The ringing of a telephone drones loudly in my head. Why? It is the middle of the night. Who is calling me in the middle of the night? I have a headache and everything hurts. Slowly I sit up. Fuck why does my butt hurt so much? What happened yesterday? After what feels like hours, I feel my phone. The display is black, but it's ringing somewhere. I hear the sound. Suddenly it stops and I stare irritated at the black something in my hand.

I convulsively try to remember. Where am I? In a bed. Yes, but in which bed? The room is strange to me. It's a hotel room, clearly. I remember the flight to Vegas and the reason for it. I also remember trying to drown my sorrows in a bar. Of a man with black hair and beautiful blue eyes. And from then on, everything goes dark. How much did I drink that I don't remember the rest of the evening? It was probably not such a good idea to just leave town head over heels.

But it had to be done. I was on the verge of going crazy. And all because of him. Julian.

We've known each other for six years. We were teammates during college. We became friends and soon after, a couple. Our relationship has always been based on trust and mutual respect. Openness and honesty is important to me. Secrets destroy a relationship. I trusted Julian. But he abused that trust.

There was a time in my life when I believed in true love. My parents were always my great role model. They were soul mates. But when my mother became seriously ill, their love broke. In the beginning, Dad was there for Mum. He was her support, the ray of hope on the dark horizon. Together they wanted to make it. Shortly before she died, my father simply disappeared. He left us alone, without a word of explanation or goodbye. He left and never returned.

Mum never stopped believing that he would come back to us. But he didn't. He left us alone and Mum died without being able to say goodbye to him. Her great and only love. It broke her heart and I didn't understand why he had done it. Mum trusted him, he promised to stay by her side until the end. But my father did not keep this promise.

Julian knew about my mother at an early age and also how much the loss of my father burdened me. I was able to cope well with my mother's early death. She no longer had to suffer. And that was comfort enough for me. I allowed the grief and also the pain. I cried and screamed and laughed at every happy memory of our time together. She was a kind-hearted woman and always there for me. As she was for my father.

Their love for each other was strong. But what good are feelings when all you get is hurt? For a long time I withdrew, never really letting anyone get close to me. Feelings make us weak. And those who are weak get hurt. Julian always knew that he was the one of us who loved unconditionally. I let myself fall for him, maybe even loved him. But I also told him honestly that I wouldn't commit myself. Never in my life.

Things went well for a while. But his desire for a regular life grew stronger and stronger. A few times he asked my opinion about marriage. Each time he got the same answer. No. That hurt him, but I didn't care. In the last few weeks Julian had been behaving strangely. He was sleeping badly and clearly keeping secrets from me. I'd bring it up with him. But each time he assured me there was nothing special. Lots of work, lots of stress, little sleep.

I believed him. Even though my subconscious was screaming at me to open my eyes. And yesterday, the house of cards he had built collapsed. Firmly believing I was being whisked away on a romantic date, I found myself in a church. There was to be a wedding there. And I was the groom.

Julian's face was beaming and I could only stare at him in disbelief.

And suddenly everything made sense. His insomnia, the restlessness, the secret phone calls, supposedly to a colleague. All my disappointment at what he had done, the betrayal of trust, turned into words. I didn't care that his family and our friends witnessed my outburst. I was angry and disappointed. With my head red and my hands clenched into fists, I stood in the church and hurled hurtful words at him. Furious, I left the church, got into the nearest taxi and went to the airport.

And now I'm sitting in a strange bed and can hardly remember anything. Black hair, blue eyes and Elvis. That's all. Other than that, darkness reigns in my head. I stroke my face in exhaustion and startle. Cold metal against warm skin. I never wear jewellery. I stare at my left hand in disbelief. Why am I wearing a ring?

Hesitantly, I turn my head and look at the other half of the bed. Spellbound, I stare at the back of a man with black hair. The image of Elvis flits through my mind and I swallow dryly. What on earth has happened? I look at the body beside me and my heart beats a few beats faster than normal. Broad shoulders, his back muscles clearly defined and pale flawless skin. His raven hair shines and the sun casts a soft light on his body. My fingertips begin to tingle. A feeling of remembrance settles over me. My body remembers this man. But I don't know him.

"Jace, I have a headache", his voice rings out. All the blood moves from my heart to my penis. That voice. Sleepy, raspy, scratchy. A deep bass. Just the kind I love in a man. He sits up heavily, holding his apparently aching head. The blanket slides off his body, exposing the rest of him. I draw in a sharp breath. Fuck.

Jerkily he turns his head and I startle slightly. Blue eyes. Black hair. Is he the man from the bar? With his mouth slightly open, he stares at me and I've forgotten how to talk. He is really beautiful. His hair lies wildly on his head and again my fingertips tingle. I know his hair is wonderfully soft and he moans softly when you pull on the ends. But how do I know that?

The annoying ringing of a phone sounds again. We are still gazing firmly into each other's eyes and I can see his hand rising, pressing the phone to his ear, and the other hand brushing through his hair. And on that very hand glistens a silver ring. The same as on my finger.