Episode 10

As they sipped on drinks, celebrating the relaxation a Saturday affords away from the toll of labor, Maiston was chatting with Jim while they engaged in a game of cards. They were adept poker players and had more than once placed wagers wherein they emerged victoriously, pocketing a substantial amount of money with ease. Nevertheless, they always preferred to play amongst themselves rather than with others, finding that tabletop games could become excessively engrossing.

With a swig of beer from the bottle, Maiston glanced at his hand of cards and grinned.

"Hey, and where's your new Omega? At least when Prince was around, he'd splash me with a glass of water."

"Well, go help yourself. He doesn't have to wait on you hand and foot. He's not the household's maid."

Jim gave him an odd look because Maiston had never spoken in such a manner before. Jim wanted to say it was all a jest, knowing full well the lay of the house, but he restrained himself, discarding a card instead.

He thought to tease him a bit more to probe other matters.

"Also, back when Prince was around, he'd at least cook us something. I remember how he'd be kind to your other friends whenever they visited."

Maiston said nothing, his focus back on his cards, ignoring the remarks because he was intent on winning. They routinely met up on the weekends, but now, Maiston was tempted to throw Jim out.

He moved some chips and observed his friend, who was also scrutinizing his cards, calculating his next move and weighing his odds of victory.

"Even gave me a birthday gift once that outshone yours. He wasn't exactly fond of me, but he respected the fact that we're best friends and he never disrespected me. Your new Omega, however, was far from kindly towards me."

He was silent for a few moments, watching for Maiston's reaction. While his dark complexion concealed whether he was enraged, Jim imagined he must be seething with anger. Jim knew him well enough to sense that, despite appearances, Maiston wasn't exactly thrilled or at ease with the current state of affairs, nor was he indifferent to anything involving Prince.

"Besides, Prince was funnier, and..."

"What's gotten into you, huh?" Maiston burst out, tossing his cards at Jim's head as he stood up. "Why do you keep harping on the same damn thing? Fancy him, do you?"

"Alright," Jim murmured, raising his arms in surrender.

"You're here to have fun, and all you do is yap about him. Seems to me you're the one missing him, not me. Did you have a thing for him and you never told me?" Maiston interrogated, looking into his friend's brown eyes, demanding an immediate answer because he felt on the verge of smashing a chair over his head from frustration.

"It was just a joke and..."

"Well, ditch those crappy jokes or get out of my house!"

"Ah, so you're throwing me out?" Jim asked, standing up as well.

Maiston knew it was something he had never done in all the years of their friendship, but it was now a serious consideration, given Jim's unhelpful behavior.

He swallowed hard and stated, "Keep repeating the same thing, and I will throw you out."

"You're irritable today."

"I am because you won't leave me alone, damn it!"

He watched Jim storm inside. His footsteps echoed so loudly they could be heard throughout the house, and as he walked, he trod on a piece of clothing he picked up furiously.

"Why is this damn clothes left lying around, huh?! I want tidiness in this damn house; it's not a bloody pigsty!"

"That's what Prince used to say," Jim reminded him from behind.

Maiston spun around, his face twisted in madness, gripping the clothing as if ready to strangle him with it. Jim quietly and without a sound retreated, slipping out through the sliding window.

"Order must be maintained! I don't want socks or shirts strewn about; they make everything look vile! Who left this bloody glass in the sink?! What a horrendous mess!"

He ranted on without end as Jim, from the outside, couldn't suppress a smile, hearing all that Prince used to tell him whenever he didn't tidy up.

He didn't know what he was doing, but crept silently back, peeking in as he heard Maiston's scolding become more subdued. Maiston washed the glass until it was spotless and then began inspecting the house, which was strewn with clothes everywhere, obviously not his but belonging to the Omega staying with him.

Jim saw him even start to sweep and clean the windows as if possessed by a mania for cleanliness.

He simply entered to sit on the couch and turned on the TV to see if anything good was on. There were no films of interest, so he flipped through the channels until he saw Prince on one. It appeared to be a repeat interview.

"What's that?" Maiston asked.

"Nothing."

Maiston tried to change the channel but swiftly snatched the remote from Jim's grip, flipping back to the prior channel.

He knew what it was and couldn't bring himself to switch away.

He never meant to, having resisted the urge to watch that interview being replayed on various channels, even circulating on social media yesterday. However, after much denial, he found himself seated, watching intently and growing increasingly furious with each word Prince uttered. The reason for the repeat was a mystery, but he took it as the universe's way to punish him.

He remembered how they used to watch his repeat interviews together. They'd sit, critique, and although the plan was often to discuss the interview and debate issues raised, they frequently wound up doing other things instead.

He looked away for a brief moment, recalling certain memories, and desired to bash himself on the head with the remote to eradicate those lust-filled memories. Despite his wishes, he perfectly recalled the scent of Prince's pheromones.

It was roses. Beautiful, intoxicating red roses that always drove him wild.

"Better not watch it," Jim said, reaching for the remote to take it away. Maiston gave him a glare that warned of the consequences if he tried anything further.

He fixed his gaze on the TV and focused on every developing detail.

He felt a twist of satisfaction when someone posed a challenging question, believing they could sink Prince, yet steam practically shot from his ears as Prince evaded them all with astonishing ease.

He felt like hurling the remote at the TV, then kicking it to pieces just to rid himself of the irrational rage coursing through him. He could hardly believe Prince looked so content and composed as he provided his smooth responses. Peacefully, he'd smile, adjust his hair, or take a sip of water to address every query fired at him.

The camera flashes cast a bright light several times, and though he was merely seated, he still looked dashing. Too much so—it only irritated Maiston further.

"My name is Constanza, and my question concerns your divorce. Do you ever regret it? Could you have forgiven everything to protect your image?"

At that question, Maiston, unable to understand why, watched intently for an answer. He saw Prince with a solemn expression and almost yelled for him to answer quickly.

"Hello, Constanza, your question is quite intriguing."

"Of course, it's intriguing, damn it, answer it already!" Maiston uttered futilely, aware that there was no way Prince could hear him.

Jim cast him a brief glance, noting his evident distress, even to the most oblivious person on Earth. Jim shook his head, for it seemed Maiston himself was the only one blind to his own behavior.

"But, it's straightforward; nobody will ever regret cleaning up the filth they've stepped in. And as for my image, does it look damaged to you? I remain as lofty as ever, if not more so. So, Maiston, dear, thank you for the publicity—I relish the attention it brings."

"That damned ingrate!"

"Hey, tone it down," Jim whispered, engrossed in a fashion magazine he'd picked up, but Maiston snatched it from him, crumpled it, and tossed it to the floor angrily.

"Am I no better than dog dirt to him? How dare he speak that way of me?!"

Jim exhaled a resigned breath, foreseeing Maiston's imminent tirade.

And Maiston was furious. He looked around for something to vent his frustration on. Listening to that interview had been the last straw. He felt his head might burst with rage, cursing Prince's name over and over until he noticed a lamp Prince had never retrieved, one he cherished for its vibrant colors.

Wasting no time, Maiston rose, grabbed the lamp, and smashed it against the wall.

"Maiston, enough. If I were you, I'd be mad too, but what's your goal here? He isn't going to sugarcoat his words when you were the one caught cheating, and every paparazzi hounded him for a whole week without respite, and you did nothing to calm the storm. You can't expect him to remain silent when you were the offender."

"Shut up, I mean it."

"And I'm serious too. Face reality, you were never sure about the divorce, saying 'yes' just to be contrary."

"Never! I will never rue that divorce! If he thinks I'm going to crawl back to him, begging for reconciliation, he is sorely mistaken! It'll be he who grovels and weeps for a return, not me! Never, never, ever will I kneel before that Omega! I swear it on my name and all the power I possess!"

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