The Chiswell Society

"I think the first boy I liked... was Hugh. We were best friends for years. Then his family moved away..."
The man beside him nodded. They were still laying in bed, naked.
Victor knew he should go. But he couldn't. This was the first time he felt whole again.
"Was he your first kiss?"
Victor shook his head. "No."
He didn't want to think about Henry now. How the feeling of his lips was almost electric. How he smelled of sherry and expensive cigars.
Victor kissed him again, tracing his way down the stranger's body.
Trying. But unable to forget.

It was a long luxurious dinner at Emily's parents' house. Relatives of both Emily and Victor were invited. It seemed to Victor like everybody lost any sense of reason in that house. Every single conversation revolved around him and Emily having children. The sooner the better. Like wind up toys on repeat. Thankfully, Emily wasn't having it either. She decided though to stay there overnight.
He excused himself early because of work. But instead of going home, he wandered around the dark London alleys until he reached his destination. The house where he never had to think or reason either.

"I don't think I can give you what you need," Victor said, looking away.
Emily was quiet. What did she need? She reached her goal. She was a married woman now. What was next? Having children, raising them. Getting old in the process.
After hours of reflecting, she felt like there should be something more. The thought was terrifying. She willingly chained herself up to somebody and right now, she felt like she was suffocating. She needed to breathe.
"I think I need a job," she said. Victor looked at her, eyes wide. But then he smiled.
"Alright," he said.

It was late. Emily was sitting on a divan, reading a book. Victor was in his office. Working. And probably getting drunk.
This wasn't how Emily imagined their marriage. Living next to each other, rather than together. He rarely kissed her or touched her. On their wedding night, he got so drunk he just fell asleep. And he made no advances to her afterwards.
It felt like involuntary fasting. Like eating bread when you could have cake. She was starved for some affection. Angry. Sad. Disappointed.
But she was a woman. She couldn't make the first move. Or could she?!

Victor was standing in the sitting room alone, looking out the window. It was getting dark outside and a butterfly with blue wings was sitting on the window sill.
Close, open, close, open.
It can fly away any second now.
That thought made Victor feel like he was suffocating. He wanted to catch the butterfly and crush it in his hand. He wanted to grow wings and fly away.
"Darling?" He heard Emily's sweet voice calling from the dining room. He realized he was clenching his fists. He smiled, leaving the room. Red nail marks stayed carved into his palms.

"Get closer, please," said the man with a big dark moustache.
They both shifted towards each other. Emily looked gorgeous. She was wearing a beautiful lacy gown with a veil and orange flowers in the hair. She quickly fixed them.
"You look beautiful, sweetheart," shouted Emily's mother, standing behind the cameraman. Emily smiled for a second but then quickly corrected herself. She wanted the photo to turn out perfect. Just like their marriage.
She dreamed of this moment for years.
The camera was ready. Now they just had to stay still until the memories permanently engrave themselves into the glass.

"I thought I was clear," his father said. "I am not having this under my roof!"
"I am not drinking under your roof," Victor replied.
"Do you think I'm stupid? Drinking, drugs... whores!"
The punch that followed was strong enough that Victor almost lost his footing.
"Have some responsibility! You are getting married, for God's sake!"
Victor didn't answer. It didn't matter if it meant his father will hit him again. Nothing mattered. He licked his busted lip and waited. He wasn't living anyway. He was barely surviving. And a large dark hole grew where his heart used to be.

Victor was half sitting, half laying down on the sofa. His cheeks were red and his eyes hazy. In a loose grip, he was holding an empty glass.
"It's almost dawn," a man sitting next to him said and stood up. He started to button-down his vest.
Victor quickly sprung up and grabbed his wrist. "Let's stay," he said. Those dark brown eyes met his. The stranger smiled.
Hand in hand they stumbled into one of the bedrooms. The vest came off. Victor started clumsily unbuttoning his own shirt.
If it were up to him, they would stay there forever.

He mindlessly wandered through Chelsea before getting a cab. Now, they didn't even want a password. First drink, second, third. Then he stopped counting.
As he was leaving, he saw Henry, walking to Mabel, smiling. What a hypocrite! He might be sweet and caring now but Victor knew better. Henry was a selfish asshole who only did what was good for him. He didn't care about anybody's feelings.
Victor wanted to cry. But men don't cry.
A handsome man sat down next to him, smiling, flirting, whispering. And Victor wished, for a second, that he could be selfish for once.

"So, are you just going to put on the face of a loving husband and" he hesitated. "A father?"
"Who says I'm not a loving husband?" Henry asked, his jaw clenched.
Victor couldn't help it but laugh. "I don't think what you are doing is a sign of love."
"What did you think this was?" Henry scoffed. "A love story with happily ever after? We barely know each other."
Victor's heart sank in his chest and he suddenly couldn't swallow. "I don't want to pretend anymore," he said.
"Well," Henry looked him in the eye. "You don't have a choice."