Imperfect Strangers

He lay naked on the dishevelled bed, a twist of limbs, sweat cooling on his skin. The air hung low and heavy, permeated with the heady odour of exerted bodies, conjoined and heaving as one, mere moments before. His eyes felt heavy, the buzz of the alcohol, the excitement of the sex; the comedown was intense, as if some force deep beneath the swells of consciousness was threatening to pull him beneath the waves which separate the waking world and the bliss of sleep. He wanted to succumb to it so badly, to drift away into that place where shame and humiliation couldn't reach him, where everything was quiet and dark and where that whole night didn't exist.

The shower sputtered to life beyond the adjoining door and roused him. A reminder that his invitation to the hotel room did not extend to staying the night, that he was simply a visitor, and that the purpose of his visit had been accomplished. 

He sat up, pulling the crumpled bed sheets around his shoulders, nestling against the chill which lapped at his sodden body. It was an old hotel. The room was dated, the carpets swirling patterns obscuring the many years worth of stains, the wallpaper bleached and sapped of its original colour; the television in the corner was probably older than him, the tinny speaker, full of chanting voices, counting down to midnight. Three. Two. One. the shower clicked off.

“You’re still here?” There was genuine surprise in his voice.

He was an older gentleman, his wetted hair, messied by the towel, was streaked with shades of salt and pepper. He had a fat, round face; it made him look kind, fatherly, with crows-feet and dimpled cheeks to match. The towel around his waist sat just beneath the paunch of his stomach, betraying both his age and the comfortable life he had lived, he rested his large hand on top of it. 

Perhaps he felt self-conscious, then, standing before his younger counterpart; no longer protected by the hazy confidence of the lust they had shared for one another before. In fact, the previous hour they had spent together was already dissipating in his memory. It was like trying to recall pain, he knew that what they had done felt good in the moment, but his mind simply couldn’t fabricate those feelings in memory. Instead, there were just vignettes, cold and distant; like grainy snapshots, he felt perverse in his observation of them.

“Yeah,” he took the hint, shuffling to the end of the bed and reaching for his jeans which lay crumpled on the floor, “Happy New Year”

“Midnight already?”

The younger of the pair nodded to the television, where the camera panned over a sea of people, arms locked together, swaying to the tune of Auld Lang Syne; a multicolour wash overcoming them, out of sync with the pop of fireworks beyond the hotel window. 

“Happy New Year,” he offered in return, half-heartedly.

On the bedside table, his phone gave a short burst of buzzes, he didn't need to look to know who the messages were from, or to what they pertained. The gold wedding band sat atop his wallet beside it was already enough of a reminder. Subconsciously his fingers traced the indentation in his skin where it usually sat, as if the shiny metal was still there. He noticed the younger man's eyes were similarly transfixed on it. 

“I should get going…” he said, pulling his t-shirt over his head, the wedding ring and the ever so apparent guilt on the man's face was his que to make his exit.

“Thanks” he muttered as he made his way to the door, cringing internally, he never knew how to end these sorts of encounters. A handshake? Too formal. A kiss? Too personal. A hug and a pat on the back? Too friendly. A thanks would suffice, even if it did sound ridiculous to him, thanking him whilst he could still taste him in his mouth and smell him on his skin. 

“Wait,” said the man, his back still turned, “It’s late, you’re welcome to stay the night here… if you want to?” 

The offer seemed to take both of them by surprise. It wasn't something that was typically included in the fine-print of such a seedy invitation to one's hotel room. The younger man hesitantly released the door handle. In most other circumstances he’d have declined, but there was something in the older man's voice that swayed him, it sounded almost as if he was pleading; not only to his younger companion, but also to himself.

“Are you sure? I don't want to intrude” he was offering him an out, as if testing the validity of the invitation, expecting it to crumble on its shaky foundations of hasty chivalry.

“I have an early check-out, but if you’d like to, you’re welcome” said the man, turning to face him with a friendly smile, as if to confirm the earnestness of his offer.  

“Okay…” 

“Great!” The older man took a seat on the bed, “What's your name?” 

The irony was not lost on him, considering the things they had done together, they hadn't bothered trading names up until that point; it only felt right in that moment considering he had invited him to stay.

“Oliver,” said the younger man, taking a seat beside him.

“Nice to meet you, Oliver,” said the older man, clearly taking command of the conversation, “I’m James”

Before long the two of them had bedded down for the night, James laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, Oliver curled up at his side. They hadn’t chatted for long before turning in, the night was becoming small and quiet in the early hours, the darkness of the room, the rhythmic sounds of their breaths. Neither could find sleep. The mattress was uncomfortable, the bed squeaked with every move, their bodies felt unfamiliar beside one another. 

“Are you sleeping?” Oliver spoke into the silence.

“No,” James rolled onto his side to face him, “Can’t seem to drift off”

“I can't either”

Something about the darkness inspired a confidence in Oliver, everything around them seemed so microcosmic in that moment, just the two of them in that old hotel bed. They were so different outside of that room, separated by status and age, but squinting at each other through the shadows; they may as well have been looking in a mirror.

“Are you from here?” asked Oliver.

“No, just passing through, I'm on business,” James replied, “You?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” he answered honestly, “What do you do?”

“I’m in Sales, I work for a company that manufactures medical technology for hospitals”

“Cool”

“No,” James chuckled, “It isn't… but thank you”

A silence fell between them, this time more comfortable than the last. James could sense that Oliver had more questions for him, it was only natural, but he left the conversation hanging so as to give his younger counterpart time to organise his thoughts. As it lingered, his mind wandered back to when he was Oliver's age, that terrifying intersection of life where the whole world spans out ahead of you and you realise that you weren't prepared for any of it, he thought of the men he had been with; how they seemed to know everything, to have it all figured out, how he’d have asked many of the same questions had he shared a bed with any of them. Now, he was the one who was supposed to have the answers.

“Are you married?” Oliver lifted his head from the pillow and nodded in the direction of the nightstand.

“Yes, I am”, James confirmed.

A moment passed.

“Do you love her?” 

Although James had expected the question, that familiar pang of guilt still stung in his chest. He didn't have to answer, or answer honestly. He could have simply feigned sleep, or steered the conversation elsewhere; but there was a sense of sincerity in Oliver's question, it wasn't accusatory, he simply wanted to know. James felt as if he somehow owed him the honest answer.

“In some ways, yes. I do,” he measured carefully, “but in some ways, I don't…”

Oliver gave him the space to go on.

“It’s not her fault,” rolling over, he picked up his ring, considering it between his fingers, “we married young. Too young to know any better. I suppose that we’ve been together for so long now that neither of us can imagine what it would be like apart… even if it might make us happier”.

Another moment.

“It’s a cliche, I know,” he added with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. Oliver simply lay there, turning over his sweetly melancholic answer in his mind.

“I think it's easy to say I should have known better in retrospect”

James didn't reply. He couldn't find the words to. The empathy of Oliver's answer confounded him. He’d spent so long feeling like the villain of his situation, for doing the things he did behind his wife's back, for indulging that part of himself that he had resented and wished away for so long. For the first time in a long time, he felt understood.

“Does she know?” Oliver asked.

“No”

“Would she understand?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever know” James put the ring back on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry” 

“Don’t be,” said James, suggesting a finality to the conversation, “I think it’s time we get some sleep” 

No more words were exchanged as the night wore on and the first dawn of a new year began to rise beyond the window. Neither of them had slept. Instead they had laid close to one another in that bed, their minds wandering restlessly in that void that exists between the conscious and unconscious mind, where everything apart from one another felt distant and formless; as if they were safely tucked away in their own little dimension, free from judgement and guilt.

The sky was still blushing with the rosy pink of morning as they got up and dressed, it was early and quiet, neither of the men feeling the need to exchange words. The calmness of their departure from one another contrasted the heated passion with which they had met; it seemed as if both of them had gained something from the encounter, more than just the base pleasure which they offered one another.

By the time they reached the street beyond the hotel lobby, the world had begun to come alive again around them and they became who they were the night before once again. Two strangers. 

“Perhaps I’ll look you up if I'm ever in town again?” said James by way of a goodbye.

Oliver simply smiled, turned on his heels and departed down the street. Both men knowing, they would never see each other again.