The Pompey Saga

This short story is a proof of concept and was not written to be compliant with the future canon of the story I have planned. It is meant to showcase these characetrs, their struggles and what is to come in their own individual stories.

Okay. Okay okay okay okay okay. Okay. Right. It’s just dinner. Dinner then a trip to the theatre. You like the theatre! And it’s a musical about the Titanic. There is no way that it isn’t hysterical for all the wrong reasons. It will be fine, Isaac. It will be fine. Just breathe. Just breathe.

We walk into The Dockyard and I immediately have an immense desire to get the fuck away. I can’t tell if it’s busy or if it’s just the oddly-placed, shitty, wooden tables which match the shitty, sticky wooden floor, but either way, too cramped for my liking. I feel like this was a bad idea. Why did you agree?

“I hate it in here.” I look at Aamani who’s pushing her way through the mass of yelling men; their screams over the failures of the Water Polo team echoing around me. I flinch at every frustrated grunt, my arm hair seemingly ready to jump. “How is this better than Spoons?”

“Oh, it’s not,” Aamani says, squeezing through the gaps men leave between one another. “It’s ten times worse. But Isabel said there were no tables in Spoons so … get the fuck out of my way or I’ll turn your dick into a paving slab!” She glares at the man standing aimlessly in the middle of the room; his cheeks reddening as he moves away from Aamani’s temper. “Fucking men. You’re all so useless.”

“Yeah, I know.”

We continue pushing through, eventually finding our way to the back where Isabel waves us to the table, a foam moustache forming on top of her lip as she hastily puts down her pint. As we enter her periphery, I can feel myself easing, my shoulders drooping, and my heartbeat slowly falling back down.

It’s fine. It’s just Isabel. You like Isabel.

“Hello, darlings! Air kisses,” she says, reaching over the table and pecking the air beside our cheeks.

 “Why are we doing air kisses?” I ask, feeling like I’m suddenly with my 4 foot 3 Grandma.

“Because I love an air kiss. They’re so cunty!” We all sit down, Aamani and I downloading the app because we don’t wish to wade through the masses again to get a drink. “How are things? How have you two been?”

We both look at each other, the conversation we had before we left our flat replaying in my mind. “Ummm …”

Isabel’s eyes sparkle, like a predator lurking in the tall grass. “Oh? Do tell!”

How do I say it? How do I spell out the anguish inside of me that twists my intestines like a never-ending washing machine cycle? “How familiar are you with the language of Wattpad?”

“Well, I’ve read enough smut in my day. Why do you ask?”

“So when I said goodbye to Alex earlier, he was hugging me goodbye and …” My arms flounce about as I try to say the words. “And I felt how much he wanted me.” My eyes find the middle distance as Isabel slowly smiles, her inner sloth finding the joy of the statement before a guffaw silences the pub.

“It’s not funny!” I exclaim as I hide in my hoodie. “I didn’t know what to do so I just kind of said, ‘Oh well, look at the time. Better be off.’ I kicked out my boyfriend because he got an erection!”

Aamani’s face cracks as she joins in with Isabel’s laughter, my inner shame taking hit after hit after hit.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “But it’s funny! Only you would do that!”

I smile it off but the statement stings, nonetheless. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am the only one who would do that. Maybe you are making this word up: demisexual.

Ever since learning about this word and constantly living in the sense of clarity that it has provided me, I’m no longer concerned about the nagging question about my bisexuality ever again. However, now that I am here and in a relationship, I find myself struggling to comprehend the asexual of it all. I thought it was meant to make me feel whole, but lately, I have felt more broken than ever.

Maybe you should break up with Alex. He clearly wants something that you cannot provide. Maybe he should be with Robyn.

“When are the others getting here?” Isabel asks, still wiping tears from her eyes.

“Fabian is just coming. He was just on the phone with his mum, and Robyn said they’ll meet us here as they live in … what’s the tall highlighter one?”

“Greetham.”

“I keep wanting to say Grenfell, and that’s not okay.”

Isabel chuckles before turning to me, her fingers circling the rim of her empty glass. “Are they still giving you a rough time?”

I nod, and she sighs.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not even Alex’s fault. You can’t choose who you are attracted to.”

“Robyn is just lonely,” Aamani pipes in, her eyes softening as I sink into my chair. “They just got their hopes up and put a lot of their self-worth into a guy who never even suggested that he liked them. They’ll come around, don’t worry.”

She smiles, but nothing that these two can say will remove the guilt from within. It’s like it’s already clung to my bones and intertwined with my DNA. But I’m able to shake off the looks and the attention as Fabian finally makes his way towards our table without a smile in sight.

“Hey,” he mumbles, slumping in the seat next to me.

“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting up to counterbalance the mood of the table.

“Yeah. I just get like this talking to my mum.”

Isabel scoots over, wrapping an arm around Fabian’s shoulder and rubbing it slightly. He leans in, his eyes welling up.

“I know none of you will understand but since I’m not out to her yet, or to anyone back home for that matter, when I talk to her I’m no longer Fabian, I become … her. It just takes a lot out of me, especially when I wasn’t prepared. That’s all.”

“It’s okay. We’ll always be here when you need us,” Isabel says, still hugging Fabian. “And it won’t always be this way.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ll be fine. Tonight will be a good distraction. I get to watch Jack die as Rose sings to him. I’m sure it will put my mind off it.”

“I don’t think it’s based on the film. I think it’s just based on the Titanic,” I say, my voice quivering as I reveal the truth of what we are seeing. Fabian slowly turns to face me, the tears in his eyes gone, and in its wake, there is only rage.

“WHAT?! I was looking forward to hearing a Pompey Twink belt ‘I’m the King of the World.’ I’m being robbed of a good time!”

“I’m sorry.”

“A straight twink just lost out on a dream role! No one’s more oppressed in this society than the straight twink! We must support them whenever we can!”

Our laughter breaks his mood but when Isabel looks behind us, muttering, “They’re here,” as her eyes widen, I feel my nails dig into my arm. I turn around and see Robyn, walking over to us, wearing their signature leather jacket. They smile at all of us, though their eyes gloss over me.

“Sorry I’m late,” they say, as they sit down. “How is everyone?”

We all mumble our responses, but I respond with my chest puffed out, asking them, “How are you?”

They turn to me, their eyes saying nothing. “I’m fine.”

We all go silent and I feel all the guilt piling on to me. I grab my phone from my pocket and begin to message Alex, telling him we need to talk later. I know he’s at work now. I don’t know when he’ll see it.

“Where are our drinks?” Aamani asks, looking around and disrupting the chilled silence. “It’s been like ten minutes.”

“How strange,” Isabel pipes up. “I got mine from the bar when I got here. I’ll go and ask.” She gets up from the table and heads towards the bar, Aamani’s eyes following her.

“Seriously, if I don’t get my gin in the next five minutes, I am going to kill myself!”

Usually, I don’t take these threats seriously, but when Isabel walks back five minutes later, with only her beer in hand, I rush towards the cutlery in the middle of the table, pushing it towards Fabian who puts it on the spare chair next to him. Her eyes sink as she stares at us.

“I wouldn’t actually.”

“Yesterday, you threatened to kill yourself because you couldn’t open a bottle of ketchup,” Robyn says, their voice drier than our friendship.

“And?” She smiles and tosses her hair back behind her ears. “Honestly, at this point, any minor inconvenience and I am on the verge of a mental breakdown. I cried over High School Musical yesterday.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. I was like, ‘Why am I about to cry at High School Musical?’ Then I realised I hadn’t taken my anti-depressants.”

“The bigger question is, why were you watching High School Musical in the first place?” Robyn asks.

Aamani stares at them. “How dare you?”

Mine and Aamani’s drinks finally arrive, though our food does not, nor does anything Fabian or Robyn have ordered. We thank the waiter who walks away with a dirty ice stare. I don’t think much of it though. If I had to work in a place like this, I would be moody too.

Aamani takes a sip of her pink gin and lemonade, savouring the moment she has been waiting for, yet her relish is destroyed as the pub door opens, and a group of men walk into the bar, all wearing wrinkleless white shirts and the same navy blue trousers. We exchange eye contact as more and more men continue to enter.

“Why are there so many of them?” Isabel exclaims, completely bewildered. “They’re multiplying like bacteria!”

 “Isaac,” Robyn says, ending the undisclosed silence between us. “Swap seats with me. You’re less likely to get hate-crimed!”

“How so?”

“I’m black and very clearly queer. You’re white and straight-passing. People would only think your queer if you were actively sucking Alex’s cock.”

“Even then, that’s up to debate,” Fabian interjects, swapping seats with Aamani. “Historians will look at you two and say you were just roommates.”

I swap seats, because looking at the mass of men, I understand the fear, but I ignore Robyn’s comment about me sucking Alex’s dick. I just know it was said with resentment. Robyn has an idea of what mine and Alex’s relationship is like, but it isn’t the truth. Far from it.

“Some of them seem to be wearing union jack pins,” Isabel says, studying them as if we were in a lab. “If I weren’t a lesbian, I’d be joining a nunnery right about now.”

Aamani turns to face the congregation. “As someone regrettably attracted to men, I will be joining after the show.”

“Why do I feel like they all voted for Brexit?”

“Oh my god! The Brexit Society!” Fabian says, us all laughing in response. “They go to Purple Wednesday and circle jerk to photos of Nigel Farage.”

“Don’t put that image into my mind,” Robyn grimaces.

We all stare in bewilderment as the men move along the pub floor, trying to look imposing and strong; like the “alphas” they think they are. I don’t blame them. They’re just trying to find meaning in this wild world. Aren’t we all?

I take out my phone, forcing myself to look away and glance at the time when the whole world implodes.

“We only have twenty minutes before we have to catch the bus.”

They all look at me. “Yeah?”

“We still don’t have our food!”

“Wait, I still don’t have my drink,” Robyn says, finally noticing the absence of alcohol in front of them. “Let me go and ask.”

“Ask about my cider!” Fabian yells back at them. “I want to be drunk if I’m going to have to watch a fucking two-hour musical about the fucking Titanic.”

“What is it with you and the Titanic?” Isabel asks. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“IT WAS JUST A BOAT THAT SUNK! GET OVER IT ALREADY!”

We all laugh just as Robyn walks over and sits back down, no drinks in sight. “They said it’ll be right over,” they say, disappointment biting on every syllable.

My foot bounces along the grimy floor, old beer holding me back for a brief moment on each tap. We’re gonna have to rush through eating if we want to make the bus. It’s the last bus we can catch. Otherwise, we will have to run all the way down Elm Grove to the theatre, which is impossible. We won’t have time. I guess we can get a taxi if we need to, but we’re students, we can’t afford that. The only reason we’ve got these tickets is because the Kings does these £10 student tickets.

You’re not going to make it. You’re not going to make it. You’re not going to make it.

“How’s your book coming along?” Aamani asks Isabel, her finger circling the rim of her now empty glass.

“Shit,” she laughs. “Half the time, I don’t know what I’m even writing about. I don’t even know what I want to do with life, let alone writing about it.”

“What do you mean?” Robyn pipes up.

She rests her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her enclosed hands. “When we finish this degree, I will be thirty. THIRTY! And I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing with my life. All I know is that I want to write books and even then, I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing there. I joined this degree because I thought that it would help me garner some guidance or insight, but sometimes I feel more lost than ever.”

She looks up at us but is met with four blank faces. “Why am I even bothering? You’re too young to understand.” She laughs it off but we all continue to stare at one another.

“If it helps,” Fabian says, “I’m already at the stage of my life when I get excited that Andrex is on offer so … I get you?”

She looks over at him. “Thanks!”

The server finally walks over with Fabian and Robyn’s drinks, telling us the food will be out in a minute. I look back down at my phone. Ten minutes before you have to leave for the bus.

You’re going to be late. You’re going to be late. You’re going to be late.

“So I’ve hit a new low,” Robyn says as if taking one sip of alcohol means it’s truth time. “I fucked Jamie again.”

“WHAT!” Isabel spits. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because I hate myself.” They look at all of us, seemingly taking an extra-long pause as they stare into my eyes. “It kind of made me empty afterwards. I had to have two showers.”

“I don’t get you normies,” Fabian says. “People give me shit because I feel no sexual or romantic attraction and then you do stuff like that. Why would you do it if you knew it would make you feel empty, which it always does.”

Robyn shrugs. “Just wanted a shag. And sadly, no guy in this city seems to want to date me so I’m stuck to manky-ass Jamie.”

“You’ll find someone,” Isabel says, glancing at me. “Someone who wants you back.”

I smile slightly. I know Robyn is just trying to get under my skin, as they always do but it won’t change anything. You need to remember that! It’s not that you stole Alex, Alex never wanted Robyn. He doesn’t find Robyn attractive. And yes, that can change, but it hasn’t. You need to remember that whenever Robyn does another one of these jabs.

Finally, the server walks over carrying plates of food and putting them down around the table. As he does so, I reach out my phone once more to check; to see if my fears have been realised and all the planning for this night has gone completely to waste.

“How long until we have to leave?” Isabel asks, staring at her triple-stacker burger.

“Five minutes,” I gulp, looking at my own ten-inch pepperoni pizza. “Then we will have to run for the bus.”

“Queers,” Aamani says, tucking her hair behind her ears, dodging all of her piercings. “Descend!”

In that moment, David Attenborough should have been narrating us as we all ferociously inhaled our food. It was like our primal animal instincts kicked in and nothing else mattered. We just had to eat and make sure we were quick!

“We’re being thirsty gays about this!” Robyn mumbles as they stuff more and more chips into their mouth.

Aamani points over the table, wiggling her finger at Fabian’s drink. “Chug, quick!”

He takes a massive gulp, choking and spilling their cider all over himself. “No!”

I don’t know how we do it but after five minutes, most of the food is gone, only the stray chip remaining. We take a moment to breathe before we all rise from the table, fleeing towards the door and the bright evening sky. I try to avoid the stitch riffling along my side as we march towards the bus stop down the road. You can rest at the theatre! Right now, just focus on getting there.

We cross the road, heading towards the parked bus when it starts to indicate, ready to start its uni-funded circle of Southsea.

“Wait!” we yell, Aamani rushing off, waving her student card. “You get back here! You are literally bald!”

He abruptly stops and we all make haste towards the open doors, piling onto the bus. We hover near the entrance, waiting for the stop next to the theatre and within five minutes, we are there.

Isabel got us seats in the Dress Circle so we head up the stairs once we walk into the theatre. I stare in disbelief at its grandeur, noting all of its decorative markings that detail the proscenium and walls. You wouldn’t think Portsmouth would have something so … nice. It makes me uncomfortable. This city is a shithole!

Who am I kidding? I love it here.

As we take our seats, I feel my phone buzz. I take it out of my pocket and see a message from Alex. I forgot I had told him we needed to talk.

‘Sure. What’s up? You okay?’ it says.

I smile. You were being stupid. ‘Nothing. Staying over tonight?’

The lights begin to dim and the orchestra warms up before beginning to blare out the score across the auditorium. I settle. This can’t be as bad as I’m thinking it will be … right? I mean, this won many Tony awards, and not just design work but Best Book, Best Score, Best Musical. I know the Tony Awards, just like any other award, is divisive, but surely there must be some merit to this show. Surely it can’t be as bad as the idea I have in my head …

Why did that man want to fuck that machine?

© LUKE ROBERTS 2024