024.01 VIKTOR – Tension is cracking Sept 12 at 21:00 – 00:00

12.9.

The night air is saturated with moisture and neon, every molecule gleaming under a barrage of colors. A fine drizzle splatters lights into fantastic rainbow stains. Pedestrians' hoods are like small sails, beneath them half-spoken sentences drifting away into the hum. The city exhales its sadness through blinking advertisements without having to open its mouth.

♫

Glósóli (2:20 – 2:50) The Icelandic vault of sound unspooled into the heart and I felt my ribs expanding to withstand it all. My heels lifted off the ground before I even realized I wanted to rise.

VIKTOR

Everybody knows me. Everybody fucking sees me now.

My phone is glowing in my hand as I sneak into the kitchen. I didn't even turn on the light. I don't need to see any more than what the display is showing me. Like after like climbs as if it were some fucking race. Simon's leak from the video booths with the hashtag #HiddenTruths is turning into a burning field of lines. Iris is sharing the reel "Scandal in Swimming Paradise" and the view count is rising in real time like the mercury in a thermometer.

“Wow, he’s handsome.”

“Look at those muscles of his…”

„Typical ass-fucker, goes around fucking and doesn't care who.“

Comments are rolling in like a flash flood. I stop and stare at the screen. My face in the glass reflection is like the face of a stranger. Eyes empty, as if they belonged to a corpse. I turn off the phone and put it down on the table.

Silence.

For a second, for two.

Then it lights up again. All by itself, as if it were some kind of demon. A notification. Another notification. Another notification. Another like. Another comment. Another share. Everyone is watching. Everyone knows now.

I hear the rhythm of those notifications even after I turn the screen off again. They're in my head. Ping. Ping. Ping. Like a metronome of my failure.

The ceiling fan scrapes as if trying to cut through the silence.

I can't stay here. I can't fucking breathe.

I quickly throw a hoodie over myself, not caring that it's the one from yesterday, and open the window. The cold air pours in, my breath condensing on the glass. I look down at the street, at that world that's watching me right now, and suddenly I feel like if I jumped, no one would notice. They'd be glad I was gone.

I'm taking it outside. I just have to get away.

In the hallway, I run into the neighbor with her cat. An old lady who always greets me, even though I'm not sure she knows what my name is.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, and her voice is so loud it echoes through the whole stairwell. As if she wanted to shout it out to the world. Look, here's the kid from that video!

I just nod and rush past her. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart rattling in my chest like a runaway drum. Pressure in my ears, in my head, everywhere. When I burst out onto the street, a summer night shower slaps against me, as if the world wanted to wash me off right away. As if it wanted to wash away the filth that clung to me.

My phone lights up in my pocket. 21:30. The time of my digital execution.

Everyone who saw that video now knows who I am. What I am. How I... how I jerked off in the fitting rooms... fuck, and Tom was there!

Raindrops trickle down my face, mixing with salty streams I hadn't even felt start flowing.

Finally, darkness. Down the stairs, past the cloakroom to the bar, a familiar smell. Here I can hide from the whole fucking world.

Hardly had I passed the gate when Milan spotted me behind the bar. Hands full of banknotes, counting the takings. Next to him, Miss Mindey is sticking some Sunday program onto the board – "couples only". Typical. The music is thumping so hard I can feel the bass right in my bones.

"Has the cum-vase come to top itself up?" Milan bellowed across the whole bar.

It stung me more than I expected. Normally I'd have let it slide, but not today. I'm not in the mood. I gave him a look that would otherwise have been capable of killing.

"I came here to take cover," I just said.

Milan suddenly perked up. "From what?"

Silently, I showed him my phone. That fucking reel already has over ten thousand views.

"God, the synchronized swimmer's having a scandal," he burst out laughing.

As luck would have it, Iris started a stream right then. "The scandal continues," she announced with a smile, as if it were the best news of the day.

„A priceless commercial,“ Milan sneered. „Couldn’t she film you right here? Silly goose.“ And then he added: „She needs a good fuck. Tell her to come to the gangbang on Tuesday.“

I sat down on the sofa by the table and watched everyone at the bar join in the discussion. Hostivák, Ripley, Scully, the Perfumeress, Miss Mindey—everyone was tossing jokes and comments back and forth as if they were playing some kind of verbal ping-pong.

Ripley couldn't leave it alone; she picked up her phone and started typing something.

„I just wrote you a nice comment calling you a lousy slut,“ she announced with pleasure.

Milan went after her, almost kicking her. „What the fuck, leave him alone, will ya? He’s had enough.“

Jean-Claude Van Damme came over to me, put his hand on my shoulder. He didn't say anything, but that touch was really comforting. Next to her sat Milka, a withered-faced trans woman who looked like she’d seen it all a long time ago.

„You'll get over it, honey,“ she said softly. „Scandals like this last a week, then something else comes along.“

Meanwhile, Lydia and Miss Mindey were competing to see who would look better in the video.

„I might start working in the video booths, Milánek!“ carolled Miss Mindey. „I might have better luck there!“ And she blew him a sticky kiss. Then she sniffed the glue-caked brushes, tossed them into a bucket and vanished into the broom closet.

„Fine, I'm heading to the smoking room,“ I said. „At least there's some life there.“

Just as I was getting up, Iris burst in, completely out of breath. „There’s some girl around the corner streaming. Did you order an ad?“

My heart sank into my boots. Iris.

Milan turned red, a vein on his forehead fit to burst. „I'll rip her a new one. Stupid bitch. Has complexes because she's got small tits? The cunt can fuck off!“ And he flew up the stairs.

We all heard him yelling at her. The curses echoed through the whole club, as if Milan had a megaphone. „…fuck off, you scum… if you ever show your face here, I'll kick your pussy so hard you'll have a bat in your face!“

I couldn't help myself. I smiled. After a week of the whole world pissing me off, finally someone on my side.

Maybe it won't be so shit after all.