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Jul 06, 2019 23:27:15

A gilded cage

by @timsubiaco PATRON | 361 words | 🐣 | 152💌

Tim Subiaco

Current day streak: 0🐣
Total posts: 152💌
Total words: 57829 (231 pages 📄)

I knew she would be here in a week's time. And here I was again, in the same flat, in same old London. It would be a few hours until my parents flew in so I had some time to reacquaint myself with the place I suffered so much the year before. I went to the kitchen and looked at the knives. They were sharp as they were before. No one uses them for anything anyway. I took out the fillet knife and tested the blade with my nail of my thumb. It peeled apart like rubber.

I sat on the bench in the living room and looked at the couch that I slept on. Just before I moved to Tromsø, Lina came to London to tell me that she couldn't take it any longer and that she didn't want to be with me. For the rest of my Masters I slept on that couch. I knew I had to push through and make it to Tromsø and make it right.

My parents happened to be in London when I got the job offer from Tromsø. I had taken to sleeping on the bed for their sake, but mothers always sense when something is up. My father dutifully disappeared to God-knows-where and Mum confronted me at the kitchen table.

"What's wrong, Tim". I wish this was missing a question mark, but it really isn't.

"You wouldn't understand"

"You know you can tell us anything. Please, Tim"

"You wouldn't understand"

"Is it money problems?"


"Are you taking drugs?"

"Um, no"

"What is it then? Are you gay?"

"What? No, Mum. I am going to move to Tromsø"

"Oh, thank God" she takes a long swig of her rosé.

"Wait, why did you ask if I was gay?"

"Well, there was this one time in New York when you seemed awfully interested in a painting of a naked man"

She went on for sometime about how I stood at different angles and really studied the painting. There must have been many other 'signs' that she decided to weave into a narrative of me being gay. I guess mothers don't always know best. 

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