It's Worse Than You Think

I sighed into the receiver as I spoke to my best friend, as if realization was suddenly hitting me.

It’s been a little over a month since the Ortega Gala, and nothing has changed. I haven’t gotten any phone calls, or offers. I would be lying through my teeth if I said that I wasn’t disappointed, because even though the chances were small to begin with, I still had the hope that I would get noticed by someone. Anyone really, because it wouldn’t have mattered the slightest bit to me. A phone call would have meant the world to me.

All I want is a miniscule reassurance that my art isn’t complete and utter shit from someone that isn’t biased. Basically, from anyone other than Finn. I mean, Marshall complimented some of them when we first met but that was back before I really knew him, and he kind of had to be nice, didn’t he? For first impressions, and everything.

I voiced some of this to Finn, and I could practically see a stern expression on his face. “I know where you’re going with this Zeke, and I advise that you just stop talking now. Further continuing this conversation isn’t going to do you any good.”

I laughed softly, even though I knew he was being completely serious, and became silent for a moment. I debated how to word what I was about to say, because the idea was so unfamiliar to me, the words feeling strange on my tongue. “Do you think maybe I should . . . quit my art? Maybe I should invest my time and money into something useful?” I whispered, my voice not being able to get any louder.

“Don’t. You know it makes you happy, and the things you paint are amazing. I’m not just saying that either,” he added. “I’ve got about three minutes left of my break. I could keep going, you know.”

My lips curved into a smirk, and I rested my head against the cool wall, licking my lips. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

“Yep.”

I hung up the phone and ran a hand through my hair, pulling on the ends gently. Finn was right: the thought of never painting again seems really ridiculous the more I think about it. If I didn’t have that, I wouldn’t have much left in my life that meant anything to me.

As I finished getting dressed, slipping on a dark gray cardigan, my mind wandered over to the prospect of seeing Marshall later as well.

I can’t believe I fucking hugged him.

Granted, I all but bolted out of his place afterwards, and Finn gave me a lot of shit for it later; it was still worth it. I’ve never thought about it before, but being that close to his body was . . . a nice feeling. Not in a ‘God, I want to tackle him so I can have sex with him right then and there’ way. It was just nice.

And to think he lived in Oregon before coming here. Who moves from Oregon to Chicago? The choice seems so random to me. I don’t know much about states that far away, but isn’t Chicago completely different? In almost every aspect?

It doesn’t matter much though, because I’m glad that he’s here. It’s nice to have another person that I can consider a friend. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel better. It doesn’t make me feel as alone even if Finn is everything to me.

I’ve decided that I plan on hanging out with Marshall a lot more, just to become better friends with him.

God, what the fuck is my problem? What if he only talks to me because I’m always around Finn, and I’m like this awkward third wheel and I don’t even know it? I wouldn’t doubt that, to be completely honest.

--

“Finn! S-Stop it!” I blurted out in a whisper, my face flushing.

He let out a cackle, smiling, and continued to run into me. “Come on, it’s now or never.”

I turned around to look at him, and rolled my eyes. “What? I could do it whenever I wanted to.”

“Yes, that’s true. But, I’m making you do it now,” he responded, giving me one last shove in Marshall’s direction.

I shot another glare at him before returning my attention to Marshall, taking a deep breath. I struggled to remember how I had even ended up in this situation. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want to ask him to hang out or whatever, I just think that me asking is on the verge of becoming unnatural. I know that this was my brilliant idea a few days ago, but now that I’m actually in front of him, I’m nervous.

I’m Zeke, for fucks sake. No confidence, emotional wreck, twenty one years old yet I probably have as much relationship experience as someone who’s nine. It’s almost funny when you look at Marshall and then look back at me. He’s just so . . . gorgeous. I also find that I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t even like him like that, and that this is just as friends.

I really think I’m making this a bigger fucking deal then it really is.

I walked over to where he was currently sitting seeing as how he was on his break, and bit my bottom lip. “Hi M-Marshall.” Goddamn it, I really need to stop stuttering.

He looked up at me, and broke out into a grin. I tried not to keep my eyes on him for too long, so he didn’t notice how good looking I thought he was right now. “Hey, Zeke.”

I swallowed hard, and my hands found their way into my pockets. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go furniture shopping together after your shift. I just thought you could use some, and I know a great place.” After I’d finished talking, I realized how awkward and unsure I sounded.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice because he chuckled and nodded. “That sounds amazing, thank you. We can just meet here like we usually do.”

I flashed him a smile, “Cool. I’ll talk to you later.” Cool, I’ll talk to you later? Where do I get this shit?

He nodded once more, and I turned to leave; scanning the room momentarily to see if I could catch Finn for a second before I left. When I couldn’t find him, I walked out of Bridgeport, deciding to wander around downtown until three o’clock. I don’t really have anything better to do, anyways. Which is actually pretty fucking sad the more I think about it.

That wasn’t so bad, though. Asking Marshall to hang out like that. Finn would be proud of me, there’s no doubt about that.

My feet moved on their own mindlessly until I was on 3rd street. I let out a soft sigh, trying to decide where to go. Waiting until three o’clock suddenly felt like forever, and I felt like an idiot having to waste my time like this.

I spun around on my heel, figuring that I might as well go back home and do something productive, like start on some new paintings.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I blurted out as I ran into an elderly couple who were standing directly behind me. “Sorry,” I murmured once more, only to have their expressions soften into one of amusement.

“It’s okay, honey. No need to look so frightened,” the older woman told me, and I laughed softly, feeling my face turn red.

“Sorry.”

“And quit apologizing.”

“Sorr- I mean, right,” I grinned.

I acted like I was going to continue walking, but instead turned around so that I could watch them cross the street. It was weird, I felt this longing to follow them, and find out more about who they were.

I knew why, too, but I didn’t really want to admit it to myself.

They reminded me of my own grandparents. I can’t even see my grandpa or grandma anymore; it hurts too much now. They took care of me for almost three years, and when I turned eighteen, I couldn’t leave that place fast enough. I put them through so much. I was too much of a hassle to be bothered with, in my opinion. With the cutting, the smoking, the attempt to get me to see a therapist. But really, I wouldn’t have gone to a therapist if my life depended on it. I still feel the same way.

I can’t stand being around those types of people. The ones who listen to my problems and give me shitty advice that I don’t necessarily want or need, and then I pay them a Goddamn fortune. It’s a pointless process, one that’s been suggested to me far too many times.

My grandma used to call every month, wanting me to visit, or talk so she could at least hear my voice over the telephone. I never answered, though. And eventually, she gave up. If I were her, I probably never would have even tried.

I miss them. They’re the only family I’ve got left. I’m just fucked up, and won’t even do anything about it.

After a moment, I realized I was still facing the wrong direction, and the couple was long gone now. God, I’ve got to get my shit together.

I sauntered over towards the street that led to my apartment, a small smile on my face the entire way, probably looking like a creep in the process to anyone who could see me.

It’s just going to be Marshall and me in less then two hours. This is exciting me way more then it should.