Short Story: The Visit. Part Eleven

Daniel sank into the stiff, industrial couch of the garage’s waiting room, feeling the chill seep through the coarse fabric. The October wind cut through the open garage doors, a constant reminder of the season’s shift. It was the kind of cold that clung to everything—metal, concrete, even the air itself—and seeped into Daniel’s bones despite his heavy coat. He craved warmth, craving the comfort of something that felt within his control. But the garage, with its wide, yawning doors kept open to let in the cars, was a cavern of discomfort—an unfriendly mouth inhaling cold drafts. He hated this place, the way it smelled of oil, rust, and the rough grime of machinery, so far from the expensive cleanliness of his usual world. And yet, among the scents of steel and petroleum, he detected something he did love—the faint, earthy musk of the men working. Men who sweated under their thick coveralls, who moved with purpose and brute strength. That scent was life to him; it teased his senses and grounded him amid all the discomfort.

He fumbled with his coat pockets, his hands already going numb from the cold. I should have brought gloves, he thought, berating himself. It was one of those tiny things that Alex, his soon-to-be ex-husband, would never remember to replace—the gloves that Daniel had once kept in the car for days like this. Just as Alex had taken the emergency sunglasses, the blanket, even the first aid kit. In their years together, it seemed Alex had a talent for losing things, borrowing items that never returned, leaving only gaps in Daniel’s perfectly constructed systems. The only thing left now was the emergency jacket, one that Michal had borrowed just days ago during their walk along the beach—a cold day, but still nowhere near this icy wind that seemed to dig into every pore.

It angered him, this disruption of his routines, this intrusion on his sense of order. For all his love and trust in Alex, this one flaw—the carelessness, the thoughtless use of what Daniel carefully maintained—was something he couldn’t let go. No matter how he tried, it was a constant splinter. The waiting room felt like an extension of that chaos, a place where he couldn’t rely on any of his comforts or contingencies. Daniel slid his hands under his belly to warm them, feeling the familiar softness. He thought of Michal and the way he was always finding excuses to slip his hands under Daniel’s belly—seeking the warmth there, like a child with a favourite blanket. Perhaps that’s why it made sense to Michal; Daniel could almost understand it now.

It had been just over a week since that morning—the goodbye that still lingered like the taste of bittersweet chocolate. The early dawn in that hotel room felt like a half-formed memory, delicate in its quietness. Michal had insisted on holding Daniel all night, spooning him close. It was rare for Daniel to surrender to being the little spoon, even rarer to find comfort in it. And yet, there in the semi-darkness, Michal’s hand found its way between folds of belly and chest, stroking as he slept. Daniel stayed awake, unable to let go, unable to risk breaking whatever fragile peace they had found. He listened to Michal’s rhythmic breathing, the steady thump of his heartbeat against Daniel’s back. It was too much, almost overwhelming to be so close, so vulnerable. As the sun rose, Daniel felt relief—a reassurance that they’d made it through another night together without breaking. Without him breaking.

When Michal’s alarm went off, Daniel had already been at the door, speaking softly to the room service attendant as breakfast was delivered. Fresh coffee, pastries, the comfort of warmth filling the air. “Morning,” Michal mumbled, half-awake, the scent of espresso drawing him from the covers. “Morning,” Daniel replied, trying to hide the exhaustion from his sleepless night under a crisp, all-off-white outfit—shirt tucked into fitted pants, neat, controlled, perfect. “You spoil me,” Michal teased, pulling him back to the bed, fingers already making quick work of unbuttoning the pants. “I want you for breakfast,” Michal’s voice thickened with that familiar lust, eyes glinting with hunger, and Daniel, despite the careful efforts to look ready for the day, gave in. The intimacy was a kind of homecoming—a promise of something more.

At the bus station, the farewell was rushed, Michal’s final words lingering in the wind as he ran toward the terminal: “You’re coming, mister, you promised.” Daniel had meant it. He would come. He would see Michal again. That promise was now part of the routine he would not let go of, a new order he needed to protect.

And yet, even now, there was temptation. The kind that seemed to follow Daniel like a shadow, the kind of temptation that could be found at the next car over in the form of Davi—HungBrazilian27, as he’d named himself on Grindr. Davi, the mechanic, the lazy but thrilling lover, a man who wore his sexuality like armour. And here he was again, in the flesh, an oil-smudged Adonis moving between cars, heavy boots clanging on the cement, glancing back at Daniel with that same teasing stare. Davi was the kind of man who would beg to be tied up, who loved to be called “sissy” having no control, getting edged, being smothered in chest fat, while he called Daniel “Mainha,” pleading in Portuguese to be allowed release, muscles straining against the bonds Daniel tied.

It had been exciting then, a different role, a different game, one that had felt exhilarating, dangerous. Even now, as Davi adjusted himself in front of his colleagues—subtle to them but entirely deliberate for Daniel—there was a pull. A thrill. A rush that coiled tight in Daniel’s belly. He could have him, of course. He could send a message, a quick invitation to come over, to let Davi squirm and beg under his control once more. But something stopped him, something new, something fragile.

It was Michal—Michal who was changing everything. Even though they weren’t exclusive, Daniel felt something pure about this new connection, something that didn’t deserve to be dirtied by the sweat and sex of other lovers. He didn’t want this thing with Michal to be like all the others. And so, as Davi continued to work, casting glances every now and then, Daniel reached for his phone, sending a simple message: “Thinking about you.” He hovered over Davi’s number before finally blocking it, allowing himself one last look at the man, the body, the thrill he would leave behind.

The phone buzzed, and there was Michal—a selfie, half-smiling in a library, the caption reading, “Definitely thinking about you all day too, school is brutal today.” Daniel’s fingers hovered over the camera icon, but he felt self-conscious, hesitant. He couldn’t send a live photo of himself; instead, he scrolled to a picture from the night before—his belly exposed, his hand resting across the stretch of it—and sent it with the message, “Something to look forward to.” Almost immediately, a reply flashed on the screen, “Melting, need you.”

And there it was—a reassurance that whatever this was with Michal, it was worth more than fleeting moments of excitement. Davi could find another man to call “Mainha.” Daniel wanted more than that now. He wanted to belong, wholly, to Michal.

***

The office was as bland as it could be—a beige box, with fluorescent lights humming softly above. The kind of room that seemed to absorb any attempt at personalization, stripping it down to its clinical essentials: a desk, chairs, shelves stacked with books on psychology, and a soft ticking wall clock that only seemed to amplify the silence. Daniel felt like the room was watching him, prodding him to admit something he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal. He’d come here because he knew he had to; there was no escaping that. But being under Marieke’s steady gaze felt like a test he was always on the brink of failing. She sat across from him, mid-fifties, thin-framed glasses perched low on her nose, eyes sharp and unyielding. She looked ordinary, almost forgettable, but her intelligence was anything but. A psychiatrist—he corrected himself, remembering that was the right term, not psychologist. She had the authority to prescribe him something. Anything. He craved a fix, something to drag him out of this restless, haunted state, but he knew she wouldn’t give it.

“Yes, I know you can’t give me sleeping pills,” Daniel started, feeling his fingers curl into the armrests, his voice holding back the tension like a taut wire. “But there has to be something, something non-addictive.” He heard the desperation in his voice, and it repulsed him. He’d never been good at pleading.

Marieke’s expression didn’t change, that infuriating calm never wavering. “You know that these things take time, Daniel. Your sleep issues are part of a larger pattern we need to address.” Her voice was firm but not unkind, a practiced tone that didn’t let emotions cloud her professionalism. He hated it—the distance, the way she seemed to dissect him with every word he said. He wanted to storm out, but what good would that do? He’d end up back here anyway, with nowhere else to turn.

“I need sleep,” he pressed on, “and I need to be… free again. I can’t keep relying on Alex every night, I need to be able to… I need to go.” He looked away from her, through the narrow window, watching the grey sky pour sheets of rain onto the hospital grounds. “To see Michal,” he added, almost whispering the name as if it carried a fragile weight.

Marieke didn’t respond immediately. She always did that—took a breath, measured her words like she was stacking fragile glassware. “Daniel, I understand how you’re feeling, but running away won’t make this disappear. You are trying to escape something, and even if you go see Michal, it won’t be the magic fix you’re looking for.” She set her notepad down, folding her hands. “What is it that makes going to see him so urgent? Why now?”

Daniel shifted in his chair, hating the way it squeaked under his weight. “I don’t see it that way,” he replied, his voice becoming clipped. “I know what you mean, but I’m not running away, and you don’t see it from my side.”

“What am I not seeing?” Marieke’s eyes locked onto his, unflinching. “Tell me, Daniel. Be honest.”

He felt the words swell up, hot and angry, sitting like stones in his chest. “You don’t get it, and you won’t get it because you’re… well, you’re not me. You’re nothing like me, you don’t know what it’s like.” He could see her watching his face, noting the tension, and he hated it. “Maybe I need someone different. A man, maybe a gay man. No offense to you.”

Marieke’s lips pressed together into a tight line. “If that’s genuinely what you feel you need, I can assist you in finding a new doctor. But know that therapy is not about hearing only what you want to hear, Daniel. It’s about confronting things you don’t want to face. I think you know that.”

He slumped further into the chair, rubbing his face with both hands. “I just… I want my life back. I can’t keep going on like this, scared and not sleeping. I want to be able to see Michal. I love him, and I just need to see him.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, hadn’t realized those words were so close to the surface until they spilled out. It felt dangerous to admit—fragile and honest and terrible.

Marieke didn’t flinch. She simply nodded, and when she picked up her notepad again, Daniel’s insides knotted up. He waited for the furious scratching of the pen, but it didn’t come. She set the pad down again. “I see you’re frustrated, and I understand why. But what you’re feeling won’t go away overnight. You’re making progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it. And yes, you will get to see Michal, but don’t pin all your hopes on that solving everything. Take your time and think about whether you want to change doctors. No rush in deciding.”

Daniel’s patience was thin, and he could feel the shame rising like a tide, washing through him. He stood, trying to hold his composure. “So, no pills, no nothing?”

“You know the answer,” Marieke replied gently. “You need support, routine, therapy. Try going to a meeting this week, stay close to your support system. Email me if anything changes.”

Daniel forced a smile, felt it wobble on his lips like a mask ready to crack. “Yeah… Thanks. I’ll let you know.” He shook her hand, the touch colder than he expected, and left the room before the facade could fall apart.

The elevator felt like a steel cage as it descended, and Daniel’s curses came out in clipped, whispered bursts—Marieke, the hospital, himself. He jabbed the lobby button as if punishing the entire system for not working fast enough. By the time he reached the parking lot, the rain was heavier, a relentless downpour that only worsened his mood. He hurried to the car, fumbling with his keys, the cold air hitting him as he slid into the driver’s seat. He turned on the heater, the fans kicking in with a loud hum, blowing icy air into his face as he swore under his breath. The phone buzzed in his pocket—a missed call from Lara. He redialled, waiting for her voice to break through the storm of noise inside and out.

“Darling, are you calling me from inside a wind tunnel?” Lara’s voice was a familiar comfort, laced with humour. He could picture her there, probably in her kitchen, chopping vegetables or rifling through the pantry. He let out a chuckle. “Just in the car. Needed to warm up. Head session today—you know, your crazy brother needing his brain fixed again.”

“Good. And hey, we all need help sometimes. I’m proud of you, Dani, just keep at it.” There was the sound of a fridge door opening, then closing. She was always multitasking, forever the busy mother. “Are you feeling frustrated?”

“Yeah. Just… Not sure she’s right for me. She’s difficult, you know?” The heater finally blew warm air, and he felt himself start to thaw, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. There was a silence on Lara’s end—brief but telling.

“Daniel, let her help you. Remember Baldur? You didn’t like him at first either, and then he really helped you. Trust the process, darling. But hey, I called for something else—I wanted to ask if it’s okay if I come stay with you for a few days?”

“Wait, what? Why? What’s going on?” He could hear his voice rise, defensive. This day wasn’t going well, and now it felt like everyone was conspiring around him.

“Well…” Lara’s voice softened. “I spoke to Alex. He’s so sweet, by the way. Anyway, I figured I could use a break from the kids, maybe get some Christmas shopping done early. And I miss you, Dani. Just the two of us, like old times. What do you think?”

He felt the knot of frustration tighten in his chest. Alex—always Alex, the perfect one, who seemed to effortlessly charm everyone around him. “Oh, Alex, huh? Of course. The best husband ever, right? So he needs to get away from me too, apparently.”

“Darling, don’t be like this,” Lara said, and he could hear the hurt in her voice, like a soft bruise. “Yes, he needs a break, but he’s still there for you, isn’t he? And so am I. We all love you. And I need you too. It’s not just about you.”

He sat in silence for a moment, the heater filling the car with warmth but not reaching that cold knot inside him. “Fine. I assume you’ve already booked your flights, right?”

“Yes,” Lara’s voice was lighter, hopeful. “I’ll be there on the 20th. It’ll be fun, Dani darling. Just us.”

“Don’t bring Mom,” he muttered, the thought of his mother’s worried face almost unbearable.

“I won’t,” she said gently. “And… please don’t change your psychologist. Give her a chance.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, starting the engine. “It’s psychiatrist, not psychologist. But okay…”

“Text me tomorrow, Dani. And don’t forget—be patient with yourself, okay?” Lara’s voice softened, slipping into that maternal tone she couldn’t help but adopt whenever she sensed him pulling away.

“Yeah… Yeah, okay,” Daniel replied, running his hand across his face, feeling the slight stubble that had started to grow in since he’d last shaved. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her, not fully. Lara was the one person who could make him feel understood and infuriated in the same breath. “Kiss the kids for me, alright? And… Lala, I love you. Bye.”

“I love you too, Dani,” Lara’s voice lingered a moment, warm, hopeful, and then the line went silent.

Daniel dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, leaning back against the headrest as he let out a long breath. The rain still tapped incessantly against the windshield, blurring the world outside into a wash of grey and blue. He let the heater run, filling the car with a dry warmth that did little to soothe the tension in his shoulders. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the dashboard, trying to piece himself together from the frayed edges of the day.

The temptation to drive—just drive anywhere—rose in him, an impulse he knew all too well. The feeling of escape was sweet, a way to press pause on everything that felt tangled and out of reach. But he stayed put, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel, as if the movement could somehow bleed off the energy that pulsed under his skin. The world felt tight around him, like a coat that had shrunk in the wash, and no matter how he shifted, he couldn’t get comfortable.

Outside, the hospital loomed like a fortress against the sky, and the thought of returning there next week, sitting across from Marieke in that suffocating office, clawed at him. But he would go. He’d keep going back, keep trying to unravel whatever it was that had him tied up inside. He had no other choice—if not for himself, then for Michal. For the promise of something better, something whole, just beyond his grasp.

Daniel started the car, pulling out of the lot slowly, the wheels slicing through shallow puddles that cracked like glass beneath the tires. He would go home, he would breathe, and he would try, one more time, to get it right. Because if he didn’t, the darkness that seemed to follow him, even now, would never let go.