Things weren’t going very well.

   As Jorge himself had said—our agent in Brazil—because of what had happened, they wanted to cancel my appearance and send me back to London.

   It might not have been the right thing to do, but in my opinion, any racist deserved far more than just two punches to the face. “Oh, but you’re white, David.” Fuck that. It didn’t change the fact that any racist deserved to burn in hell.

 

   “When are you going to make a statement and apologise?” Jorge asked.

   He was sitting on the other side of the table. I wasn’t sure the hotel restaurant was the best place to have that conversation. People at the other tables were looking at me as if I were a criminal… How could they have seen the video so quickly?

   I knew some of them were only staring to get a better look at the bruises on my face, which would hopefully be gone in two or three days.

   “I’m not apologising to anyone,” I said. “The only person I owe an apology to is Aly, and I’ll speak to her later.”

   “You need to make a public apology, David.”

   “And why would I do that?” I asked. “There’s no reason for me to apologise for fighting some bastard who insulted Aly.”

   “You can’t tarnish your reputation days before the new season of the series premieres,” he warned. “It could affect the release.”

   “I don’t think so.” I shrugged. “If a bar fight can affect the continuation of a successful series, then whoever’s handling the marketing isn’t doing their job properly.”

   “Are you saying it’s marketing’s fault?” he asked.

   Honestly, I had no idea. I hadn’t managed to sleep at all up to that point, my head was throbbing, and my bad mood wasn’t helping.

   “I’m saying my fight isn’t going to affect the release,” I stated.

   Jorge huffed, adjusting his glasses.

   “Let’s do this, David—you make a statement apologising for what happened, or we’ll cancel your appearance at the launch.”

   “As far as I know, you were hired to handle our commitments here, not to represent QueerFlix or the publishing house.”

   “Exactly. I was hired to handle your commitments, and if you’ve got a scandal hanging over you, you won’t be able to attend any of them.”

   Jorge stood up from the table, picking up his phone and adjusting the button of his blazer like he was some important character from Suits, which only made me more irritated.

   “Make the statement, or we’ll cancel your appearance.”

   He left the restaurant before I could respond. I knew it would be wrong, but I really felt like getting up and kicking his old arse.

   Before actually posting anything, I called Alice. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to bring Alice—my personal agent—with us to Brazil. Otherwise, she would have probably sorted everything out already and, as she told me over the phone, given me a proper flick on the forehead. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but I missed her.

   Aly said it wouldn’t be a problem to tell exactly what had happened. Maybe that way the people who had defended that prick—and there weren’t few—would understand that he was anything but a victim.

   @David.Connor:

Yesterday, while my friends and I were having a relaxed moment, a “man” insulted Aly with prejudiced remarks. I know my reaction wasn’t the most decent. I had a bit to drink and ended up losing my temper.

I know I could have handled it differently, and I regret not thinking of that at the time, since he walked away unpunished for what he did. Even so, I don’t regret punching him. I have never been, and never will be, the kind of man who lets people offend my friends—especially not in a way as serious as that.

If you want to crucify me for hitting a bastard who insulted someone I love, go ahead. But know that my conscience is clear, because I don’t mind damaging my image if it means putting a piece of shit in his place.

[...]

   I was woken up by knocks on the door that sounded like explosions from an action film.

   Phillip could have just opened the door instead of knocking, and it felt like he was testing my patience when he knocked for the tenth time.

   “There’s no one here!”

   I covered my head with the blanket in an attempt to block out the noise. It didn’t work—if anything, the knocking only became more frantic.

   I got up, irritated, and walked barefoot to the door.

 

   “Bloody hell, why don’t you just open the damn thing,” I muttered under my breath, then froze when I realised the surprised face wasn’t Phillip’s.

   “I did think about opening it, but that would be trespassing,” Pedro said, his expression shifting.

   “W-What are you doing here?”

   “Phillip asked me to bring you some food.” Only then did I notice the white bag in his hand. “He said to keep knocking until you woke up… He also asked me to let you know he and Aly have already left.”

   Shit… I thought, briefly closing my eyes.

   I’d forgotten it was the day we were supposed to meet one of the publishing house’s directors. I let out a heavy sigh.

   “Sorry for waking you,” he said, handing me the bag, then turned and started down the corridor.

   How could I still act like an idiot after everything?

   “Wait,” I called. “You’re not bothering me, I just… get a bit grumpy when I wake up.”

   “Yeah, I remember you saying that.”

   I formed a small, almost involuntary smile.

   “I’m sorry for being an idiot just now,” I said sincerely. “For everything, actually… Do you want to come in?”

   From the way he took a moment to answer, I thought he didn’t want to. Not the apology, not coming in. Instead, Pedro stepped into the room with a firm stride.

   “You should think about sorting out your mess,” he said.

   He’d been in my room for all of a minute and was already complaining about the mess… I’ll admit, it was a mess. Compared to Phillip’s side, mine looked like a bomb made of clothes had gone off. In my defence, I was organised—or at least I tried to be—I just hadn’t had time to deal with it.

   “If you want to tidy it up for me, I won’t complain,” I said jokingly. I think Pedro took it a bit too seriously, because when I turned around, he was picking up T-shirts from the floor. “It was a joke, Pedro.”

   “Good thing, because I took one look and I’m pretty sure there’s a family of rats living under there,” he shot back, making me laugh.

   For the first time, I noticed how warm and pleasant his laugh was. I was glad he’d stayed—it made me feel lighter than I’d expected to feel when I woke up.

   “What time is it?”

   “You only ever ask me the time,” he said with a laugh, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Seven in the evening.”

   I’d been asleep since eleven in the morning—how hadn’t I woken up to use the bathroom or drink water? Or worse, how hadn’t I felt hungry? I usually woke up twice during the night to drink or eat something. Maybe that was why I’d woken up when I slept with Pedro the other night.

   “Have you spoken to Aly?” he asked.

   I unwrapped the sandwich, and the smell of ham and cheese made my mouth water.

   “Not yet,” I said, taking a bite and satisfying a hunger I hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll talk to her when she gets back.”

   I went back to eating, thinking about how I was going to apologise to Aly.

   Pedro stayed there in silence, so I allowed myself to do the same—until I noticed the redness at the corner of his nose. I took a deep breath, running my tongue along my teeth as I avoided looking at him any longer.

   “Are you alright?”

   He shrugged.

   “I am. It was nothing.”

   Nothing…

   

  I couldn’t believe that. Pedro looked fine—calm eyes, relaxed brows, steady breathing. And yet I could still picture him with a bleeding nose and that expression of pain.

   “Are you sure you’re alright? Did you go to the hospital to have your nose checked?”

 

   “There’s no need, I’m fine,” he repeated. “Besides, unless I’m dying, I’m not setting foot in a hospital anytime soon.”

   “Afraid of hospitals?”

   “Y-Yeah… something like that.”

   “Afraid of needles?” I asked with a grin, remembering when my mum and I practically had to drag Evie to the hospital two years ago.

  Fuck… I thought, suddenly getting up.

   “Shit, my mum’s going to kill me,” I said, mouth still full.

   I walked over to the unit by the bed, grabbed my phone, and went back to the sofa as I checked the messages she’d sent.

   “Benjamim… Benjamim… Benjamin… oh, here we go, there’s a David,” I said, turning the phone to show Pedro the dozens of messages my mum had sent.

   He let out a quiet laugh. I moved to sit on the bed, a bit away from him. I wanted to reply with a message, but I knew that if I didn’t call her, my mum would get on the first flight to Brazil. If she hadn’t already.

   I called her. I won’t lie—it was a bit strange talking to her with Pedro right beside me, but at the same time, it was oddly comforting.

   Even though Pedro had brought me two sandwiches, I only ate one. I didn’t really like eating bread at night—it made me feel bloated.

   I’d wait a bit, then go down to the restaurant to have something for dinner.