As the river flows

Chapter 11

Matteo felt the silence permeate the air, wrapping around his neck like the cold hands of a lover. The guilt lay heavy on his heart, suffocating him. For all his thirty six years of life, he could not think of a time when he had let someone get under his skin like this. So much so that he had found himself losing his temper. When he really looked back at it, his behavior seemed alien and unexplainable, even to himself. But in that moment, an unknown emotion had bubbled under his skin, and spilled over through the pores, decimating everything in its path. Even now, he could feel the unnamed emotion churning in his gut. A confusing and insidious miasma that made his already restless mind uncomfortable.

What was it about Ankit Verma that made him so uncomfortable? Yes, he was loud. But then, he had met a lot of loud people in his life. He was Italian for god’s sake! And yes, his helplessness was infuriating. But, again, that wasn’t really his fault, was it? Of course not. Matteo knew that.

He could still hear Ankit’s words bounce around in the confines of his head- “Did I ask you for help?” No he hadn’t, not really. No one had in fact. Except that Matteo had felt an inexplicable urge to go forth and help, every time he had seen that lost, naïve look on the boy’s face. It was a siren call. Inescapable. And this loss of control was what had irritated him. For, he didn’t understand why he cared.

And gosh was the boy clueless! And bloody careless! He could have fallen to his death! Matteo felt the anger rise up in him, searing his lungs, as he remembered the dazed look on the boy’s face as he had stood there, after almost plummeting to his untimely end.

Matteo arched his brow wryly and breathed out. He knew that his anger was misplaced and if not a little absurd. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself! His own contrary behavior was leaving him torn and confused. One moment he was helping the boy, and the next moment he let the anger reign over him. He was not a turbulent person by nature, and this newfound volatility was leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

He knew that he had been wrong in saying the things he had said to Ankit. There was no excuse. It’s just he hadn’t been able to help himself. The longer, Ankit had stood there quiet and demure, the higher Matteo’s anger had spiked.

Still, Matteo was self-aware. He had always prided himself on this, and he knew that this time, as with all the other times that he had interacted with Ankit Verma, it had been himself, that had been in the wrong. The ribbing that he had received from Amelie was a testament to that.

Matteo trusted his friends with his life. His friendships were not fickle. Nor were they immature. They had been built and fostered on years of shared experiences and emotions. And if there was anyone whose opinions he would trust, it would be his friends’. They would never pull their punches. They would give it to him straight. And that is exactly what Amelie had done.

The moment Ankit had left the apartment, a stricken look on his face, Amelie had turned on him, hands on her hips and a frown marring her pretty face. One look at her and Matteo had known that he had f****d up.

Now as he sat in the car with Amelie beside him, he could feel her disapproval wash over him in waves. It wasn’t so much anything she said, her silence was enough. It brought him right back to the first time that he had met her, at the tender age of fifteen. She had been ten. That hadn’t stopped her from putting him down firmly in his place, when he had thrown a tantrum at the restaurant. Matteo and his parents had only recently moved to Paris, and, they were at the restaurant, meeting his father’s friend from college and his family. Matteo had been sulking for the last week, ever since he had had to leave his life back in Milan behind and move all the way to another country. He definitely had not been in the mood to socialize. And when they had brought a little girl with them, his mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse. So, when a waiter had taken a little too long to get him his order, he had snapped. But, before his mother could have reprimanded him, the little girl had got up from her chair, pulled him with her to the corner, had handed him a glass of water and had told him to calm down. That it was okay to miss his friends, but that did not mean that he could treat others that way. With that she had left him gawking at her, as she had waltzed back to the table.

That had been the first of the many times that he would find himself in her presence, and by the time he was eighteen, they were inseparable. She was his closest confidante, even to this day. And he liked to think that he was just as important to her.

Thus, being faced by her wrath and disapproval in the aftermath of his own mistake, made his skin feel tight and he could feel the guilt settle heavily in his gut.

“Je suis de…”, he started, chancing a glance to his right, but was cut off with a scoff.

“Me dis pas ça,” she said, “dit lui!”

“Mais...”

“Are you kidding me?” she shot at him, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. “You went off on him for no bloody reason, Matteo.”

“He was being careless!”

“So? That gives you the right to tell him all that crap, does it? If you were really worried, which I don’t even know at this point, I am sure there were better ways of handling things! There is never an excuse for bad behavior. Honestly! You’re better than this. Come on.”

Gulping, Matteo looked away from her and out of the window. He knew what she was saying was true, he was at fault here. He was also self-aware enough to know that he was being unnecessarily resistant. Yet it was a fight to tame his ego, which was raging in his chest, defensive and immovable. 

Gritting his teeth, Matteo settled further into the car seat, tuning out Amelie’s voice as she ranted at him. No way in hell was he, Matteo Bianchi, going to ask for forgiveness. Especially not from the likes of one Ankit Verma!

                                                                                             ----

Two days later found Matteo Bianchi sitting on his settee, pondering the circumstances that led to him now thumbing through the list of contacts on his phone, hesitant and unsure. He stopped at a new contact, and took in a bracing breath. Perhaps this was unnecessary, and maybe if he ignored it, it would just go away! Holding his breath, he peeked at the screen. No! It was still there! The name of the person he had been trying to avoid with all his might for the last two days.

It had taken a couple more rounds of verbal lashing by Amelie for him to give in reluctantly. She had given him Damon’s number last night. Which he had dialed in a misguided moment of confidence (also fear, what with Amelie sitting right opposite him with a frown upon her face).

The cold response that he had received had not left him with any hope, but one look at Amelie and he had sighed and literally pleaded Damon to give him Ankit Verma’s number. And pleaded, and pleaded, until he had quite completely worn Damon down, and he had given in.   

And now, here he was, jittery and sweating under his collar. He knew what he had to do. He just...didn’t want to do it. Especially when he knew that what awaited him on the other side was anger and a swift kick to his ego.

Sighing, he dropped his head down onto his chest. He couldn’t do it. But he had to. He had to make amends. Thus in a moment of furious determination and confidence, he steeled himself and dialed the first number on the screen.

“s**t! f**k!” Matteo shouted, throwing the phone away from him in a moment of panic, as the dial tone ripped through the air.

“Fuuuuucckkkk!!!” he screeched, pulling at his hair, when suddenly the dial tone cut off.

“Hello”