The flight arrives at Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport at a quarter past midnight, although the passengers aren’t allowed to step out of the cabin until twenty minutes later. Cay is nearly half-asleep by the time the extendible wheels make contact with the airstrip. Judas remains in his slightly flushed state of anxiety until that moment. They get off as soon as it’s their queue, avoiding any more congestion for the passengers behind them. A patient-looking old Italian stands but doesn’t move for a good few seconds, which allows them to leave quickly.
One of the benefits of travelling as a non-EU citizen is that Cay doesn't need to participate in the long immigration line — where Judas ends up. They find a cornered space to rest for the night just outside the arrival lounge, all the while updating their friends and families about their safe arrival on unfamiliar ground.
“I smoked fairly a lot before we started this.”
“Why is that?” Judas asks, half-heartedly.
“Have you ever had times where you just need heavy substances to... numb certain pains?”
“Such as?”
“Just the ones you never imagined before. Because they were the ones that hurt the most.”
Judas doesn’t know how to pursue the conversation further — partly because he feels it’s best not to pry, which is how he’s always been since childhood. Strangely, he doesn't have a strong urge to do so with Cay.
The abruptly concluded conversation doesn’t seem to affect them much. Later, they go on to discuss several topics, particularly regarding the dangers of travelling around Europe. Cay has always been fascinated by topics that few people would consider positive — or even worth discussing. They continue until both quickly fall asleep as fatigue settles in, uninterruptable even under the glare of the industrial ceiling lights.
Cay wakes up as soon as there’s natural light, just like a cock crowing a wake-up call to nearby farmers, and nudges Judas awake. They take the 8 a.m. shuttle bus to the central station (Cay considers walking from the airport until Judas shows him the hours required). The bus drops them right across from their hostel, which sits on one of the floors within the maze of merged buildings — “The Wall,” as Judas calls it. They are only allowed to leave their baggage for safekeeping, since check-in won’t be due for another six hours.
Cay suggests they visit the Villa Borghese Gardens before the sun reaches its peak, stating that a morning stroll is the best way to start the rest of the day. They have a latte and a single pain au chocolat each ("It’s British nonsense," Cay says as he finishes his meal). After a few minutes, the caffeine kicks in and they start journeying to the gardens — highly regarded by aggregated social media groups.
Cay loved smart women. That much was certain. He also craved sensual pleasure.
The first one was a flop — both too immature to understand the need for both an intelligent mind and the enjoyment of sex (not the risky kind). If no one could understand the deep meaning of biological survivability, then perhaps no one deserved art or babies.
To understand art was to enjoy sex, and vice versa. As apparent as the thinnest papers of the modern world, Cay denied sex to his first girlfriend. She never minded. They soon broke up — he thought she was a half-wit, an unworthy partner, an uncalculated risky investment.
His second was a devoted Christian, like a nun with a secret imagination for sensuality. Untouched by any male besides the ones who raised her. She was smart in her own way — which to Cay’s delight, was a creature that might bring him the pleasure he had always secretly pleaded for.
Unfortunately, expectations were always better than reality. If “whole” could be measured, it would be the distance from nothing to something actually happening. But that would have been too easy for Cay, had he chosen any other woman.
Her name was Qun, a Malaysian-born Chinese with a touch of native Bornean blood. She attended public schools that were poorly funded and ill-regulated by the Ministry of Education — which made her even more alluring to Cay. Just like the Chinese proverb, “I love only the lotus for rising from the mud but remaining unstained,” by poet Zhou Dunyi of the North Song Dynasty — Cay, the romantic, wanted her badly.
Qun’s intelligence lay in her ability to see into a person’s soul — even if that soul was buried in a depth only current technology could unearth. Her elegance was that of a swan, though always sweating from volleyball practice. Her brilliance couldn't be quantified by an IQ test, but somehow, she always knew what Cay was about to say.
Cay’s romanticizing of Qun was beyond imagination, and his craving for her was astounding. He was mad about her.
But Qun, as mentioned, was a nun with inhibited sensual desires. And Cay was never known for patience. The result? They had to part — one feeling undesired, the other unsatisfied.
The first girl and Qun remained strange creatures to Cay. How could they have pried into his secrets when no one else ever did? How could they have left him — a man — undesired and dumbfounded?
These women used to be his. Now, they were grounded into meaningless dust in Cay’s mind. He was angry, and he had been more careful ever since. At least, until the next one came and failed him again.
Surely Jenna could have been the one to give him more than what the two together ever had?
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