It's Worse Than You Think

I stared back at my reflection, an awkward grimace on my face. I couldn’t help it, because I simply hate having to look ‘fancy’. It’s not me, and it never has been.

But I suppose what I had on wasn’t that bad: a deep blue button up shirt with short sleeves, a black blazer over it with a pair of black skinny jeans. It wasn’t a cardigan, though. Then again, look where I’m going. I really need to stop complaining, don’t I? I’m not going to fuck up my chances for something just because I don’t want to wear a shirt that actually has buttons on it.

My eyes darted over to my silver watch, checking the time. Forty five minutes until it starts. Forty five minutes until my art is up for people to see. A smile crossed my face merely at the thought, and I picked up my car keys while heading out the door, locking the deadbolt behind me.

The twenty minute car ride in my old 98’ Subaru flew by. Whether from my excitement or the suspicious lack of traffic, I wasn’t sure. But as I pulled into the parking lot with my art in the trunk, I felt oddly important. Like this could be the start of something real for me. Just like I said to Finn, this could be my chance to get noticed. I really doubt anyone will think that my pieces are good enough, but there’s still that small opportunity that’s keeping me going.

I got out of the car and sighed, slamming the blue door behind me. My hand lingered on the trunk handle, suddenly feeling anxious. I made a quick check that my sleeves were long enough so that you couldn’t see my scars, because that’d surely be a great conversation starter. ‘Yes, please take a look at my art. And while I’m reaching over, kindly take a look at the scars scattered up and down my forearms’. God, that’d be fucked up, wouldn’t it?

Pinching the bridge of my nose for a split second to try and suppress my nerves, I headed into the building.

With the trolley in hand that was currently holding several of my paintings, I made my way through the front doors with an anxious expression. My breath hitched in my throat, and my eyes widened. The room was scattered with dozens of people already, running around, and arranging last minute things. I walked over to the area that I had been assigned, muttering hello’s to people that I recognized from other art shows.

I really hope that this night isn’t a disaster. That’s the last thing I need right now.

--

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Zeke Carelock.”

I’ve been saying that all Goddamn night, like some broken record. It’s getting annoying, hearing the same thing repeated over and over because it’s making me think. Dear God, does my voice really sound like that? It’s so soft and feminine. Why has no one told me this? And where is Finn? He said he’d be here right when it started, and I’m really missing him.

I continued standing, smiling politely whenever someone looked my way and starting small talk when someone walked by to look at my paintings. It’s so hard to believe that I actually did them. Not because they’re that great or anything; it’s just, I’m actually doing something I love. And that never seizes to amaze me.

“Zeke!” I heard someone call, and my head snapped to somewhere behind me, grinning when I recognized the familiar face of my best friend. “I’m so sorry we’re late. I had to pick up Marshall because he didn’t know where the hell to go, and apparently, neither did I. You’d think I’d know my way around the city by now, right?”

I chuckled, and looked behind him, assuming the person who rolled his eyes in response was Marshall. Holy mother of . . . God. This guy is absolutely gorgeous. He had on a similar pair of jeans as I, with a red button up shirt. His hair was cut short, but it was still longer then mine, and it was this dark black that I was insanely jealous of. He had a pair of piercing green eyes that I felt I could see right through. Or could see right through me. Either way, it was both eerie and captivating at the same time.

“Zeke?” Finn stated, and by the smirk he was giving me, I must have been obvious about staring. I’m such an idiot. You’d think I’d know how to casually check out guys by now.

“Sorry. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Zeke,” I greeted, my voice wavering slightly.

“You too. I’m Marshall.”

I nodded in response, groaning internally. God, if Finn didn’t tell him I was gay before, he definitely knows now. “So, how do you guys know each other?”

“I work at the Bridgeport Coffeehouse with him,” Marshall answered.

“Oh,” I said, mentally making the connection that this must be the guy that Finn had mentioned a few weeks ago, “How do you like it?”

He shot me an exasperated, wide eyed look that made me let out a sound similar to a giggle. Oh God. My hand shot up to my mouth, as if that action could somehow erase the last four seconds, and my whole body cringed in embarrassment.

“What was that?” Finn questioned, raising an eyebrow, and I noticed that Marshall looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I lied.

“Zeke, you’ve never gig-” Finn cut himself off with the look I gave him while Marshall turned away to gaze at my paintings.

“Wow. You really painted all of these?” he asked. “I don’t usually go for art, but these are amazing.”

I smiled shyly, “Thank you.” I paused, racking my brain for something else to say to him. Anything, I just wanted to keep talking to him. When I found nothing that sounded suitable and not completely stupid, I turned more towards Finn to say, “I can’t believe I’m actually here!”

“I know! So, what have you been doing?” he asked, looking around.

I shook my head, shrugging. “I don’t know, I’m in such a daze. I mean I’ve been in art shows, but not the fucking Ortega Gala!” I rushed out in a whisper as to not disturb anyone else around us, causing the two of them to laugh.

“It is pretty amazing, Zeke. How’s the crowd? Have you seen any cute guys? Besides Marshall, of course.”

My eyes widened, and I started to feel my face heat up. I wonder how low the percentage is of the chance that Marshall possibly didn’t hear that. Probably nothing worth hoping for. Sadly though, I was used to this kind of thing from Finn, so I decided to act completely oblivious.

“This thing isn’t over for another two hours, so you might want to walk around a bit rather then just be stuck with me,” I told them. I didn’t see the fun in standing around with me as company, and I also didn’t want to do anything idiotic in front of Marshall again.

“Oh, Ezekiel,” Finn began, and I glared at him, “You can’t get rid of us.”

“No matter how embarrassing it gets for you,” Marshall tacked on, grinning. Great, I’ve known this guy for about ten minutes, and he’s already caught on to the fact that I’m a complete loser.

I narrowed my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. “Fine.” I turned around so that I could scan through the crowd, freezing almost immediately. “O-Oh,” I stammered, gripping someone’s arm behind me. “It’s Richard Cross.”

“Who’s Richard Cross?” I heard Marshall ask softly.

“Who’s Richard Cross?” I repeated in a panicky voice, whirling around to face him with a helpless expression. I quickly lost my focus when I realized it was his forearm I had attached myself to. I attempted to drop my hand casually, and tugged on the sleeve of my blazer. “He’s the one who got me here,” I murmured, and then thought for a moment. It seemed embarrassing to ask, especially in front of Marshall, but I had to know in case Mr. Cross happened to come over.

“Do I have a . . . feminine voice?”

“What?” Finn laughed. “No way, what’re you talking about? You’re such a weird guy, you know that, Zeke?”

Marshall nodded in agreement, smiling. I pursed my lips, watching him for a moment as he turned away. I don’t know if he’s gay, I know nothing about him. He’s just someone Finn works with. God, I really need a cigarette.

--

I think tonight was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

I totally understand what Finn meant: Marshall is so easy to get along with. And I’m not exactly the most outgoing, or the easiest person to be around. After a few more hours, I’m already feeling a lot more comfortable around him. I don’t know . . . he’s cool. Someone I can see myself being friends with.

“Hey, do you think we should go out for dinner, or something?” Finn offered as we headed out to the parking lot, “I’m really proud of you, Zeke. You deserve this, and we ought to celebrate the evening!”

“I don’t know,” I murmured, feeling my face heat up once more.

Finn made a mocking face, before nudging me with his shoulder. “Quit being modest. You never say anything good about yourself.”

“Should I go then?” Marshall spoke up, looking back and forth between the two of us, “I mean, you probably just want it to be the two of you.”

I shook my head, “No, come. It’s fine.” And I wasn’t even lying. “The more the merrier.”

The more the merrier. Who says that? I really just need to learn to close my mouth sometimes.