It's Worse Than You Think

I smiled softly to the cashier, who honestly was looking at me for a little too long to be normal, and walked out of the store. His eyes made me feel awkward, just because I have no idea how to handle unwanted stares like that. I don’t understand it, how Marshall can always say how adorable and good looking I am. It makes me wonder if he’s ever taken a look at himself, I mean shit.

It feels good to be shopping for painting supplies again. Even if I only bought a few canvas’ and various paints, I haven’t done that in what feels ages, and it feels good. Talking about my painting with Marshall the other day really got me thinking. At this point, I honestly don’t care if it goes anywhere or not. I love doing it, I always have, and I’m not sure why I need to keep reminding myself that. I can’t imagine giving up on it. I don’t have it in me to let go of it.

Speaking of Marshall, basically since our date ended I’ve been thinking nonstop about him. About the dinner, about the conversations we had, about his touch, about how the date ended with him giving me a lovely hand job. Everything was perfect, really, and that’s been bringing a smile to my face all day.

I struggled momentarily with how to get back to Bridgeport, mainly because I’m never on this side of town. Living in Chicago for all of my life, getting lost is pretty rare, but somehow I manage to do it more often that I probably should. After standing at the corner for over five minutes like an idiot, I eventually figured out I had to cross the street, and go down a few blocks to even get close to the coffee shop. I heaved everything under my shoulder, and started walking. Almost immediately, I froze. My jaw slacked, and I could feel the blood rush through my veins out of sudden panic. Both of my grandparents were standing not twenty feet away from me.

They had both already seen me, and my breathing grew labored as they headed in my direction. It’s been so long since I’ve even spoken to them, I don’t know what to do. Honestly, they look the same, they look healthy, and that’s all that matters. But I don’t want either of them to see me, not after the way I left things, and the circumstances. I stayed where I was, letting them come to me. It was rude, but I couldn’t help it, for a few reasons. One being that maybe, possibly they never even noticed that I was standing there, and would walk right past me and I wouldn’t have to deal with anything at all. The second being the fact that I’m pretty sure I don’t have proper function of my legs right now. Although the latter was the main reason, I was praying the first would actually occur.

“Ezekiel?” my grandma murmured softly, and before I could answer, her arms wrapped around me, her face only coming to the middle of my torso. I swallowed hard, barely returning the embrace. My arms were stiff, emotionless, hesitant. I hated every bit of it, but she didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

I looked at my grandfather from over her head, and he was simply staring at me. I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes, and that made me nervous, sick to my stomach. It was like he didn’t know what he was seeing, and that was hard to handle.

“Hi,” I got out, pathetically. God, that’s what I am, isn’t it?

“It’s been so long,” she said, pulling away so her eyes could scan over me, doing what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe to see how much I’ve changed over the years? I didn’t like it, whatever it was, it made me feel self conscious. “You look so much older,” she continued, a sad smile on her face.

The tears that were welling up slowly in her dark blue eyes wasn’t helping anything, and my stomach tightened with guilt. “How are you?” I asked.

I was genuinely curious, I want nothing more than to spend hours listening to what’s been going on in their lives. Who their friends are, if they still live in the same house, what they like to do in their spare time now. I can’t though, in my own mind I wouldn’t be able to go though with it. To make up for everything seems close to impossible, maybe even pointless. It won’t change anything.

“We’ve been fine,” my grandpa answered, his tone indifferent. “What have you been up to? Obviously you’ve been doing something that keeps you away from a phone for years at a time.”

I winced; that’s what he’s been thinking. I knew that, but it hurt to hear him say all the same.

My grandmother shot him a glare, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ezekiel, honey, don’t listen to him. Really, how have you been?”

Her tone, her face, the words coming out, everything. It was all bringing back so many memories. I may have been imagining it, but it almost looked like her eyes were darting back and forth between my forearms, trying to see through the fabric or something. She took her hand in mine as she waited for me to answer, curling her wrinkled fingers with mine.

“I’ve b-been good.”

“Are you still painting?”

I nodded, “I am.”

“I’m glad. That always made you so happy.”

“You’re working, then?” my grandpa questioned.

“At a bookstore, yeah. For a few years, now.” They were both looking at me so intently, taking in every single word I was saying. This is becoming too much, I need to go.

“We’ve missed you so much, Ezekiel.” That name, they don’t know what it’s doing to me right now. “You’re our only family, and we love you. You know that.” She was being so honest.

My bottom lip started to quiver, something that I was astounded I had put off for so long into this conversation. “I love you, too.” For me, it felt good to say that out loud. Just ‘I love you’ in general, maybe. I haven’t uttered those three words to somebody in around two years, and I mean really feeling the emotion that comes with the phrase. And I don’t like that. The more I think about it, the more I realize how fucked up that is.

“Do you?”

I cast my eyes down, his words repeating over and over again in my mind. How screwed up am I, that my own grandparents can’t even be completely sure I love them. That right there is reason enough for me to stay out of their lives.

“O-Of course I do.” My grandma opened her mouth to say something, but I cut over her, clearing my throat. “I actually have to go.”

“Are you happy?” she asked softly, each word so innocent, for a moment I couldn’t breathe. My throat was closing in on me, too many emotions running throughout my entire body. Overload, of everything. If I wanted to choose to nitpick into my life, taking out every memory that I’ve worked so hard to block out, my grandmother’s question would have a different answer. But big picture, I am happy. Shit, I have Marshall, I have Finn. They're everything to me.

“I am,” I answered honestly, and she smiled.

“That’s all that really matters.”

I couldn’t disagree more, but didn’t say anything because my throat wasn’t functioning well enough to even remember how to breathe properly. I turned away only after muttering a soft goodbye, finding I couldn’t look at them any longer, finding I couldn’t say anything else. Adding something, like a lie or that I wanted to see them again soon, would have been ridiculous. It wouldn’t have mattered to any of us, meaning nothing coming from me, the grandson who basically fucked them over.

My feet were moving of their own accord, taking a more familiar, direct path to Bridgeport. It wasn’t long before I allowed the tears to flow freely, coming down fast and silently. I kept coughing, wiping my eyes every few steps when my sight grew blurry, quickly realizing how stupid I was being. Crying over family, crying in public on the way to meet my boyfriend and best friend.

People were looking at me oddly, giving me second glances as they made their own way past me, going wherever. But I didn’t care, a fleeting moment in the eyes of a stranger isn’t enough for me to worry about anything like that. I arrived at Bridgeport faster than I had anticipated, and stopped before walking past the front window. I stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to control my facial expressions and to act normal. I don’t want to give anything away to either of them. Unnecessary attention, I think. Maybe I’m wrong but at least right now, if I don’t have to, I’m not up to saying anything. Honestly, I just want to have fucking cigarette between my lips.

The bell rang as I trudged inside the shop, and I looked down at my feet as I walked over to the back, both of them already there. “Hey,” I greeted shakily, taking a slow seat next to Marshall.

My eyes flickered up for a split second, thinking that I could chance it, only to see that they were both staring at me. “What’s wrong?” Finn immediately asked, ducking his head down slightly so he could see me better.

I paused, debating. I don’t want to go through it again, not even to them. Not yet. Knowing Finn, and knowing Marshall, they wouldn’t take no for answer. Basically, what’s worse? Having them trying to get it out of me for an hour, before finally giving in because I can’t stand the thought of someone being even remotely frustrated with me, or just tell them now because I know deep down I actually want to because it’ll be good for me? God, I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this so much.

“I ran into my grandparents.”