Before we can answer, she gets out her phone and chuckles at a message she’s received.
She leans over and shows me, the screen lighting her face with a ghostly glow.
I look at the screen, and what I’m looking at is a selfie. Of me. Pulling a comedy face, tongue sticking out, eyes crossed.
I didn’t take that selfie, and no playing, I didn’t send it to Akemi.
Or did I?
You’re such a joker, she says.
Charles says, I think your mind is going soft, son. Perhaps you should start playing Go with me.
The padded walls close in, and I feel like I am going to be crushed.
F
ORTY
-N
INE
I knock on the door, one-two-three.
I listen, but there is no movement, no sound on the other side.
I knock again, louder this time, the edge of my fist turning it into a thump.
Behind it, I hear soft footsteps approaching.
The door opens, and Other Me is standing there.
Oh hey, he says. Want to come in?
I walk past him into the living room, stand by the sofa like a lemon.
He says, Want to sit down?
So I sit on the sofa.
He says, Want a drink?
And I say, No, thanks.
He sits down next to me and he says, So, what’s good?
For true, the charm just oozes out of him.
I look at him for a second. The crossed legs, the arms extending to the top corners of the sofa, the body pointed in the direction of mine.
Crisp white T-shirt, loose black trousers, white socks and black slides. His hair is damp and combed, and I smell the earthy body wash he used in the shower.
I hear the cars driving past slow on the street below, punctuated by the frequent zip of scooters. Someone somewhere is playing an old-sounding Taiwanese pop song on the radio, and the shrill female voice wobbles its pentatonic notes in through the open window and into the room.
I say, Have you been talking to Charles and Akemi?
Nuh-uh, he says, picking some fluff off his trousers.
Although, he says, a little side-smile creeping up, I wouldn’t mind getting to know Akemi a bit more intimately, if you know what I mean.
Of course I know what he means, he’s just confirmed what I’ve known ever since I clapped eyes on him through my viewfinder. And here he is, right in front of me: the perfect guy who shagged Akemi better than I could.
And I am jealous, and afraid. The polished version of me, Sean 2.0, already making moves.
This is my life, I say.
It sure is, he says.
F
IFTY
I pick up my camera from the bedside table.
I lie down on my bed and play with the focus ring to help me calm down.
I left Other Me’s flat in a weird way – like, I’d made my point, told him to not get involved in my shit anymore.
