Attachment: A Russie Features Short

Mack’s Apartment

Atlanta, GA

United States of America

December 2016

Jian wakes up with a splitting headache and the taste of last night’s alcohol in his mouth. He blinks, feels an unfamiliar blanket on top. It’s violet and thin—not his typical thick and purple one. Jian reaches to yank it off, but there’s a heavy weight beside him which makes movement much more difficult.

Soft curls brush against his back. His throat dries upon realizing what had gone on the previous night—remembers smirks and semi-drunken laughter and dark brown curls that almost looked black in the dark of the night.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “Oh my fucking God.” Panic shoots up his system and he nearly jerks out of bed only to realize the presence of a warm arm around his waist. Jian’s breath stutters and he looks over his shoulder to see a sleeping other there, his face perfectly relaxed as he sleeps.

On a normal morning, he wouldn’t be too bothered. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence—the flames of one-night stands were usually extinguished come morning. The two of them would part ways eventually without much memory or attachment to the hours spent together asleep and awake.

It didn’t bother him much because there was the feeling of absolute nothingness.

Now, however, Jian felt a drumming in his chest that he wasn’t sure was something he was familiar with.

And it scared him.

It took him a while to leave the bed. There was the fact that he absolutely could not wake Mack up, and then there was the fact that he couldn’t stop shaking. Each fumble came with a mumbled noise from the other person, and that just made him flinch more as he tried to escape without being caught.

He did eventually, and he hurriedly zipped up his pants while fishing for the black shirt he had been donning the night before. Never mind that his hair looked like shit and the markings on his neck were extremely obvious, he just had to leave.

Ten minutes, then fifteen, and Jian was impatiently waiting outside the apartment for an Uber. It rolled up eventually and he got in without a word to the driver, who lifted his brow at the disheveled look at the newest passenger but decided not to comment instead.

Jian’s fingers shakily typed a new message to one of his co-workers.

            To: Elsie de Vera

            Not going to work today. Something came up.

            From: Elsie de Vera

            kk you want me to take your shift or

            To: Elsie de Vera

            Please do.

His phone gave a beep as Elsie replied, most likely asking for more details, but he wasn’t in the mood to give at all. All Jian wanted was to get home, smoke, get all the feelings out of his system as soon as he could.

Twenty minutes, and he was back in his own home. Shaky fingers slid the key into place and he was back inside, locking the front door and sliding down the wall right after. He breathed out harshly and buried his face into his hands, groaning. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t think of anything aside from how gorgeous Mack looked with a half-smirk on his face—

He cursed.

The feeling was indescribable. He had barely felt that for anyone—which made one-night stands way easier than they were supposed to be—not even for the attractive females with blue eyes or the lean males he could easily top.

Then, there was Mack and his curly hair, Mack and his hazel eyes, Mack and his slim frame, Mack and his dry humor, Mack and his dry-toned voice.

There was Mack and no one else and the thought terrified him.

He had to smoke it out.

Jian ended up on the balcony next, smoking his second stick and blocking out any memory of the previous night. But there was so many of them—there was them talking in the bar before Jian was to close, there was Jian driving Mack’s car to Mack’s apartment while the other smiled at him from the passenger seat, there was Mack inviting him in and Jian saying “yes” without hesitation.

There were others, too, but he shivered and pushed against them harder.

His phone rang.

            From: Mack Thomas

            good morning, you took off early.

            i was hoping we could get out and have something?

there’s this nice breakfast place i know

unless youre busy i mean.

He hesitated.

Jian could have replied—a simple “I’m sorry, I forgot that I had prior appointments” that would get the other male off his back.

But he didn’t, ignoring the message completely and flinching when it vibrated yet again.

From: Mack Thomas

            i had a good time though?

            hope it isn’t awkward between us.

Two sticks ended up turning into four.

He smoked until the anxious feeling turned into the usual numb one and until he felt like he could breathe again. When he did, Jian reentered his home, blankly discarding of the used cigarettes before moving towards his bathroom.

It felt like drifting, and that was how he preferred it.

For the rest of the weekend, he stayed inside.

Ever since the one-night stand with Mack, things had been feeling funny. There was an unfamiliar, mildly uncomfortable feeling ever since he had woken up with the other nuzzling into his back. And he didn’t like it, not at all.

He had never been the type to particularly feel anything for anyone. That was just how it went—he slept around when he had to or when he wanted to (though the latter was rarer), the feelings never quite lingered. In fact, the feelings weren’t even genuine ones that came from the heart. Mushy things, he called them in his head. Inconveniences.

But the fact that he started feeing something for Mack was unnerving. He didn’t know what it was, but the feeling tasted a little salty and a little bitter. It was an ugly thing that strengthened when he spotted Mack’s unread texts.

The realization came as a jolt.

He had grown attached.

(It was terrifying, different, and he felt a little disgusted in himself for feeling such things for a temporary encounter—but Jian was attached and found himself gaining and losing the guts to reply to the unanswered messages.)