Captured

“Beware, the Ides of March!”

Yes, I am a fan of Shakespeare’s work. Macbeth is my personal favourite, and I once helped Bridget go through her lines as Juliet Capulet in our play in fifth grade.

Now back to that dramatic warning by the soothsayer in Shakespeare’s famous Julius Caesar – it is fictional. The English dramatist invented it, making it seem like the 15th of March is a dangerous day.

But ever since I learned about William Shakespeare and how those senators brutally killed the emperor, “Beware, the Ides of March!” kind of made sense to my life. Coincidentally, my birthday is on March 16, and as I have put it out before, that date isn’t exactly the best day ever. I was born, and my mother died, much to my father’s dismay. Also on that day, the world gave birth to unfortunate events that are supposed to happen to Austin Schneider.

So yeah, I don’t only become a wary person on my birthday, but also for the rest of the month. Because March sucks. A lot. It feels like a hundred senators are stabbing me in the form of bad vibes.

So far, I have survived four days of March without any physical injuries or headaches or whatsoever. Except that my application for Brown has been received, and three days ago my father called, so much eagerness and glee in his voice, telling me that he’s happy I got into Brown, and that I should prepare for the interview.

Of course, I knew better than to believe that I really got into Brown. I don’t excel much in school. I have a GPA of 3.5, casually flunking Physical Education, and a very bad reputation at Everson Prep. My acceptance at Brown had to do more with my father’s influence. He’s not just a wealthy businessman but also an alumnus of the prestigious Ivy league school Brown University. And he graduated with flying colours. Surprise, suprise.

On the bright side, I got accepted at Rhode Island School of Design too. Well, wait-listed, actually. But at least it’s something. RISD has always been my dream. It’s not just about film and photography, but also a way for me to know who my mother really was. She went to RISD in college. She lived her dream, and along the way met my father.

The sky looks surprisingly lovely. It's hotter than the usual March weather, but I always prefer a sunny day over snow. You have to understand, it always rains in New York. After convincing myself that it's safe to go out of the good weather, I walked to Harrison Street in Tribeca.

Earlier this morning, I received a message from Bridget saying that she was going to have dinner in that place and I should come. I didn't respond, but the address is just a walking distance, and I really have no where else to be on a boring Sunday night.

It was only five minutes to 7, but Bridget told me to come early. Anyways, I had plenty of time to prepare: a black lace bandeau top under a blue sheer button-down that's tucked in a simple black shorts. I decided to wear flats because they were comfortable for walking, and let my brown locks fall off my shoulders.

The Harrison Street Row are townhouses of Federalist style. They were restored with artificial bricks, but the houses still had the pre-revolutionary semblance to it. Bridget can of course afford to buy a house, but I didn't understand why we were having dinner here.

I knocked on door number 32. There was a loud pandemonium from inside, a mix of British and Irish accents, and a single girl voice trying to shut them up. It didn't take long before I'd realize what is going on.

I had fallen into Bridget's trap. Again.

Zayn and I talked a lot on the phone, but he never mentioned that they were going back to New York. And most importantly, he never mentioned that they're here already.

The door opened slightly, my best friend peeking out a bit. "Austin, come in."

"No freaking way, Bridget," I hesitated, shaking my head.

And the next thing I know, my arms are seized by Liam's, and I am practically pulled into the foyer. "Is this how you welcome us back?"

At the end of the entrance hall were three more pair of eyes, looking at me with both happiness and anxiety. I crossed my arms and waited for one of them to speak up.

"Okay, Austin, this was my idea," Louis sighed heavily, and started to walk slowly towards me, "I thought of throwing a big party, but a little sentimental dinner is always better."

I put my hands in front of me to stop Louis from attempting to hug me. "I don't care if you host the biggest party in the history of New York. I want to know why I'm here and why Bridget lied about it."

"I didn't lie, Austin. I just didn't tell you the boys are here," Bridget answered immediately.

"Austin, please don't be mad. We're very happy to see you," Zayn finally said. He looked very exhausted, but at the same time he had this smile on that made me give up the mean act.

"I'm very happy to see you all too," and I embraced each one of them, Zayn being the last and the tightest. Afterwards, they led me into the living room, which was a vast emptiness, save for the deep red sectional sofa with a chaise, and the fallow saxony carpet at the center. Nothing harmonized with anything, like someone allowed a horrible person to ransack and bring forth the holocaust into this household.

But before I could comment on the poor interior design of the house, Liam already started to explain, "That carpet was already in there when we bought this place. Simon got us the sofa, which was very sweet, except that it's very wickedly red."

"Wait, you bought this place?" I asked, settling myself on the very wickedly red sofa.

"Yup," Niall sat on the other end, hands intertwined with Bridget who was beside him, "We figured we'd be coming to New York more often, so we decided to get our own place to get back to. And we really really love this town."

"Plus, we get to enjoy a little bit of freedom here because we're all alone," Louis added. The tone of his voice came with cruel intentions.

"Okay....You boys live together under the same roof. I don't understand why you invited me to dinner. None of you knows how to cook. Who's making dinner?"

The answer to my question arrived immediately in the form of a knock on the front door. Louis rushed to open it. Seven seconds later, he returned with lo and behold, Harry Styles, who held in his arms paper bags of what smelled like steak, and looked more bushwhacked than I was moments ago.

"Fucking great," he said, almost like a whisper. He looked at Louis, but I knew that was intended for me.

I could feel the awkward tension rising. Well, everyone could feel the awkward tension, actually. Everything seemed to slow down and there was nothing but a deafening silence. For a moment, there was a huge lump on my throat that virtually terminated my capabilities to speak.

I wasn't ready for this moment. I thought about it a million times in the past weeks, but I just knew that I was never going to be prepared for an encounter with the guy who said he wanted to be friends, then half an hour later tells me he likes me, then leaves me with a note saying he wants me to forget everything he said. And oh, leaves the next day too.

But as we all know, Julius Caesar wasn't also prepared when his senators and trusted confidants double-crossed and assassinated him.

"You know exactly how I am uncomfortable with this, and yet you set me up," I turned to Zayn, whose eyes were glued on the floor, but didn't really look like he regretted anything.

"We're not here because we set you up. Maybe we didn't inform the both of you beforehand of who you're sharing the room with, but that's not really a set up," Zayn replied.

"And we are having this dinner as a family," Liam continued, taking the paper bags from Harry's arm who was still petrified in his place.

"Family? We," I pointed at Harry, "are not even...friends."

Then I heard a loud grunt.

"I am fucking hungry," Niall got up from his seat and went over to Harry and took him by his arm, while Bridget dragged me into the dining room, "We are going to have this dinner whether you like it or not. So you two better behave. Do it for us, not for each other."

Thankfully the table was incredibly long, and Niall and Bridget sat Harry and me across from each other, like two meter sticks away from each other. Zayn placed plates and utensils, while Liam let the food out of the bag. Even for a take-out, the steak still smelled especially good.

Halfway through my steak, a blaring ringtone reverberated through the room.

"Why the hell do you still use that ringtone, Haz?" Louis put his fork down and looked very annoyed. Who would have thought a horrible and strongly audible ringtones were his Achilles' heels.

"Shut up, I like this sound," Harry fished out his phone and stared at the screen, "It's Gemma."

"You think I'm stupid? Oh god shut that thing off. You are not leaving this table."

Harry well-nigh shoved the phone into Louis's face. "It's Gemma. And stop hating on my ringtone."

"Gemma hey," he started walking out of the room and went somewhere far from my earshot.

I continued to eat my dinner. The steak is really really tender and although it's not the best I've ever tasted, it's among the others that have passed the standards of my tastebuds.

But who was I kidding? I can't use a poor innocent steak as my distraction from the question that lingered in my head. I played with my fork and smashed through the bungling silence. "So...who's Gemma?"

At first there was nothing, then the next two seconds, the boys were all trying to hold their giggles. Even Bridget.

Louis did this annoying gesture with his fingers and chin, smiling mischievously, "Why, is Miss Schneider jealous?"