It's Worse Than You Think

I’m so glad that I got the courage to ask Marshall to hang out with me. I mean, I’m not fourteen anymore. Things don’t work out on their own accord like they did when I was in middle school; I have to make an effort. I can’t just sit around, and think that the things I want to happen, will. But it was almost weird how comfortable I could be around him, and not be a complete loser like I usually am.

There’s only one thing about that afternoon that’s been sending me into a panic every time I think about it, and trust me, I’ve been trying not to. How could I be such a fucking idiot to roll up my sleeves? I’ve had my scars for years, and never once have I slipped up like that. No matter how hot or uncomfortable I get. I always know how to cover them properly so they’re hidden from sight, and nobody ever asks questions. It’s like they’re not even there.

Damn it. You know, I blame his good looks.

I mean, did Marshall notice? If he did, I’m thankful he didn’t mention anything. But the idea that he actually might know, makes my stomach churn uneasily. What does he think of me now? My whole body wants to cringe at the thought of him judging me and wondering why I ever did it.

My hand gripped the doorknob and I let myself into Bridgeport; immediately spotting Finn and Marshall who were already sitting down in the far corner. I took a seat across from them, feeling strange on the ottoman, and threw my messenger bag on the floor. “Hi,” I greeted, smiling.

Finn grinned in response, and Marshall murmured a, “Hey.”

I looked at them strangely, but decided not to say anything. Something tells me that I don’t want to know. “How are you guys?”

“I’m fucking great, actually. IKEA called me earlier today and told me that my furniture should arrive this weekend,” Marshall blurted out.

I beamed, “That’s awesome. You picked out some great stuff, too.”

“You mean you did,” he countered.

Finn cut in, “Is anyone going to tell me how your date went? Or am I just going to have to assume that you guys slept together?”

He looked at me pointedly with a smirk etched across his face. I swear to God, he’s going to be the death of me. One of these days, I’ll keel over in embarrassment. I’m not even fucking kidding, either. I wish I could somehow get revenge, but I don’t really have it in me, nor do I ever get many opportunities. I glanced at Marshall, only to narrow my eyes when I realized he wasn’t going to say anything.

“It wasn’t a date, Finn,” I rushed out, praying that Marshall wasn’t completely mortified at the idea of it being that. What if he never wanted to do anything with me again, because he was afraid I’d get the wrong idea? “We went to IKEA,” I clarified, “And I would never have sex in IKEA,” I added.

They both started laughing, and I couldn’t help but smile also. “Right, I’ll let it slide for now, only because I have some exciting news to share with everyone. I, Finn Gallas, have met someone.”

“What’s his name?” I teased, earning a snort from Marshall.

He rolled his eyes, and patted my knee sympathetically. “I am so, so sorry I’m not gay, Zeke. I know you love me, and I know how attractive you think I-”

“You’re an idiot,” I interrupted, causing the two of them to burst out into hysterical laughter. God, I’m not that funny, am I?

My best friend gazed up at me, and I widened my eyes in a sad attempt to persuade him not to tell the story that I had a feeling he was about to reveal. Honestly though, I’m staring to not care what Marshall thinks about me. Not in a bad way, I just think he knows Finn and me well enough now to know how everything works between us.

Finn sobered up, but his eyes stayed amused. “Did Zeke ever tell you how we met?” he asked, to which Marshall shook his head slowly, eying me curiously.

I groaned, and buried my face in my hands as he told the story; my own mind wandering over to the memory that felt like ages ago. He had noticed my paintings at a small art show downtown, and I remember finding him so easy to talk to. Coming out of High School, I was more awkward and gawky than ever. But he just came up and started asking me questions, and I answered, not even feeling uncomfortable.

I’m not going to lie, even now I still think Finn is handsome; but I definitely do not have any other feelings for him besides friendship. We started hanging out about a week after we had initially met, and eventually that somehow turned out into what we have now. And I’m so grateful for him.

“Did you lead him on, or anything?” Marshall asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Finn almost seemed offended. “No. I wouldn’t do that to him. He never approached me like that, anyways. And now, things are lovely.”

“Lovely,” I mocked. “Right. Are we done torturing me now?”

“But you leave us with so many opportunities,” Marshall commented, his lips curved up into a playful grin.

“If I recall,” I began, leaning back on the ottoman slightly, “Didn’t you have something to tell us, Finn?”

“Oh,” he said, appearing genuinely surprised, “Right. Today, during my shift, I met this girl at the front counter. Her name is January. January. Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. Anyways, we got to talking, and we’re going to hang out tomorrow for a bit.”

My eyes widened, “That’s awesome! Are you excited?”

He nodded, “Of course. If you could have seen her . . . I mean, I know that the both of you dig the male anatomy, but you couldn’t have denied that she was beautiful.”

As I was laughing, Marshall asked, “Have you had many girlfriends before?”

“Not really,” Finn answered easily, “I’m not exactly a ‘relationship’ guy.”

He was telling the truth, too. He’s only been with a handful of girls, and I’m not completely sure on this, but I think more then half were probably just for some quick sex. I don’t blame him, though. I mean, you’ve got to get some, sometimes.

“What about you?” It took me a moment to realize Marshall was directing his question towards me, and I blushed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while,” I admitted shyly.

“Why not?”

I ran a nervous hand through my light brown hair, searching for the reason. “I guess no one has ever liked me enough to think I’m worth the trouble of anything real, or serious.”

He frowned, gazing at me sadly, causing me to look away. Finn however, groaned. “Zeke, don’t talk about yourself like that. Please. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Marshall agreed, “I don’t think that’s true at all. You probably just intimidate everyone with your good looks,” he continued, offering me a smile.

“I’m sure,” I muttered sarcastically, determined to act like he hadn’t just given me a compliment so that my cheeks wouldn’t flush. “It’s your turn,” I continued, gesturing my hand towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“Back home in Oregon. Did you have anybody?” Why did the idea of Marshall curled up with someone, kissing someone, holding hands with someone, make my blood run with an unfamiliar emotion of jealousy?

He shrugged, “No. I had a few flings throughout high school, but nothing serious, and nobody worth missing.”

We all grew silent for a moment, each lost in thoughts that none of us voiced aloud. Because they were too personal, or simply because we didn’t want to, I wasn’t sure. My mind however, was set upon one subject, and it was starting to piss me off.

I don’t like Marshall, do I? He’s nice sure, and he’s funny. Not to mention he’s unnaturally gorgeous, and he has wonderful eyes. I feel comfortable around him, he makes me smile, and I like the idea of spending more time with him.

Shit.

--

I stared at the blank canvas, not even intimidated by it. I just couldn’t wait to start painting.

I chose a dark gray for the backdrop, deciding to do another one of the city at night. I picked up my pencil, and lightly traced the outline for the buildings that I was planning on having scattered throughout. Some were taller then others; and I couldn’t help but grimace when I began to paint Quimby’s. A grimace just came naturally whenever I thought about that place these days.

A few hours passed, and eventually I was almost finished. For some reason, I can never finish a painting in one sitting. I don’t even know why, it’s always been a multiple day process. No matter how into it I am, or how badly I want to complete it.

I allowed myself to zone out, and set my brush down gently on a paper towel so that I wouldn’t get paint on the canvas, or the table. I bit my lip, and leaned back in my chair, not even noticing until then how badly my back was starting to hurt from staying in the same position for so long. Apparently, always hunching over while you’re painting bullshit pictures of the city can do some serious damage. Who would have fucking known?

I swallowed hard when I realized that I hadn’t touched my painting for at least ten minutes, because I was too busy thinking about something else. Someone else. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I stood up and headed into the kitchen, planning on making some sort of concoction that could be classified as dinner.

I guess twenty one isn’t too old for crushes.