neighbors.

"...I can't stand you anymore! I've begged you so many times to go to a psychiatrist!"

Yes, father always quoted the same words.

"If I'm acting crazy, it's only because of you!"

Mother's natural reaction.

Greg didn't listen. He ignored them. He had had enough. He had heard it for so many years that he had become indifferent. Yes, you can become indifferent to your parents' quarrels if you just close your heart properly. He didn't even do it on purpose. It happened by accident, naturally, like an instinctive reaction of the body to survive. Walking to his room, he just thought that it would be really good if his parents finally divorced. That way it would all be over.

If only he hadn't returned from the disco so early. If he had stayed there a little longer. If...

He regretted not following that blue-eyed boy. He was pretty, dammit, really pretty. He could have entertained him for a few hours, could have maybe entertained him until dawn.

Next time, thought Greg, and smiled at his thoughts. It was good to have a target to look forward to.

***

The day seemed endless. A strange day in a strange country full of strange people. His first day of actual exile in a foreign country. Supposedly it was his grandmother's homeland, but Gustav didn't even remember her, she died when he was just two years old. Although she is said to have given him his name. So he didn't feel a special bond with her even though she was said to be a wonderful woman who couldn't part with him and kept carrying him in her arms or holding him on her lap. He didn't remember this, he only knew that among the myriad of extracurricular activities he had were forced Polish language lessons. He hated them, too laden with piano lessons, English and even fencing anyway. Yes, fencing and piano playing were extremely useful in the modern world if you were the only son of an energy syndicate. Surely with his opponents he will fight with swords. Or soften his heart with his virtuoso piano playing.

So here he was, in this exile that his father hype called reclaiming his ancestral heritage.

Gustav sighed and turned on the light.

There was a deafening silence in the house. Gustav stood in the threshold and looked at the restored wooden elements: stairs, doors, balustrades. They looked brand new and even smelled of varnish still - not very distinctly, but nevertheless the smell could be sensed. The walls were neatly covered with green wallpaper with a touch of gold, transporting anyone who looked at them two and a half century into the past. The interior really had the atmosphere of an Enlightenment nobleman's palace in whose spirit it was built. The house used to be bustling with life when the local youth from noble houses would descend on the Napoleonic era for dances. The interior definitely smelled of history.

Gustav did not come here of his own free will. If he had to choose, he would certainly prefer to live in another country. Maybe somewhere on the Scottish moors in some old castle remembering the time of William Wallace. Or maybe somewhere near the charming Château de Chambord where he could admire the beauty of the Loire River. Or would he opt for Florence, whose early Renaissance architecture was like an architect-poet's dreamed fantasy? There were many possibilities, and he certainly wouldn't have chosen this village with a ruined palace only two hundred and fifty years old.

The people who renovated this house however did a good job, Gustav stated as he moved up the stairs. He should have praised the boy. After all, it was clear that he and his family had put a lot of careful work into getting the building into this condition. Yes, Gustav should have praised him, but....

He sighed. He was tired. Focusing his attention or gathering his thoughts came with difficulty. He had slept only a few hours in recent days. All he wanted now was to rest in some quiet place away from... No, he didn't even want to think about the past.

He really was tired. With his clothes on, he threw himself on the bed, only knocking off his shoes. With his arm he covered his eyes, which were burning as if someone had sprinkled salt on them. If only he could fall asleep like this....

The house was quiet. Too quiet. He thought he needed just that, but the silence was nevertheless too heavy. He felt a strange uneasiness. He sat down.

If he had been exiled to a place full of people like Paris or Barcelona, he would have taken to the streets and immersed himself in the surging, noisy crowd. The hustle and bustle of the city would have taken his thoughts away from that emptiness that surrounded his heart. He wouldn't have been drowning in it as he had just been drowning because of that nightmarish, almost eerie silence of loneliness. But if Gustav found himself among people it wouldn't be exile. It wouldn't be a severe enough punishment. He could, God forbid, start wanting to live again. He could start wanting to love again.

No, he couldn't. Father worried in vain. His heart was no longer able to experience that feeling. All it felt now was a sense of loneliness and betrayal.

Next to him was the bag, behind the laptop, which he had thrown on the bed as soon as he arrived. If he can't fall asleep, he might at least get some work done. Admittedly, he wasn't counting on spectacular results, but maybe the tapping of his fingers against the keyboard would shatter the deafening, disturbing silence. Maybe he can get some sleep....