When a week passed, I told myself: "Enough of that anguish!" Buddhists think that reality is an illusion. And if real things are unreal, it is up to us to choose what to think about and what games to play. You will be eighty before you know it. And what did you do? Bartered away your life for drama and grief? No way in hell!

         Firstly, I paid a visit to Michael and Ben. I brought them some sushi and asked them about current book novelties. I borrowed a few books to read, drank all Hunter's cola (real cola, with sugar! enough of carbs to go to the bathroom to barf!), threw a plate of pickled ginger over the tablecloth, told a hilarious fisting joke that shocked and nauseated the Bruckner-Novotny family. In the end I broke a faucet in their bathroom and flooded every fucking corner of their house. In a nutshell, I pleased the hosts by my impudent and riotous demeanor.

         Then I went to my mother's place and for half an hour bullshitted her about a concert of an imaginary tenor Mario Bertolucci. The genetrix was unlikely to think of inquiring whether he really exists, and I had not been to a real concert for ages. On my way home I bought a ticket for a string quartet for the next day. I was hoping that it would not become just a fruit of my imagination.

         I visited Emmett and Drew Boyd's place and discussed with the latter sport’s nutrition and my training regimen. I drove Emmett to the gym, we had a bitch of a workout and then went to the Liberty Diner to recharge. Debbie was about to request my impressions of the break-up with significant other and inquire whether I was going to kill myself anytime soon, but Emmett gave her a tell-tale stare, and she shifted to a report about Justin's exhibition in New-York. Justin's goings on were interesting for me only as an appendix to Brian's ones, and I got all key moments from the phrase: "And Sunshine has an exhibition in New-York!" But I was glad to gasp with surprise, nod, move my eyebrows - in short, to follow all Carnegie's commandments as long as the topic had nothing to do with me.

         Having returned Drew Boyd's princess to their place, I drove my gym attire back to mine, showered, put on the most revealing pants - I do not count leather ones, and besides Blake probably had ditched them - and headed for Babylon. I met Brian there and asked him when he was going to check out works by new Warhol. Brian shrugged indefinitely. Yeah, my friend, I do not ask you how you are doing and you do not ask how I am. Perfect rapport.

         After a drink (I had soda, of course) we drifted away to seek adventures. Like two leopards in a jungle, we shared the territory: one of us went to the dance floor, the other - to the upper balcony. That day it was my turn to hunt in the upper tier. I quickly spotted the prey and dug my claws into it. It was a perfect specimen! Tall, beefy, with massive jaw. "Do you like it rough?", he asked. I cast down my lashes and gave him my signature sultry virgin stare.

         Then I drove him to my place and he banged me into oblivion.

         We'd been at it till about three a.m. The stud was hot. Undressing me, he tore off two buttons from my shirt. Splendid body, magnificent dick, superb technique. He was screwing me as if my ass was the last one in his life, but without being hardcore. No match to that Stephen beast. He entered smoothly, continued energetically, and the final was just Oscar-worthy. I let him tie my hands, and he grazed the skin of my wrist. This nice memento would stay with me for two more days.

         The beautiful stranger slackened my bind and fell on the bed. I leaned my head on his back. What a great one. Good enough even for hooking up again.

         "What's your name?" I asked.

         "It matters?" He climbed from under me and went to shower.

         He washed and started to dress. "Listen," I told him, "what about a night at my place?" He looked at me as at a moron. "Baby," he said, "What for? We shtupped damn good. Why the fuck should we spoil it with each others' morning snoots?"

         Yes, Teddy! What did you want? Welcome to the world of big sex!

***

         The guest dissolved into the night; I made up my bedroom and drowned myself in sleep. But in four hours or so I bobbed up again. It was Sunday, still dark. I had a cup of coffee looking at large snowflakes falling outside my window. Then I tried to read a book I borrowed from Ben. Some munchers there could not figure out what they loved — each other, spirituality or some other shit. Melanie came to my mind. She often called and encouraged me to take a break and come visit her in Toronto. "To chill out". As chilly as Canada may be, who chills out there? I opened my laptop and wrote an email to Melanie. I told her that I broke up with Blake after all. And that I was the one to blame.

         I was the one to blame.

         I recalled the first time I barked at Blake. He was late somewhere again or left something lying around, made yet another negligible error, and I broke down and burst out yelling. And Blake acted so damn weirdly. He shrank towards the wall, leaned on it and covered his head with his hands, as if I was going to beat him up. This reaction seemed to me so inadequate that I became angrier still and started to bawl even louder. In the end Blake sank to the floor and broke into tears. I shut up, dashed to him, hugged him, started kissing his hands, begged him to forgive me. He certainly did, and an hour later we were having conciliatory sex. But something broke then. Something broke beyond repair.

         And when, a year later, we were fighting for the last time, he was screaming: "Go on, hit me! Hit me! Come on, do it!" I turned to the kitchen drawer unit and clawed a hold on it. And he came to me, took my pants down, kneeled and started to lick me. He got really turned on, slid his hand into his jeans and was jerking himself off. I hate rimming. Do not rim, do not let others rim me. Blake knew it and, I believe, that is what egged him on it. But then I just straddled. There was nothing erotic in it. In fact, it was just dreadful. Blake helped me to cum, I put on my pants and silently left for Emmett's. I sat on his couch and wept with my head on my own knees. It was already clear to me that there was no point in fights. Everything ended.

***

         I did not go to work on Monday. Or on Tuesday either. I flushed the ticket to the concert down the toilet. I turned all phones off and for several hours dumbly sat between the table and the couch. I downloaded a golden collection of blues and listened all the way through. I went online to order the pizza and cookies that Blake always ate. I read "The Idiot" until I went berserk. Then I tore the book in pieces and strewed them all over the dining room. I threw the jacket of the book out the window, and it flew south, as a bird. A Portrait of Giuseppe Verdi joined it in the flight. A passer-by asked me whether a was an asshole. "A big one!" I answered. I was skipping around the condo and fake playing sax. I broke all the CDs with bare hands. I tripped over a table leg, fell and sobbed on the floor, with my snot dripping on the carpet. I crashed the orchid that Blake had given me against the wall, but felt sorry for the flower and planted it into a sauce pan. In the wardrobe I found a tee Blake had forgotten in the laundry. First I cuddled it, then jerked off, then tore it into pieces and threw it out the window.

         To make the long story short, I went on a rampage and did everything people don't do unless they are drunk as skunks. It is good to be me: quick carbs and ill nature suffice for me.

         Without sleep, you lose track of time. I was lying in the corner of the dining room, rolled in a blanket, with my gaze fixed on the wall. It was as light as at eleven o'clock when a key clicked in the lock and Emmett entered the condo. He anxiously looked round the room and called my name. The Idiot was lying on the floor in tatters, among other garbage, and that was me. My friend dashed towards me and cuddled me.

         "Lord, Teddy, praise God!"

         "What? You see, I had a small storm here." My tongue was twisting a little, and Emmett dubiously sniffed my frontispiece. "Nah, I did not drink, word of honor."

         "Brian called me to tell that you did not come to work for two days in a row."

         "Yeah, I am not feeling well." I yawned jerkily and scratched myself.

         "My poor darling. Well, you told me you will get over that. But I should have understood that had been bullshit. I am calling a cleaning company, and you go take a shower."

         There was no point to resist: the guinea pig was already too suppressed. I shed the blanket and hobbled to the bathroom.