A(ndrei)sexual & Other Tales - Chapter One: in which we meet (most of) our heroes

Warning: 18+ readers only; this blog is dark and full of terrors!

(bad language & sexual references)

Late Summer

DORA

    My existence is defined mostly by two events. One major and one somewhat significant but still altogether life-defining; my birth, on a cold and rainy day in Osaka, Japan, Spring 1994, and Andrei, roughly six thousand six hundred and twenty-seven asexual days later, in a bar called Black Cat, somewhere in the North of London. It turned all those asexual days into lies and created this pathetic excuse for a human with actual emotions and everything. You can decide which one is more important later. I am no longer the Theodore Kikuchi I once was. Theodore Kikuchi, the boy, born with zero sexual (or otherwise) interest in anyone or anything, died that day when he stared into those sparkling, devilish brown eyes. He died a horrible death (many times, usually when he was alone in bed at night, and it wasn't horrible at all. In fact, he liked it. A lot.) And in his place, I was born. Dora. "Little Doradora". Dora the Doormat. Dora the Incomprehensible Dumbass.  

    So thus my life is split into two parts; Before Andrei and Feelings, and After Andrei and Feelings and more feelings and even more feelings, and just fucking feelings everywhere. Can you hear the frustrated sighs from Theodore Kikuchi? If he could feel anything, he'd be mad. Luckily, present me, aka Dora, is filled with all kinds of emotions and has enough anger for the both of us.

    It all started after I spent my nineteenth summer in Osaka visiting my family. Number One had dropped the bomb on me that he would be moving back to London sometime in late winter. He decided to do this the day before I was leaving, and so I spent the whole two plane journeys and the train back to Camden wishing I could have an older brother I didn't hate. As if I needed him around to remind me how much better he was than me, and how successful he always was, accentuating the colossal failure I'd become since graduating from Harringly Academy two years ago. He'd graduated with the best grades in his year (a year early, might I add), and had gone on to study law at Oxford University. And then after graduating three years later, he had moved back home to help our parents open up their noodle shop.

    Me? I graduated Harringly with mediocre grades and no ambition. Instead of picking from a long list of meaningless vocations and trades, I got a part-time job working in a shitty run-down hotel and a shitty run-down studio apartment above a shitty run-down fetish sex shop. My friends became a rag-tag group of weirdos and goths and platonically shacked up with Masaki Tsuchiya, who we all know as Nana, a pink-haired punk with not that much to say unless he's drunk, but can make a killer White Russian.

    And for this whole train journey, I wallowed in other peoples' air, misery and my own sweat. It was hot, and my skinny jeans were chafing my ass (they were designed for a fourteen-year-old girl and for some reason had seemed like an excellent idea when I left Paris that morning). I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and felt like I'd been travelling for years when in actual fact it had only been forty-two hours since I had left Osaka. I wish I could have thought to myself "Oh I just can't wait to be home in my own comfy bed!" because in reality, although my bed is pretty damn comfy and I was exhausted, my flat is the most dismal place possibly on earth (at least in Camden, anyway) and I'd rather not be there most of the time.

    My phone rang, vibrating in my pocket. Number One's face teamed with the sounds of Morrissey's laments filled me with dread.

    Me: "What?"

    #1: "I guess you landed safely then."

    Me: "Yeah."

    #1: "Mum was worried."

    Me: "Sorry."

    #1: "... Are you mad?"

    Me: "What would I even be mad about?"

    I hated myself for even continuing the conversation

    #1: "About me moving back to Camden."

    Me: "Just don't mess up my life, Ichiro."

    And then I hung up the phone, praying for time to go faster so I could get off this compressed tin can Hell. And then I remembered that I'd agreed to let Fox meet me off the train.  God-fucking-damn, I thought to myself. She was the last thing I needed. I knew she wouldn't let me go straight home; she would drag me to Black Cat and make me get drunk while Nana laughed at me from behind the bar. This was usually how it would go.

    And I wasn't wrong this time either. I alighted the train, and Fox ran toward me in heeled boots and flowery leggings, her tan as dark as ever and her eyeliner as on point as always, her arms donning a couple more tattoos over the summer; The Only Way Is Camden.

    "Dora baby! I missed you!" she said sweetly, hugging me and taking my backpack. I felt warm inside just from her sweetness, but I wasn't the kind to show her that. Instead, I rolled my eyes and started dragging my suitcase away.

    "I guess I missed you too," I offered as we found our way off the platform and to the street.

    "Seriously, though," she said, tottering beside me. Her heels made her two inches taller than me, which made me uncomfortable. "Work has been so stressful without my little smiling Dora!"

    Sarcasm. I don't do smiling. Unless I am drunk. When I am drunk, I am the most pleasant person ever. I don't know what happens, but people prefer me this way, so Fox will periodically insist on shots before a night out has even begun.

    I sighed at her. "We're not going to the bar. I'm too tired. I just want to go home."

    "Come on! You can leave your bags in my flat, and we can make a night of it!"

    "No. Definitely not."

    An hour later, Fox was taking my bags from me as I sat at the bar with my first drink of the night; an ice-cold bottle of Desperados. Nana had even put a little umbrella in the top.

    "Welcome back, roomie," he said in Japanese, with a wink and a half-smile. He was another one that rarely smiled, but he lacked the resting bitch face I had been born with. His expression was more stoic and dry, and he would never laugh at his own jokes.

    "It better be fucking tidy in our room," is all I said in reply.

    Suddenly, Fox burst through the door that leads to the back. "Fuck! Shit!"

    Several customers also at the bar turned to look at her, her voice cutting through the loud bass tones of a Nine Inch Nails classic.

    "What's up?" Nana said (stoically), not even turning to look as he pulled a pint for a patron sitting next to me.

    "Lornie is leaving! She's our head barmaid! What am I gonna do?" Fox rested her head on the line of vodka pumps above the sink.

    "I don't know, kid. Find another barmaid?" 

    "Nana, this is serious. It's summer. It's the busiest time..." She stopped talking and turned her head slowly to look at me. I stared back at her.

    "No."

    "Dora, please. You hate your job at the hotel. And this would be full time! Forty hours, eight hours a day, plus as much overtime as you want -"

    "No."

    "I'll let you choose your shifts! Please!"

    "What makes you think I'd be any good at this?"

    She leant across the bar, grabbing for my face. "Look at you! Impossibly pouty lips, very cute -"

    "That's not fair!" I interjected; "cute" is my least favoured adjective.

    She moved my face around. "Beautiful bleach-blonde hair... Big eyes! Like a cat. Perfect for this place."

    Nana chuckled quietly, adding in his Northern drawl: "Too many piercings, not good on such a cute little face. And he's too posh."

    "No, he's not! He barely speaks anyway -"

    "I am not posh -"

    "And it's better than hiring someone we don't know, right?"

    "Now that you mention it..."

    "Come on, Dora!"  

    I pushed Fox's hand away finally. "Fine!"

    She let out a little squeal and jumped on the spot. "The girls will love you."

    I know what you're thinking. But Dora? What about Andrei? Are you even into girls? The truth was, Fox didn't really know what sexuality I was. No one did, not even me. They just thought I was shy, and probably into girls but didn't want to admit it. It was a topic Fox rarely brought up, but when she did, it would go something like this:

    Her: "Oh, I have this friend, she's totally your type and -"

    Me: "I don't have a type."

    Her: "What, now, hold on a second."

    Me: "Look."

    A pause and a stare.

    Me: "I don't want a girlfriend -" 

    Her: "Then -!" 

    Me: "- or a boyfriend. My preference is neither, which doesn't mean either. It means neither."

    Then Fox would give me that Are You Crazy look like she'd never considered that someone might not give a fuck about... well, fucking. To be frank, I really really didn't. The idea of rubbing bodies with another person for like five to sixty minutes kind of made me want to be sick. And don't even get me started on kissing; it's the only thing I'd actually done (on one drunken night with Nana's brother Panda, when I told him I'd never kissed anyone before. Sadly, I wasn't drunk enough to not remember it), and I honestly didn't see the appeal. Of course, I wouldn't say any of this to Fox because let's be frank, she wouldn't accept it anyway.

    Her: "Well... okay, then."

    Me: "Great."

    This is probably why she didn't think my meeting Andrei would be a problem. She knew about his effect on most people. Most people, she'd probably thought. Not Dora. She would be so wrong.

    I had been working at the bar for nearly three weeks. The money wasn't bad (I could actually afford vegetables and ingredients to make proper food instead of instant noodles) and working with my roommate wasn't even as bad as I thought it would be. But the thing I couldn't stand was the girls. Fox hadn't been kidding; the girls really did love me.

    It was anticipated to be a busy Friday night. I had started a collection of phone numbers (as well as two empty Tesco Value pasta sauce jars full of tip money). Okay, it wasn't so much a collection as it was a pile of ink-smeared napkins that Fox refused to let me throw out. Even if I had had any intention of calling those girls, I wouldn't have been able to remember who was who.

    I stood in the staff kitchen, counting the thin papers.

    There was twelve altogether.  

    Twelve.

    Fucking twelve.

    How can twelve girls be interested in me? I had thought to myself. I didn't get it. Fox reckoned it was because I showed no interest, and apparently girls like that. But no amount of enthusiasm (or lack thereof) would keep the Emilys, Aimees or Lisas at bay. I'd tried my hardest (well, I tried a little) to be as friendly as I could, but it made things worse. I'd even applauded one girl's decision to wear a mini skirt when her legs weren't that skinny. I didn't think I'd sounded at all sarcastic either.

    "Yeah, girls kind of like it when you insult them," Fox said to me while I counted the napkins again.

    "I wasn't trying to insult her."

    "You said she had fat legs and she still gave you her number. You just gotta accept that you're a good looking guy."

    I looked at her in confusion. "I haven't grown since I was like thirteen and people mistake me for a girl ninety per cent of the time," I sighed. "You even called me Dora of all things."

    She shook her head at me as she walked away "That's because you're adorable!"

    As I watched her flip her hair over a shoulder and push the door open, I quickly threw the napkins into the bin and gulped down the last of my incredibly strong coffee.

    I was on the night shift, seven p.m. to one a.m. I took a quick look in the mirror to check I was presentable; I ran a hand through my hair and let it fall back onto my shoulders before smudging my eyeliner a little more. Even though the phone numbers and the girls were a hassle, the extra money definitely was not, and I needed a new rice cooker.

    I stepped out the door to start my shift. It was already getting busy - the pre-nightclub crowd - and I mentally prepared myself for a stressful four hours before a good percentage buggered off to DancingQueens a few doors down and the rest of the night would just be us and a few regulars.

    I glanced over to the bar, expecting to see Panda sitting in his usual spot before his shift at the club started, but on the stool sat someone I'd never seen before, chatting familiarly with Fox.

    I observed him quietly, his seductively sparkly eyes teamed with a sly smile, his hair a mess of auburn waves framing a feminine yet distinctively boyish face and off his shoulders like a waterfall of blood.

    Who is that? I thought.

    As I approached, it became increasingly apparent that not only was he too young to even be in here, but he was still wearing his school blazer. It was kind of dark and smoky in the bar, but there was no mistaking the maroon and gold of a Harringly Boys Academy jacket.

    I caught his eye. He looked back at Fox and nodded in my direction, whispering something to her. As she turned, he flashed me a wicked smirk and licked his lips ever so slightly.

    Seriously, who was this guy?

    "Dora!" she said excitedly, beckoning me closer. "This is Andrei, have you met before?"

    He stared at me as he leant cutely against the bar (and I inwardly chastised myself for finding it cute), smiling and fingering the straw in his bottle of pear cider.

    "No, I can't say we have..." I answered slowly. Andrei's steady undressing gaze made me feel dizzy, uncomfortable and addicted all at once, like the thought of him looking away would break me.

    Fox glanced at me, that judgmental look again, and sighed. "Are you sure? I thought you had..."

    I was about to say I'd very much remember meeting this Andrei, but I was too busy staring him down.

    I grabbed the bottle of cider from his delicate pale hands and turned to Fox interrogatively. "What the hell, he's underage. What are you doing serving him?"

    Andrei looked at me innocently, still leaning over the bar. I didn't think I'd ever found anyone cute, let alone a guy, but this one was undeniably the cutest guy I'd ever seen. He was so cute that the word started to lose meaning in my head as it blared on repeat the longer I looked at him. "I'm eighteen." Such sweetness in his voice betrayed the devilish grin on his lips.  Fuck.

    I pointed at him. "You're wearing a school blazer. You're probably not even sixteen."

    "Don't be such a goody-goody, Dora. And besides, it's my bar." She grabbed the cider from me and handed it back to the child. "He's seventeen, it's fine."

    "How did he even get past the bouncer?" I crossed my arms, trying to feign some kind of authority or something. "You were here the entire time; you didn't let him in." I was trying to seem hard, but this boy was making me weaker with every simper he threw my way. Every time he blinked, it was as if his eyelashes were provoking a fire I didn't even know I had inside me.

    "I told them I was playing dress-up." He bit his bottom lip a little, and I swear it did something to me. "And then Foxy gave me tequila."

    His accent had a faint Eastern European lilt that I couldn't quite place. It had been heavily watered down by the Academy, affecting mostly only his vowels. I tried my best to suppress a rare smile. Usually, I really couldn't tolerate cocky teenagers (even though I hadn't long stopped being one), especially ones that were taller than me, but I could definitely understand why Fox was so besotted with him.

    "I don't want to get fined," I growled, turning to her. "Or sent to prison. Do you know what they'd do to someone like me in prison?"

    "You're not going to prison," Fox said through a laugh. "If anyone asks, Andrei here has a fake ID, so we're okay."

    "... Fine, okay."

    Fox clapped her hands together. "Thanks, Dora baby." She landed a big kiss on my cheek, and I pushed her off, actually laughing at her. Mid-smile, I caught Andrei definitely giving me the eye.

    And so it began.

ANDREI

    It's been one of those weeks. You know... Those. Four essays due (three aced, one slightly below my usual standard but still passable), two hearts are broken (one being my roommate's, and yes it's very awkward), and I am minus six tequila shots away from a breakdown.

    And he hasn't called.

    Not once.

    All week.

    I try to put it out of my head. He would only call if it's necessary, I know. But would it kill him to just check up on me? He's been in India for a month now and even though I've only seen him briefly in the last two years... Fucking hell, it hurts so much. Why do I even bother missing him? He wouldn't let me near him again. Not after last time...

    I'm contemplating not even going out tonight. My bed is comfy, and my laptop hasn't started burning my legs yet. Part of me really wants to just stay in and reread Lolita for my dissertation essay. It's not even due for a year, but I'm aiming for early graduation so I can get out of this hell hole.

    I haven't seen Foxy in weeks, and she has that hot new barman who works Fridays now. We haven't officially met, but I've seen him at the bar from across the room, and I may or may not have stalked his Facebook page periodically after she suggested I swing by tonight.

    She apparently doesn't know what my intentions usually are towards hot boys. Seduce, bed, bin. It's a comfortable feeling.

    I'm going to be on my best behaviour tonight, though. Two hearts this week is enough. 

    "Kedrov."

    My eyes stayed glued to my laptop screen, my attention still on the new barman's Facebook, scrolling down all the photos of Fox's he's been tagged in. His profile picture is a close-up of a chicken flavoured cup noodle, which says little about his personality (or perhaps too much), and in all the photos that Foxy has taken, he either looks like he wants to kill her or himself. Although there are a couple where he evidently doesn't know that she's taking a photo of him. Those ones make my heart beat a little faster. "What is it?"

    "I'm getting moved."

    "Oh, that's great!" I don't look at Luke's face. I've seen it too much lately.

    "Don't you even fucking care?"

    I look up at him with an empty smile. "I think you'll be happier."

    "Did you ever fucking care?"

    I roll my eyes. Doesn't Luke know my heart only belongs to the one man I can't have? "We're so young, too young to care. You knew what we were doing." His face reddens with anger. "You and I, we just aren't meant to be."

    "You're such a fucking asshole, Kedrov."

    He turns and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I grab Lolita and throw it against the door.  Just fucking leave then.

    And then I'm alone.

    I can still hear that second heart cracking inside me. 

    The air in the room is stale and bitter with regret and lies. Lies, grief and more lies. And I wish it was because of Luke. That would be easier.

    I throw my school blazer over my shoulder casually, curious to see if the bouncers in Black Cat will even notice the uniform when I bat my eyelashes at them. They've let me every time before without even asking for ID. I need a challenge.

    As I head out the dorm block, the doorman warns me that it's lockdown after ten p.m., like I didn't already fucking know that. I've been caught sneaking back in after curfew twice, and I'm on my last warning (as I'm swiftly reminded). But I don't even care. They wouldn't expel me anyway. I have the best grades in the year, and I'm graduating soon anyway.

    It's a relatively short walk to the bar. This is what I love most about this side of town. It's within walking distance of Camden. But tonight I walk slow, the sun tempting itself to set a little earlier. It's a beautiful night; warm and comfortably bright.

    I get past the bouncers with no troubles, I guess, since they've let me in so many Fridays before this. I don't even know how given I very much look my age.

    The bar is pretty smoky. Foxy clearly has the dry ice on for an eerier Friday, and it suits the place perfectly. The black-and-white floors and red upholstery seem to glow, and I feel like I'm walking on the set of a Tim Burton film.

    "Andrei!" I hear a delighted voice from behind the bar. There Fox stands, in all her tanned and tattooed glory.

    "Hey, baby!" I smile at her happily.

    She hands me a shot of tequila. "Since you've had such a hard week. I've missed you!"

    Foxy always says this. I'm pretty sure she says it to everyone. Not that I don't think it's true. I feel kind of sad that all her male friends seem to like dicks, or I reckon they'd all fancy her. She's so petite, her body looking even smaller against that black hair of hers; if I didn't know better, I'd think she was a girl of my age and not a twenty-six-year-old woman running her own business. She gets a lot of tips for her kitty-cat smiles and big almond eyes.

    Fox is probably my favourite person apart from him. But I hate that we were both saved. Both saved by the man with too much cash to flash. I just wish I could remember what I'd been saved from.

    I see a hand wave in front of my face. "Hey. Andrei. Wakey wakey!"

    Fox hands me a fruit cider with a straw, ushering me to sit and I smile at her thankfully. I take a sip, trying to not seem a thousand miles away. I need to get out of my head more.

    And then I see him.

    Not him but a still beautiful ray of light.

    He looks mad as he approaches us.

    "Foxy, I think your friend is here."

    She turns. "Dora! This is Andrei, have you met before?"

    "No, I can't say we have..." Dora narrows his eyes at me. I lean against the bar, lost in his face. Everything about it is almost perfect; eyes the same shape as Fox's only darker, and a nose that only the gods could have created. His lips are like a little heart on his doll-like face. How is he even real?

    Fox continues to insist we've met before, but then suddenly the cider is torn from my hands.

    "What the hell, he's underage. What are you doing serving him?"

    Finally...

    I grin at him. "I'm eighteen," I say, not convincingly at all. My heart is thumping in my chest.

    He points, finally addressing me. "You're wearing a school blazer. You're probably not even sixteen." His voice is so flat it's hard to tell if he's chastising me or just stating facts. I'm about to reply when Fox cuts in.

    "Don't be such a goody-goody, Dora," she says, swatting his arm gently. "And besides, it's my bar." She takes my cider from him and places it on the bar in front of me. "He's seventeen, it's fine."

    It's not fine. If he finds out Fox's serving me alcohol, he might even take her bar away. I hope that doesn't happen.

    "How did he even get past the bouncer?" Dora continues to question Fox's decision to serve me, but I just want him to notice I'm here. His body language is intense, crossed arms and angry eyebrows. I can't tell if he knows I'm flirting with him (or attempting to.)

    He looks like he could be in a Korean pop band with that flawless face of his if it weren't for the nose ring.

    "I told them I was playing dress-up," I lie, biting down on my bottom lip, hoping Fox doesn't see. "And then Foxy gave me tequila."

    They exchange some more words, but I'm not listening, only watching Dora's face and how mad he looks.

    He's looking at me, and I can tell he wants to smile. I don't know why, but I can see it. I'm slowly cracking his porcelain. And then as Fox goes to hug him, I catch him letting out a small laugh. His smile lights up his face, and it's like a switch inside me.

    Don't mess with it. Don't break this one.

DORA

    By the time we close, both Andrei and I are pretty intoxicated, and I'm struggling to stay upright on my stool. I've been to the toilet seven times in two hours, probably more, and each time, the floor has become steadily more and more unsteady.

    "I seriously love drunk Dora!" Fox hugs me, and I don't even try to push her off. I quite like the sensation of another person near me.

    "Thank yooooou," I say, leaning my head on her shoulder. "You are sooo comfy, Foxy." I'm smiling like an idiot. "Because you're so tiny, like me... only you're coloured in."

    "Dora, I need a favour." She laughs at me and gestures towards Andrei, who is slumped over the counter now.

    "Andrei is tiny too... we're like... the seven dwarves... I'm Grumpy, you're Bashful, and Andrei is... Dopey!"

    I hear a faint insult from Andrei.

    "You need to take him back to your place."

    "Why?" The beer bottles and taps sway before my eyes.  How are they doing that unaided?

    "If he's caught sneaking back into the dorms, especially drunk, he'll get suspended... again. He's on his last shot, Dora."

    I grumble. "Can't he sleep upstairs? I don't want him vomming in my mouth."

    What did I just say? I don't think she heard me. Did I even say it out loud?

    I feel a hand on my arm. I turn to see Andrei looking at me sweetly, the side of his face pressed against the marble. "Please, Doradora, I'll get expelled. I promise I won't vom in your mouth."

    The whole bar is spinning now. 

    "I have nowhere you can sleep, though, Andreiandrei..."

    "Nana is staying at Panda's tonight. Andrei can take the couch, surely?"

    But then Andrei and I will be alone...

    Somehow, Fox is shooing us out of the bar, and we're both almost stumbling together along the path.

    I'm alone with a boy, an underage boy, and I'm finding him painfully enticing. He's putting his arm around me so we can somewhat walk. He's only a couple of inches taller than me. My stomach ties and unties in knots, and I'm not sure if it's because of him or the alcohol.

    "I really hope you don't live far, Doradora..." Andrei is saying, his voice completely slurred now. "I really really need to sleep..."

    "Okay okay, it's not far..."

    We're nearing my flat already. I'm very appreciative of my tiny space once we stumble through the door, but I'm also very aware of its shabbiness.

    "A bed!" Andrei says, excited. 

    "You're sleeping on the couch, friend," I garble. "The bed is mine."

    He gives me that look again - like he's undressing me in his head - suddenly seeming very sober. "Can't we share?"

    I pause for a second, staring at him. He licks his lips and smiles. The silence seems to last forever before I snap out of my drunken reverie. Why did Panda have to take Nana away tonight of all nights?

    "You can fuck off and sleep on the couch," I say, throwing Nana's pillow and blanket at it. He raises his eyebrows as if to say "Fair enough", and he turns, unbuckling his skinny jeans.

    I attempt to look away, but in this state of shamelessness, I stare at him undressing, and I swallow, prickly hotness spreading over my entire body, feeling my own jeans pitching slightly at the crotch.

    I can't look away. Andrei pulls his tight-fitting t-shirt over his head, exposing his creamy skin. Suddenly I feel remarkably sober as I notice things about his body I've never paid attention to on another person before; the curve of his back, leading down to his waistband... His hands appear at his sides, and I realise he's pulling down his jeans, and I'm staring at his --!

    What am I doing?!

    I shut my eyes tightly and turn around, which turns out to be a huge mistake. Dizziness consumes me, and I fall into my bed, everything going black.

    I awake the next day with the most crippling headache I have ever had. The sun streams through the window, the curtains left open.

    Holy fucking Christ.

    I stare at the clock; It's just gone ten a.m, and I'm still fully clothed from last night's drunken stupidity.

    I turn over to look at the couch. Andrei is still here, sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling, his face peaceful and angelic. My eyes glance over his body, taking in what I didn't see last night. My heart skips a little as affection overcomes me.

    And then the fear.

    And then the questioning, the predictable What is this feeling in my chest?

    And then the all-consuming desire to walk over to the couch, take him in my arms, stroke his hair, kiss his lips, touch him in places...

    I throw myself back into my bed, fighting the urge to scream.

    This is it, isn't it?