I Woke Up Next to Another Man and Remembered Nothing

Bruno woke with the wrong sensation of having slept too deeply. It wasn’t sleep; it was something thicker. A strange taste in his mouth, a warm haze in his temples, as if he had spent the whole night submerged underwater.

The first thing he saw was a ceiling he didn’t recognize: white, high, with a thin crack in one corner. The second was a чужой arm resting on his abdomen. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.

It took him two seconds to understand that he wasn’t in his room. Three more to realize that he was completely naked under a sheet that was far too thin.

And then, right then, he heard someone breathing behind him. Male. Slow. Satisfied.

—Good morning, handsome —a young voice whispered, snuggling closer against his back.

Bruno turned his head sharply. Beside him, a dark-haired, athletic guy with dark eyes and lips still swollen was sitting up with the typical smile of someone waking after a memorable night.

—What…? —Bruno jerked back until he almost fell out of bed, his pulse hammering in his throat—. Who the fuck are you?

The guy blinked, surprised by the hostility, but he didn’t lose his composure. His skin seemed to radiate its own heat, smooth and firm, that irresistible mix of a twenty-year-old boy and a fully formed man. His chest rose and fell slowly, and a line of muscle ran down between his hips before disappearing beneath the sheet he was now pulling into his lap with no great hurry.

—You were really into it last night —he said, tilting his head—. I figured you wouldn’t be one of those who regrets it in the morning.

Bruno felt a stab of nausea. He remembered nothing. Not a drink, not a kiss, not a single moment.

—What the fuck happened? I… —He didn’t finish the sentence.

—You’re seriously going to pull the straight-guy-who-doesn’t-remember act? —The guy frowned, offended—. Seriously?

—Tell me we didn’t… —Bruno swallowed, cold sweat running down his back.

—You mean, tell you you didn’t fuck me like the world was ending? I might not say it, but that wouldn’t change reality.

—You fucking son of a bitch, you drugged me.

—Hey, hey, relax. You came on to me. And we would’ve gone to your place if your mother hadn’t been there. And now you’re accusing me of drugging you?

Bruno was getting more and more confused. All he got were little flashes of light that drove the headache deeper into his skull. Shit. My girlfriend. The thought sliced through his mind like a slap.

—You say I came on to you? I’m not queer, I’m telling you again. —He shoved the pillow that was shielding his crotch away with a violent gesture—. Either you tell me what you did to me, or I’ll break every last rib in your body.

The guy lifted a shoulder, indignant, and pointed at a small table in front of the bed. On it sat Bruno’s phone, propped against the base of a lamp.

—If you think I drugged you, look for yourself. Look at how much you were enjoying it.

***

Bruno crossed the room unsteadily, feeling his skin sensitive in places he preferred not to name, even to himself. He grabbed the phone. The screen was still recording. With a trembling finger he stopped the recording, took a deep breath, and pressed play.

The file ran for several hours. The first metallic sounds of the video hit his temples. The image filled with movement and lights. He himself appeared, recording with the front camera as he came out of a bar. He recognized the street, recognized his clothes. He didn’t recognize that look.

He was walking with a steady stride, too confident, almost electric. He didn’t look drunk. He looked lit up. Switched on. As if something inside him were demanding attention, skin, contact.

Beside him, with one hand planted firmly on his hip, was the guy from the night before. The same one who was now still lying in bed, watching him.

In the video, Bruno was laughing under his breath, a laugh he himself didn’t remember having.

—Look at you —he could be heard saying to himself—. You knew you were going to end up with me the second you saw me, right?

The guy moved closer and answered with a smile that was perfectly visible on the recording. No doubt about it: he liked him. A lot.

Watching it from the present, Bruno felt a shiver run down his back. He didn’t recognize himself. Not like that, with a man.

—I go crazy for cocky pretty boys with way too much self-esteem —the guy on the screen said in a teasing tone, running a hand over his abdomen.

—I’m not cocky, I’m realistic —Bruno could be seen laughing, cocky—. And I’m your lucky break tonight. Captain of the water polo team and half of Seville’s fantasy… and tonight you’re going to find out why everyone wants a night with me.

The guy let out a soft laugh, almost nervous but clearly delighted, and tugged at his T-shirt.

—Oh, yeah? Prove it.

On the screen, Bruno grabbed his chin and kissed him. Not a sweet kiss. A hungry one, deep, full of fire. The guy answered in kind, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other at his waist. They pressed body to body, laughing between kisses.

Bruno looked away from the screen and swallowed, bewildered. He didn’t remember any of it, but the chemistry between them was undeniable. And no, he didn’t recognize himself drunk or high. He knew perfectly well what he was like in each of those states, and neither one fit what he was seeing.

***

The video continued. The moment they crossed the club’s door, Bruno shoved the guy against the outside wall. The music faded behind them, but their laughter filled the phone’s microphone.

—Look at you —Bruno whispered, bringing the camera close to his lips as he caught the other man’s—. You can’t even wait until we get home.

The guy bit his lip.

—I like the way you talk to me —he said, slightly out of focus, his voice thick with desire.

The Bruno on the screen ran one hand down his back to his waist, pulled him against him, and they kissed again. Slowly at first, then more urgently, more messily. The guy let himself be carried along, surrendered, touching him without fear.

Bruno felt his pulse speed up watching something that should have belonged to him as a memory and yet felt completely foreign. As if he were watching someone else inhabiting his body. Disgust and fear filled him completely.

—Tonight you’re going to enjoy yourself with me —the Bruno in the video murmured.

He fast-forwarded and hit play again. More kisses against the wall, hands roaming torsos, necks, backs. Until suddenly he heard himself say:

—This is just a preview.

He could be seen grabbing the guy by the hair and pushing him down onto his knees. The camera recorded nothing for a few seconds and then came back with a deep moan, his. Bruno saw himself guiding his own erection into the guy’s mouth, all the way to the back, with the same confidence he used with any of his lovers. It wasn’t the other man forcing him. It was him. And, to his horror, he seemed to be enjoying it just as much.

The young man on his knees could only swallow, thrilled, barely using his hands, amazed that this stranger was perfect at everything.

Bruno couldn’t take any more. He stopped the video. A new cold sweat ran down his back.

—This isn’t me —he said hoarsely, looking for his clothes on the floor.

—You sure as hell looked like you last night —the guy replied from the bed.

Bruno dressed in a hurry, ignoring the tremor in his hands and legs. Everything inside his body seemed to remember something his mind couldn’t reach.

—As you can see, I didn’t do anything —the other man insisted—. It was consensual.

—Of course it wasn’t. You drugged me.

—I didn’t even give you water —he replied, annoyed.

Bruno didn’t answer. He left the house without looking back.

***

Outside, the cold morning air hit him like a punch. Then he saw the twenty-seven missed calls from his girlfriend. Not the time. It was a suburb, low houses, Sunday silence. He walked quickly, not knowing where he was going.

He looked at his phone again. The video was still there, waiting. His finger hovered over the delete button, but something in his chest —a strange pressure, a silent command— stopped him cold.

As if he couldn’t do it. As if something inside him wouldn’t let him.

He opened the video again and fast-forwarded only a few seconds. The scene was much more intense. He saw himself, horny as hell, moaning while the guy followed him with his mouth, and swearing that no woman had ever sucked him off that well. Then came the part that made his stomach twist the most: he put the guy on all fours and started fucking him without pause, while every muscle in his swimmer’s body drove forward to give maximum pleasure to someone whose name he didn’t even know.

He couldn’t take it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shoved the phone away as if it were burning him.

—I’m losing my mind —he muttered.

But it wasn’t him. He felt there was something else behind all of it. Something that didn’t fit.

***

He ordered a car and got to the police station in the district where he lived. He hadn’t chosen it because it was quiet on a Sunday. He had chosen it for one reason only.

The counter smelled of fresh coffee and cheap air freshener. When Bruno came in, sweaty, pale, and agitated, the officer on duty looked up.

—Can I speak to Hugo? I’m his wife’s cousin.

—Bruno? —a deep voice said behind him.

It was him: his cousin’s husband.

That man didn’t enter a room; he occupied it. Imposing, broad, with the build of a former handball player who looked capable of carrying anyone without breaking a sweat. His height, close to two meters, dominated the space, and those massive shoulders gave him the air of a human wall, solid, immovable.

He was impeccably dressed: the fitted shirt outlining every fiber of his torso, the trousers tracing a line that left no one indifferent. He didn’t need to be in uniform for you to know he was a cop; you could tell from his eyes, his posture, that taut serenity of someone who can read an entire room with a couple of gestures. At thirty-nine, he had built an outstanding career in intelligence, and to Bruno he had always been a benchmark.

—I need to talk to you —Bruno said, not quite knowing what to do.

Hugo took him to a small room.

—Tell me. Are you okay? —he asked when he saw the young man’s face.

Bruno took a deep breath and swallowed.

—Something happened tonight. I don’t remember it. Nothing. I woke up in a house I didn’t know. With a guy. In bed and…

The officer narrowed his eyes.

—Bruno, calm down. Explain it to me slowly.

It took Bruno more than he expected to bring him up to speed, trying not to give any specific details that would embarrass him.

—I would never do something like that. I’m not queer.

The guard took notes slowly, watching him carefully.

—Relax, really. Listen to me: I’m not just speaking to you as an officer, but as family. Nothing leaves here that you don’t want leaving. Do you have any proof that you were drugged? Any symptoms? Any trace?

Bruno lowered his gaze to the pocket where he kept his phone. He felt the weight of the video. He felt shame like a blow to the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t show it. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t. A voice inside him was still alive, like an echo buried beneath his conscience.

—No —he lied—. I just… I just know it isn’t normal.

Hugo rested a huge hand on his shoulder.

—Calm down. We’ll look into it. But first thing is you need to get a toxicology test.

Bruno nodded without being able to answer.

***

The midday light blinded him when he came out of the station. He braced himself against a wall, breathing deeply, feeling the tremor in his fingers.

He took out his phone again. The video again. That irrational urge to watch it again. And with it, that inexplicable block: he couldn’t delete it.

He opened the end and began going back little by little, to the minutes before he fell asleep. Right before he gave in, he saw it: how they were kissing, lying down, and how they licked their lips, aroused.

—No, please… —he whispered.

He went back another minute. He saw himself, aroused, prying the guy’s mouth open with his own fingers.

—Ask me for it. Beg for it —he heard himself say, in a voice he didn’t recognize.

—Please, Bruno, give me everything.

He saw himself finish in the young man’s mouth, the other man taking it without spilling a drop, wanting to please the straight guy, to prove he had been obedient. But the Bruno on the screen stopped him before he swallowed.

—Aren’t you going to share with me after the night I gave you?

The guy smiled, slyly, his mouth full, and asked with his eyes if he was sure. Bruno nodded, took his chin, and kissed him.

The Bruno in the present jerked the phone away and vomited against the wall, a few meters from the station.

—What the fuck is happening to me? —he muttered, trying to pull himself together.

And then, for a second, just a flash in his mind, he saw it: a piece of white leather. A bright light coming through a window. A deep voice, calm, irresistible.

Relax, Bruno. Trust me.

But it vanished as quickly as it had come.