the prom king is someone's queen for the night

 I hate the view from up here.

 I live in an eight-story apartment that seems to be rotting from the inside out. Thin white walls stand left unpainted. They’re so thin that I always hear the neighboring rooms’ businesses, namely loud music and rough sex. The smell of leftover take-outs from the Chinese fast food across the street fills in this haunted space. I don’t mind it; it feels like home. It’s much better than the smell of my last job’s cafeteria that smelled like old socks were being boiled constantly and turned into soup. I keep the action figures I’ve collected throughout the years in a closet—my only closet. Because of this, the clothes I wear—which are mostly hoodies, henleys and flannels—are always neatly folded in a corner somewhere for all the dusts to rest on. The landlord evidently gets problems about getting renters but it’s all her fault for not renovating this ancient horror set.

 I’ve been living here since high school, back when everything was still under control. The glory days—when I hung out with cheerleaders who got so drunk that not sleeping with them would bring you honor and respect after everyone finds out you “held back”—are now gone. I was even the prom king. I ruled with all my friends whose faces are now blurry since they haven’t contacted me since college. I used to play baseball and wear varsity jackets. I even had this general frat boy hair like Kyle Spencer’s in American Horror Story. I remember my first kiss, the day I was chosen to be prom king. I kissed the prettiest girl, Rain, to show off while we were being crowned. It was fun, those days. I was actually very happy.

 But now, I’m unemployed and miserable.

 I don’t remember how it went all wrong exactly. Is it because I actually did great in college? I missed out on parties because I was focused on acing with the intention of getting a stable job. But for some reason, I still ended up with minimum-wage jobs and wicked bosses. Is it because of the geek tomboy girl who broke my heart by dating me for seven years and then breaking up with me for some guy who looked like Nick Offerman? I don’t really remember. But one thing is for sure: I wasted a whole lot of time. 

 Days have passed after getting fired from my last job as a restaurant janitor. I go out from my haunted space with my files including my resumé and birth certificate, lock the door which is pointless since one hard kick could tear it down in a second, avoid the elevator by going down the stairs (the landlord denied the fact that the elevator got someone killed in the past but I don’t trust her at all), walk out of the apartment and head straight to near restaurants that have “hiring” signs on their greasy windows. I know I’m a mess but at least I’m still trying, right?

 Someone accidentally crashes into me, causing my papers to fly everywhere at once. In high school, I would have looked up to the person immediately and say “Watch it,” as I watch him or her pick those papers up. Hell, I wouldn’t even be holding a bunch of papers in the first place. But I’m not in high school anymore so I keep my head down and pick up the papers myself, waiting for him or her to tell me to watch it.

 “Aden?” the person who bumped me guesses out loud. “Oh my God! Aden!

 I look up and I find a slightly familiar face. After a moment’s hesitation, I suddenly gasp as a huge wave of nostalgic thoughts hits me right in the face. “Molly?”

 Molly puts one of her pale white hands over her mouth as the other holds my birth certificate (thank god it wasn’t the resumé) while she shrieks in excitement. “I can’t believe this!” She looks at me deeply and then at the ground where some of my papers still lie. She awkwardly chuckles and asks, “What time are you going tomorrow?” as she picks them up.

 “Tomorrow?” I ask, clueless and still stunned because I’m actually seeing an old friend.

 “The reunion! You have to be there, prom king.”

 A high school reunion?

 “W…what?” I ask again.

 Molly looks at me the way she used to look at the class dork who told her she looked like Marilyn Manson’s bootleg daughter.

 “Do you want to talk it over coffee?” I ask her. “A café I used to work at is a few blocks from here.”

 “You used to be a barista?”

 Janitor. “Y…yeah.”

She smiles but then pouts and then looks at her expensive-looking watch. She sighs.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I can’t,” she tells me, disappointed. “My band, Fly 87, is on tour right now and I have to be in the arena by thirty minutes.”

 A band. She plays in a band I constantly hear on the radio. I can’t believe her dream came true!     

 “That’s amazing.”

 “I know!” she exclaims. “By the way, you should check out Rain’s pinned tweet. She made the whole reunion possible.”

 “Okay.”

 I haven’t seen Rain’s online activity in a while but she’s now a super famous influencer. The high school prom queen has grown to be an actual queen! And then, there’s me.

 I look at Molly one last time. I really miss her even though I forgot she existed until now. I think she thinks that too. “See you tomorrow, then.”

 Before she leaves, she says, “Make sure to show off your prettiest girlfriend and come in your shiniest Mercedes!”

 What am I going to do? How am I going to find a pretty girlfriend and a shiny Mercedes in a day? It’s impossible! If I attend the reunion as a pathetic loser with no girlfriend, no car and no stable job, then I’d only be embarrassing myself. High-schooler Aden might have been able to pull this off by being confident about having a life gone downhill. But I’m no longer confident about anything at all. I panic as my chest gets tight and heavy like a bowling ball stuck in an indestructible sock.

 I rush towards the café I used to work at. My ex-colleagues never remembered who I was so I doubt I’d be recognized. They might not be around anymore anyway since no staffs are regulars in this city.

 The door makes a creaking sound and the city noise fades into jazz music as I enter the café. Thick walls stand painted with breathtaking coffee-related murals. I love it here because the smell of coffee floats everywhere serving as a hug to those who need it. And right now, I need it so much.

 “Welcome to Kcream. May I take your order?” a new barista asks. His tag says his name is Neil.

     “Cappuccino, please.” I give out my credit card which has so little that it’s embarrassing to let the barista see.

 The barista takes my card and looks at it. And then, he looks at me. Then, he looks at the card again, wide eyed. Do I look like a credit card fraudster?

     After a minute of looking at the card and at me, he finally swipes it and gives me my cappuccino. I was going to say thanks but he quickly pats his fellow barista’s back and goes out back. I sigh.

 Most of the seats are taken but I refuse to get defeated by my anxiety who’s telling me to just leave this place. I came to relax and feel the coffee’s aroma’s hug. But it’s hopeless. I’ve always been fast at giving up—even during high school. Getting dumped by both girls and boys made me quit romance until Jenny, my seven-year girlfriend, courted me and made me hers. I can’t believe she’s married to that bearded old man! I sigh to myself and head towards the exit, slowly breaking free from the coffee’s aroma’s tight relaxing hug. As I’m about to reach towards the door, the barista whose name is Neil touches my shoulder. He’s five inches taller than me and I feel intimidated. Wide-eyed and scared like a cat being stroked by a stranger, I look at him. I don’t want to tell Molly that I couldn’t make it to the reunion because I got arrested for credit card fraud!

 “Are you really the Aden Lepley? Does Great Felch High sound familiar to you?”

 “Y…yeah.” I think he feels the tension in my voice.

 He smiles and his eyes disappear for a few seconds before he pulls me by the hand to a table I didn’t see was vacant. He sits across me and stares like an attractive boyfriend or a very supportive father.

 “Are you coming tomorrow?” I ask with all the confidence I have left so I wouldn’t look like a scared 14-year old even though I do.

 He nods. “Do you remember me?”

 I don’t, really. But I nod back because I can't help being so awkward.

 “Oh, god. This is embarrassing,” he laughs to himself as he scratches the back of his head and looks at the café line, blushing. There are currently four people in line which would have been 2:2 if he was there doing his job like that other barista.

     Clueless again, I ask, “What is?”   

 He looks back at me, half-disappointed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Sorry.”

     “It’s okay! But I’m Neil Anders. I had a huge crush on you and asked you out once but got rejected.” As he laughs like Tom Cruise in that meme that goes around forever, he scrolls on his phone and then puts it in front of my face. Inside the phone is a cute little boy wearing a Star Wars shirt, round glasses and brown shorts.

 And then, it hit me.

 He was the fat boy who played Dungeons and Dragons with Molly and the other geeks and goths! I don’t remember anything about him asking me out at all.

 I stare at the picture on the phone. And then at Neil. And then at the picture again. He has extremely improved himself! He’s now way taller and way, way buffer than before.

 “I…wow.” I look at him and he looks so happy to see me. So I try to make conversation. “You work here? I haven’t seen you around. I live really close; right across the street.”

 He gasps jokingly. “Take me home!”

 I laugh. But then I remember my dusty haunted space and the rats. And the door and the walls and the floor that are infested with different kinds of bad entities. I stop laughing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m kidding!” he laughs. “And no, I own this place. The party happens a few blocks from here so I thought I should stay for the week. There’s a private room upstairs. Might as well help out, know what I’m saying?”

 A café. He owns the café I used to work at. I can’t believe he’s so successful!

 “That’s amazing.”

 “Not really,” he denies as he looks at the line again, blushing. “How about you?”

 The moment I hear that question, part of me just wants to jump off a plane without a parachute or dive into the Hurricane Valley or get burned and explode right on this seat, at this very moment. Earth, eat me now.

 “Aden?”

 I haven’t realized that my eyes are now wet with tears I haven’t felt since my parents left three years ago. I’ve been fighting it for so long. Why am I breaking down now? Why like this? Why with him?

 I’ve painted myself into a corner, haven’t I?

 Neil jumps out of his seat like a sole from the pan and quickly sits beside me, looking directly at my soundlessly crying face. He looks at my stuff and sees my resumé and my other junk. He calms me down. He doesn’t say anything like, “Are you okay?” or “Did I say something wrong?” because I think he already knows why I’m suddenly extremely sad.

 I hug him on impulse so I can hide my face from curious eyes and people who’ve probably seen me before. I might encounter more high school batch mates and I don’t want them to see me like this. I bury my face into his chest as he tucks me in like it’s normal for a stranger to cry and hug a fellow stranger.

 “Do you, um, want to take this upstairs?” he gently asks with no judgment in his voice.

 I nod, whimpering. I don’t unlock my arms around him or stop burying my face on his chest because I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. Oh, god. What have I done?

 He slowly stands up and guides me as he holds me like a child. He steadily guides me upstairs to the place he stays in temporarily. I don’t see anything but I feel like a crowd is around us, judging me for being a pathetic loser. I feel weak and defeated. My dignity is now in my cappuccino which is now on the floor, waiting for the replacement janitor to wipe it off from existence. I can’t go to the reunion. I’m not going.

 Oh, god. What have I done?

     We finally make it to his room. He sits us both down on a soft bouncy bed. He strokes my back and says, “It’s okay now.”

 I try to move but I can’t so I cry louder.

 “Just let it out,” he says.

 I feel like I’ve known him for so long. I don’t feel uncomfortable with his arms against my back and his chest against my face and my thighs against his lap.

 “I’m sorry,” I try to say. I’m not ready to emerge.

 “Don’t be!” he counters almost immediately. “I haven’t been this close to you—ever. So please take your time.”

 I laugh quietly with tears in my eyes and a little hint of sadness in my voice. Only a little is left thanks to this man right here.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.” He feels so warm.

 “C’mon, tell me,” he chuckles.

 “Where have you been, Neil?” We stay like this, cuddling each other, for the next five minutes.

 When I finally break free from the longest cuddle I’ve ever had my whole life, the first thing I see is the hanging poster on Neil’s wall. It’s a picture of Escape the Fate but with Ronnie Radke. I look at him.

 “Really?”

 He shrugs. I didn’t fancy him as someone who listens to bands like ETF. I thought he was more of a Justin Timberlake kind of guy.

 “I think Craig did a pretty good job,” I argue.

 He smiles and talks to me about ETF, Falling in Reverse, his first concert, his girlfriends and boyfriends who broke his heart, his girlfriends and boyfriends that got their hearts broken by him, his parents, his workout routine which I had to pay double the attention to, his favorite movies, moments when he felt happy, random moments when he thought about the first love he ever had which he says was me, his dogs and basically his whole life. I listen to him talk and burst out a few stories of mine along the way as he listens back. 

 I thought today was the worst, breaking down on someone I barely know. But it’s not, actually. Because now I feel like I’ve known him my entire life.

 “I’m a failure,” I casually say. The sun has set hours ago. I don’t have time to check the exact time but I know it’s a bit late since my throat is already sore. It feels like we’ve been talking for years. “Mom and dad never even saw the Lawyer Man they paid for.”

 I already told him that their plane crashed three years ago. And that the breakup with Jenny made me fail four consecutive bar exam attempts and made me lose motivation to do anything.

 He grunts towards me, pushes me to the center of the bed and kisses me. “You’re not a failure,” he says. “It’s the world that failed you.” And then, he attacks my lips again. The walls close in and the bed dances in rhythm to what we do. Things are done, words are spoken. Uncooked dinner eaten on unusual plates. Screams but not screams of pain—I’ve had enough pain. Words of reassurance, power, control…

The prom king is someone’s queen for tonight, I guess.

 Morning hits and my hips hurt like crazy. The man responsible is lying beside me, his face buried on my chest. I don’t want to wake him up but doesn’t he need to do things in his café or something? He looks so innocent and precious as he sleeps. I tap his face gently as he makes yawning baby noises.

 He opens his eyes and I see the ocean.

 “Get up!”

 He smiles and cuddles me again, asking, “Will you go to the reunion with me?” with the same energy as asking someone to go to prom.

 I laugh. “Are you serious?”

 He nods, assured.

 I really don’t want to go to the reunion. I have nothing to be proud of. I don’t have a pretty girlfriend or a shiny Mercedes or even a girlfriend or even a car. I don’t have millions of followers like Rain, a worldwide famous band like Molly or business companies like Neil. I only have something to be ashamed of. I completely failed at life. But for some cosmic reason, I met Neil who offers himself as an unblurry person that I feel like I can trust completely. I want to hold on to that, hold on to him. There’s nothing left to hold on to, anyway.

  “What time is it again?”