Euphoric Recall, by Aidan Martin: Part 2 - The Meeting
Falsely and naively I told myself that simply getting in the van wouldn’t mean anything and I could get out of this whenever I wanted.
This warped thinking would contribute to many years of compulsive behaviour still to come as I would be gripped in the brutal world of substance and sexual addiction. As for right there in that moment, this ruling thought of ‘act now, think later’ took me into Derek’s van where I got a better look at the man I had been speaking to since I was fourteen, almost a year leading up to this furtive meeting.“Hi Aidan!” he said in a booming Northern accent as I sat down in the passenger seat, acutely aware that he centrally locked the doors. Waves of claustrophobia and panic engulfed me. “What happens now?” I thought.
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Hide AdFor the first time in my life that Northern accent, usually a nostalgic expression of love, humour and safety, was causing distress and alarm. And just like that, we drove off. My senses were in overdrive. The sound of the handbrake creaking, peddles being pressed and the ticking of the indicators roared in my brain. It didn’t just feel like we were driving away from McDonalds. I felt like I was being driven away from safety. I was in a world of the unknown now. A terrifying place to be.Derek didn’t look or behave like someone to be terrified of in any particular way. His glasses magnified his eyes. I was aware of his rogue eyebrow hairs sticking out in places. He smelled of coffee and had slightly olive skin tinged by age. His hands were small but thick. He had dark hair, greying in places, with a tanned bald spot at the back.
I noticed he wore a hi-vis vest over his white shirt, which his stomach swelled from. He had black trousers on. What creeped me out instantly was his smile. It was crooked. As though half of his face didn’t want to conform.Despite this no longer being fantasy, it wasn’t reality for me either. I didn’t feel like I was actually there. It was as though I was in a hypnotic trance, which may sound cliché, but it is the only way I can relay this truthfully. As we drove off, Derek spoke to me about how long the drive was and how busy he was with work. Everything felt so strange. So unreal. So numb.
Seeing I wasn’t saying very much, I remember Derek pointing out how shy I was compared to how outgoing I had been in conversation online. It was true. We had spoken of all sorts online. Regularly I had told Derek how suicidal I was. He would listen. I would tell him how I was struggling at school and how hard my dad was on me. Derek would take my side.
Being a young lad who never knew his biological father and struggled with a strict stepfather (who I call my dad), it felt amazing to have someone who understood me. One night, as I sat in my dad’s study talking to Derek online, I was at breaking point. Crying hysterically, I told him I wanted to end my life. With tears splashing down onto the keyboard, I confided in Derek that I was crying. He told me he was crying too. It made me feel we were connected.Fast forward to the moment in hand and here we were, in his van, talking in person. Or should I say Derek was talking and I was listening. Almost laughing, he said words to me I will never forget for as long as I live. He repeated these particular words a few times: “You look like a scared rabbit in the headlights,” as though we were on our way to a theme park to ride a scary roller-coaster for the first time. In truth we were on our way somewhere far scarier. We were driving to a local hotel where I would present as Derek’s nephew, carefully coached as to what I should say in the unlikely event of anyone questioning why our accents didn’t match up. He had even gone to the effort of specifically asking for two separate beds to make this clandestine meeting seem all the more innocent.
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Hide AdStanding in front of the receptionist I was on high alert and the things capturing my attention seem strange to me even now. For example, I was extremely aware of how squishy the carpet felt under my feet or how there were framed pictures on walls looking lost against a backdrop of long white corridors.
It was a woman on reception, yet I cannot recall her face or features. What I do remember, is that Derek had to write both of our names down. He gave me his surname. That was the most surreal thing of all, to see my first name followed by this stranger’s surname, my online friend who felt different to me now that I was standing next to him pretending to be his nephew.
Nonchalantly, Derek chatted away to the receptionist about how he was up in Scotland seeing family and working. Clearly at ease with this process of lying, it felt like a preemptive strike. Truth be told I wanted them to talk for hours. I needed time. I wanted to run away but it felt far too late for that. Things continued escalating and once all the formalities were completed the receptionist handed Derek a key with a cheap plastic fob with a door number. We wouldn’t have to walk far.
Tomorrow: The Assault
Euphoric Recall, By Aidan Martin, is available from Amazon and Guts Publishing, £9.95