Only You Read online

  This was standard fare for Sherman by now, as he was the kind of guy who would easily go through this bottle tonight, and then probably the same tomorrow. He chuckled to himself as he thought on this. Who needs a man anyway? He was fine, so long as he had his job, his fancy apartment and most importantly, his vodka.

  It was as the night wore on and as he found himself getting more and more drunk that Nick’s earlier suggestion came roaring back into Sherman’s head. The Single's Through Europe package was designed for men like him, those that didn’t like to go in order to pick up and get laid. It was for guys who wanted culture and experience, all at reasonable prices. Surely, Sherman wasn’t the only person this appealed to?

  No, there had to be more to it... but there was no real way of knowing unless someone went on that tour and found out firsthand. It couldn’t be Nick. Really, it couldn’t be anyone from the office as every ‘single’ that Sherman knew was much the same. There was only one real choice, the more that Sherman thought about it... but he wasn’t quite drunk enough yet to seriously consider it.

  But the night was still young and Sherman still had a good half a bottle to go through. By the time he was done, who knew where his mind might be at. Could he actually go to Europe on his own? Would it even be worth it? As it currently stood, Sherman was starting to lean toward, yes.

  Chapter Three

  Bradley wasn’t sure what he should have been doing in the photo. On the one hand, he wanted it to look as candid as possible; a sort of “ooops” moment where he didn’t even know that someone was taking the picture. But on the other hand, this was risky as he might not have looked his best. Perhaps the smartest option was to pose for the photo, and then joke about how it was ‘candid?’

  “What do you think?” Bradley eventually decided to ask for an opinion. “Should I be looking back at the clock tower like I didn’t even realize it was there? Or should I hold my hand up at it and gasp at the camera? Like, I’ve been looking forward to seeing it for months and now I can’t believe it – like, if you were trying to make someone super-duper jealous of your trip – an ex, actually. Recent... very recent. I want to make him jealous, but also not make it look like that’s what I’m trying to do, if you get me? Which one do you think is better for that? Plandid, you know, staged spontaneity, or candid?”

  His question was met with a confused stare; opened mouthed and wide-eyed. But that shouldn’t have been surprising.

  It was eight in the evening, and Bradley had just arrived in the iconic Dutch town of Amsterdam. It was all a bit of a whirlwind really, as his first stop had actually been London, England some seven hours ago. But that was purely because of the flight path, and Bradley had no choice but to land there first. He spent two hours at the airport, another thirty minutes trying to figure out how the trains worked and then, finally, he was on his way.

  Bradley had used the four-hour train ride to do two things. First, he caught up on sleep. A three-hour nap did a little to wake him up and counteract the jetlag he was feeling... although to be fair, a full night of sleep would be needed. The second thing he did was plan his revenge on Jackson.

  His revenge was simple: prove to Jackson that he could have, and was, having the best time ever in Europe without him. In fact, he predicted that by the time this trip was done with, and by the time Jackson had seen all the content uploaded by Bradley, that he would come crawling back, hands clutched together as he begged and whimpered to be forgiven... that was the goal anyhow.

  Really, there was no actual way to plan properly for any of this. All Bradley could do was go to each city he’d planned for his trip – and there were a few too – take as many pictures as he could, looking like he was having as much fun as possible, and let the rest take care of itself. It was a haphazard plan to say the least, but that was nothing compared to the way this trip was organized.

  It had been less than a week since Jackson had broken up with Bradley. In that time, he had cried his heart out, declared that he was well and truly over Jackson, decided that he wasn’t over Jackson just yet, and then booked and planned a one-month trip through Europe. It was a hectic week to say the least and now that Bradley was in Europe, he kind of wished he’d given it a week more to make some plans.

  Seriously, he had nothing planned. Not a thing. He had most of his hotels booked, his flights paid for, and that was where it ended. Even the cities he had chosen were based on their fame, ones that he knew would make Jackson as jealous as was humanly possible. Bradley had just kind of assumed that once he landed, everything would work itself out and where it was too early to tell yet whether that would be the case... everyone he had spoken to – his mother especially – assured him it was not.

  But Bradley didn’t want to let that get him down. Once he disembarked the train in Amsterdam, he hurried outside, luggage in tow and there he spied his very first photo for the trip.

  The Munttoren of Amsterdam was a clock tower standing well over 250 feet in height and it stood out in the Dutch city like nothing else. It was already dark out, the moon was shining, lights from the surrounds were sparkling and that clock tower was just begging to be in the background of Bradley’s photo. So, without hesitation he pulled up the first person he saw and asked for a picture.

  This person was a man in his late seventies, a local by the looks of it. He had been hurrying past with his head down and when Bradley grabbed at him, he thought he might have had a darn heart attack. But he was a good sport in the end and although he spoke perfect English, and was only too happy to take a photo of Bradley standing in front of the Munttoren, he balked when Bradley started to quiz him about the benefits of a candid photo versus a fake-natural one.

  “I’ll just go plandid, shall I?” Bradley eventually offered. He smiled for the camera and pointed over his shoulder at the tower. The old man sighed his relief and took the photo.

  When it was all said and done, Bradley made sure to double check that the photo was usable before letting the man be on his way. It was, thank God, and he even went so far as to hug the older Dutch man for his assistance. This was met with some serious shock.

  And then, without further delay, Bradley got about uploading the photo to his Instagram.

  Even this was a process, as Bradley had to crop the photo, and then add filters. He also didn’t want it to be his first uploaded photo of the trip, as he’d been in Europe for hours now and it made sense that he would have thrown up a few travelling ones too. So, he quickly uploaded a photo of the airport, another at the train station in London, one of his packed luggage stuffed into his train compartment, and then... when all that was done... and the picture was absolutely perfect... he uploaded it to his Instagram story.

  Once Bradley had done all this, he felt himself reach a sort of loss. Since he arrival in the continent some seven hours ago, everything had been leading up to this moment. He’d wanted that first upload done and dusted so that he could relish in Jackson’s misery. Truly, he didn’t even care that much about Amsterdam itself.

  The city was alive, but Bradley remained standing where he was, refreshing his phone every few seconds to see who had viewed it. To his left and right were endless canals, snaking through the city like a maze. Ahead of him was the city itself, lit up and bustling; indeed, he could hear all sorts of weird and wonderful noises coming from the belly of the foreign city. It sounded magical. And yet his phone was what caught all of his attention.

  It was only after fifteen minutes of not moving, and a fifth refresh, that Bradley figured he better get a wiggle on. He had a bed and breakfast booked already – thanks mainly to his mother, who had demanded that he do it before leaving – and he may as well be in bed, refreshing his Instagram, rather than in the middle of the street.

  Frowning to himself, Bradley quickly found the details to the B&B. According to his phone, it was a little over one kilometer away, far too far to walk. He hailed a cab, jumped in, showed the driver where he was headed, and a second later he was off.


  The trip to the hotel was a nice one, if not a little too long. For the first five minutes, Bradley was only too happy to gape openly at the beauty that was Amsterdam. It had such a quaint feel to it, like something out of a fairytale. All the houses were narrow and tall and built right against each other. All the buildings looked like they belonged to Medieval times, and even the people themselves appeared happier than any that Bradley had ever seen.

  But then he began to notice how long he had been in the taxi. The trip was a little over one kilometer in length, but the drive was taking ages. He pulled out his phone to check and saw that indeed, the driver was taking the long way to the hotel.

  “Ah... excuse me...” Bradley started hesitantly. He was never much for confrontation, and the idea of arguing with a taxi driver in a foreign country scared the bejesus out of him.

  “Yes, sir?” The driver asked without looking back. He was an older man, maybe fifty or so with dark stubble, darker eyes and the lingering smell of cigarettes on him.

  “Um... you know where you’re, ah... going?” Bradley asked.

  “I do.”

  “Oh... and we’re, ah... going the right way?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh... Okay, then.”

  What more could he do? He didn’t want to argue or start a fight. And his mind was still primarily on Jackson, and that photo he had uploaded. So instead of saying anything else, Bradley sat back quietly and watched the map on his phone as his driver took him on a joy ride all over the city before finally pulling up out the front of his bed and breakfast.

  The B&B that Bradley had booked was in one of those tall, narrow houses that he had been admiring on the way here... only, his room was on the third floor and there was no elevator. Conversely, he ended up being happy that he hadn’t gotten into a fight with the driver, because said driver was only too happy to help Bradley unlock the door – via a very hard to use key – and then carry his bags in and up the stairs for him!

  It was once they were back in front of the taxi, sorting out payment, that another problem arose.

  “That will be... you know what Steve Irwin, an even fifty will be just perfect,” the driver said pleasantly. He smiled at Bradley like his Steve Irwin reference was enough to disguise the fact that he was also ripping him off.

  “Fifty...” And that was when Bradley realized his mistake. “Fifty dollars?” he asked hopefully.

  “Euro.”

  “Right...” Bradley fiddled with his wallet, opening it wide as if hoping that maybe, somehow, fifty euro would just magically appear there. But of course, that wasn’t the case, with only Australian dollars being on offer. “About the euro...”

  It took some serious haggling, and a little bit of internet research to find out the exchange rate, but eventually, Bradley managed to convince the driver to let him pay in Australian dollars, one hundred of them, to be precise. This was now, officially, the most expensive taxi ride that Bradley had ever taken.

  When it was all said and done, and Bradley was finally alone in his little Dutch room, he felt like bursting into tears. For some reason, he had just assumed that this travelling thing would be easy. He’d lived his whole life on the fly, so why should now make any difference? Maybe Jackson was right? Maybe he was young and inexperienced?

  But that just brought Jackson to the fore of his mind’s eye. His eyes popped in excitement as Bradley whipped his phone out. A moment later and Instagram was open, and... nothing! Over two dozen people had viewed his story and none of them were Jackson.

  Bradley felt his heart sink through his stomach. Why hadn’t he checked it yet?! He knew Bradley was here! He knew what he was doing! What could Jackson possibly be doing that was more important...

  Without thinking, Bradley hurriedly searched Jackson’s Instagram, opened his story... and then felt that sunken heart literally explode inside his chest.

  Jackson hadn’t checked Bradley’s story because he was also out. The location was a club of some description, but Bradley couldn’t tell which one. The fact he was out clubbing was hard enough to take, but what made the whole thing impossible to swallow was who Jackson was out with.

  Jefferey Montey! Jefferey Fucking Montey! Jefferey was a ‘friend’ of Jacksons that Bradley just knew wanted to fuck him. He always had, and was so freaking obvious about it too! Even if Jackson always claimed he couldn’t see it. With Bradley out of the way now, and the two men out clubbing together...

  Bradley felt sick. He felt ill. He felt like he might literally collapse on the ground and never stand again. He had come all this way, spent all this money, put all this time and effort in, and for what?! Was it all for nothing?!

  Bradley seemed to sink into the floor as he watched Jackson’s story over and over again. He was in a club, surrounded by sweaty hot men. They were dancing, they were drinking, they were grinding up against one another. Every now and then one would spot the video Jackson was taking and they’d stick their tongue out, or blow a kiss at the video, or even kiss Jackson on the cheek...

  And there was Jefferey the whole time too, hands around Jackson’s waist, his smarmy face grinning at the camera, his pants so fucking hard and tight that he wasn’t even trying to hide his intent. It was disgusting!

  For a very long moment, Bradley thought his trip was ruined. Indeed, the idea of pulling out his phone and booking a flight home for first thing in the morning became so strong that his fingers even started typing into Google ‘flights to Australia.’ He hadn’t even realized he was doing it!

  But then his phone vibrated with a notification on his Instagram. It wasn’t anything too exciting, just a guy he sort of knew from years ago reacting to his photo in front of the Munttoren. It was smiley face with love heart eyes, the simplest of Instagram reactions.

  And yet it did something to Bradley.

  Why go home? Seriously, what was the point? Here he was, in this beautiful city that so many people would kill to set foot in. Was he really going to waste all that because of Jackson? Jackson had already left him anyway. And going back now wouldn’t help his chances.

  Besides, Jackson would see the story eventually, and when he did...

  A smirk crossed Bradley’s face, one that soon turned into a smile. His heart was back inside his chest, beating at a tremendous rate. His face began to flush with excitement and a sudden surge of energy flowed through his body like he couldn’t have predicted. On his feet, Bradley leapt for his suitcase and threw it open. He wasn’t going to sit in his room all night and wallow in self-pity. Instead, he was going to take a leaf out of Jackson’s book and go out and make something of this trip.

  But before he did that, he’d need the perfect outfit...

  Chapter Four

  “How much?!” Sherman shouted. He even cupped one hand around his mouth as he did so, while using the other hand to plug one ear so as to drown out all the background noise. There was a lot to drown out too, so he had to shout extra loud.

  “Eighty,” the suave looking Dutchman responded coolly. He didn’t shout like Sherman, and because of this his words were quickly swallowed by the noise of the club. But he didn’t care either, seeming to find Sherman’s increased annoyance amusing.

  “Fifty?!” Sherman shouted back hopefully. He held up five fingers, to further help his point.

  The Dutch-man's face was long and sharp, while his white-blonde hair was shining wet from gel and combed back over his head. He rolled his eyes at Sherman and then held up eight fingers. “Eighty,” he said again, making sure that his lips spelled out the word.

  This time, Sherman understood perfectly. He was in a club that’s music was so loud that his ears had to now be permanently damaged because of it. He was so damn tired that he wasn’t even certain the flashing lights that filled the club were real and not some part of an insomnia induced hallucination. And the man he spoke to probably didn’t even speak English as a second language. But still, there could be no misunderstanding what had been said.

  She
rman’s face dropped. “Eighty?!” He made sure to give the Dutch-man his most bewildered expression. “For one gram?!” He held up a single finger.

  The Dutch-man's thin lips curled into a smug smile and he nodded a second time. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, with his back turned to it so as to face the club. Standing beside him were two very large men, also with blonde hair and long, angular faces. They were the muscle. The Dutchman indicated to the large man to his right, who nodded his understanding and then started for the bathroom.

  “Go,” the Dutchman said. He nodded in the direction of the bathroom, toward where the large man had just disappeared. “He will do.”

  “He will do?” Sherman frowned. “What do you mean?!” he shouted. “I just want one gram of —”

  The Dutch-man's eyes bulged at him. He then indicated again toward the bathroom. “Go!” He shouted this time. “He will do!”

  Now, Sherman understood. This Dutch-man – one that was pointed out to him by a random in the club – wasn’t going to do the exchange here, out in the open. Instead, Sherman would have to wander into the bathroom and buy in there, hidden from prying eyes. It was a gross, derogatory way to have to buy drugs, and one that Sherman was not at all used to. But fuck, he had no choice.

  Sherman offered the Dutch-man a tight-lipped smile that spoke to how frustrated he was, then turned and moved across the busy club toward the bathroom. At least... well, at least he tried to. The bathroom was on the other side of the dance floor which at the moment was thriving. It was a mass of heaving, drunk, sweaty, handsy bodies that made moving through them almost impossible. After a few moments of trying to spy a way through the mass, Sherman gave up and opted instead for the long way round.

  And as he did, he had to ask himself again – and again – what the heck was he even doing here? Not at the club, but in Amsterdam, Europe, this part of the world.