Status: hiatus.
It's Worse Than You Think
Zeke
Good morning, Chicago. It is about, oh, 8:32am this fine Saturday morning. I don’t know about you guys out there, but this weather has me wanting to go and-
Dear God. I reached my hand over lazily to slam down the snooze button on my alarm clock, with probably a lot more force then was needed. I did not need to hear that guy go off so early in the morning. I’ve actually been awake for probably an hour anyways, putting off getting ready for when Finn comes over at 9:30.
I don’t know what I’ve been doing this whole time either, which is probably sad. And I don’t know why I won’t move, or get up. It’s like I’m frozen, with the same expression and position. I suppose I’ve just been thinking endlessly about things that don’t even really matter right now. Thinking about what I should paint next. Thinking about what I’ve just painted. Thinking about my parents. Thinking about getting up and having myself a cigarette. Thinking a lot about Finn and the coffee shop. Thinking about Marshall.
He has been occupying my thoughts a lot lately. I’m not going to bother lying to myself, but even though I don’t know him that well, I want to. And unfortunately he probably already knows it, seeing how much of a loser I was at the Gala a few weeks ago. I still can’t believe I acted like that around him. The more I think about it though, the less I care.
The snooze buzzed once again, the man’s shrill voice filling the room, causing me to jolt in surprise because I had already forgotten about any alarms. I tore my gaze away from the ceiling reluctantly, and got myself out of bed so that I could jump in the shower.
I let out a soft groan as the water pounded against my back, immediately becoming relaxed. It was like the stress that I never even knew existed had suddenly disappeared. After a while, the heat started to fade, and I started to get cold. I sighed as I turned the faucet off; wrapping a towel loosely around my hips.
The clock on the coffee table came into sight as I ventured into the living room, and my eyes widened at the 9:20 that was shown. What the fuck? How long was I in the shower for? I dashed over to my closet, gripping the dark red towel around me with one hand so it wouldn’t fall off.
After a few seconds, I ended up slipping on a soft green t-shirt with a black cardigan over it and a pair of skinny jeans. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to get it to cooperate since I didn’t have much time to do anything else with it.
The doorbell rang just as I walked back down the hallway, and I stopped in my tracks before shouting, “Come in!”
I grinned at the sight of Finn, but it dropped into a frown when I saw that he had brought someone with him. “- I swear to God, you do realize that I’m older then you, right? You can’t just moan and complain and expect me to want to do anything about it.”
And right behind him was Max. “Oh, hi Max,” I greeted, a friendly smile plastered onto my face that wasn’t nearly as authentic as it appeared.
I’ve never really gotten along with Finn’s younger brother, which I’ve always found odd. I always thought that anyone even remotely related to my best friend, I’d immediately like. But apparently that’s not the case with Max, because even Finn’s parents are amazing.
He’s just an all around strange guy. Max is unnaturally quiet, and always stares at me. Seeing how I’m almost 100% he’s straight, it just scares the fuck out of me. Finn and I kind of have a mutual understanding that I think he’s weird, so we never talk about it. He is his brother, after all. And it’s not like I see him that often. But I’ve gotten used to Max. Didn’t have much of a choice, actually.
The both of them look a lot alike too, and that somehow makes everything weirder. Max has really dark brown hair, and they’re about the same height and weight. His eyes are this faded blue, so they’re almost this color of grey that looks a lot more appealing then it sounds.
“Hi, Zeke. I brought Max too,” he told me, “I hope you don’t mind. As an older brother, I found that it was my duty to get him out of his Goddamn apartment. It’s not healthy, you know, going days without seeing sunlight.”
I laughed as my way of telling him that I didn’t care, while Max merely rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounding like, “Fuck you.”
Finn shoved him as he walked past to take a seat on the couch. “Max, Max, Max. Respect your elders.”
I let out a snort, and took a seat as well, tossing him the pack of cigarettes after taking one for myself. I coughed awkwardly at the sight of Max, who was still standing, and gestured towards my cancer stick. “Do you want one?”
He gazed at me, as if contemplating, and I fought the urge to groan out loud. It’s not like I asked some hard, complicated question. Eventually he took one with trembling fingers, and sat down carefully onto a chair. I pulled out my lighter, watching the younger brother for a moment, before Finn’s voice got my attention.
“So,” he began, “How’s your weekend been so far?”
“It’s been good. Oh!” I blurted out suddenly, leaping out of my seat. “I actually finished another painting last night. Do you want to see it?”
“Nope,” he returned after taking a long drag of his cigarette, “Why would I care about anything you do?”
I pouted, and Finn grinned before I left for my room to retrieve the painting. I took a deep breath, and reentered with a hesitant expression, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. I’d worked especially hard on this one, and it meant the most to me over all my other finished pieces.
Finn’s eyes softened upon seeing the canvas, and any amusement that had been there previously faded. “Zeke,” he sighed, “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, I was looking through some old photographs, and came across this one of my parents. I thought it’d be perfect to paint,” I explained, biting my lip.
I could hardly stand painting it, to be perfectly honest. It was so hard to look at them for that long, because it brought back so many memories that I haven’t thought about in ages. The photograph isn’t that old, maybe from about ten years ago, and it’s of them sitting at the dining room table right after Christmas morning.
When I was fifteen, I was such a douche bag. Just a teenager, I suppose. Maybe that’s why I’m the complete opposite now, a shy loser that can’t stand the thought of anyone being mad at me. An insecure human being who blushes at anything and everything.
It disturbs me that I can’t even remember what exactly I wanted from the store, but I complained about it for hours to my parents. I’ve racked my brain for years, but that bit of what happened has completely slipped my mind. Whatever it was, they wanted to make me happy, and left to get whatever the Goddamn thing was.
On the way to the store, they had gotten in a car accident: apparently they lost control of the car and crashed. The thing was, there wasn’t even a drunk driver or somebody else that I could be angry at. It was only me. There was no one else to blame except for me. They shouldn’t even have been out, you know? Nothing like that was ever supposed to happen. Not to me, not to their friends, not to anyone else who loved them.
I had to move in with my grandparents, and completely shut down. I couldn’t handle the guilt, or the loss. I ended up resorting to smoking, and cutting myself. So now, each scar that I have decorated up and down my arms is just a reminder of that guilt. That regret. It reminds me of how everything was and still is my fault.
So when I was a little older and could move out, I learned to express things differently by painting. Finn knows about everything, and has tried endlessly to show me that I’m not at fault, but it hardly means anything anymore. He knows it, I know it, but he still tries.
I’m not saying I’m this complete depressed disaster, and every smile I wear is a fake one. Because that’s not true. I mean, I’m happy. I love where I live, and the few people that are in my life. I’m just better at repressing things that I don’t want to face, now.
I stopped staring at the painting to look back up at the brothers, and realized that I must have been quiet for a very long time. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling the heat slowly flow to my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Zeke,” Finn whispered, and Max wasn’t even looking at me; his attention directed at something out the window. I stared at him, momentarily wondering what he could possibly be thinking about, before I turned away myself.
I brought the orange and white cigarette back to my mouth, and ended up taking too quick of a drag due to the sudden rush of anxiety. After coughing for a few seconds, the attention was taken off me as Finn changed the subject to something irrelevant. Somehow, I managed to engage myself in conversations with Finn –even with Max there who kind of ruined things, for the rest of the afternoon.
Dear God. I reached my hand over lazily to slam down the snooze button on my alarm clock, with probably a lot more force then was needed. I did not need to hear that guy go off so early in the morning. I’ve actually been awake for probably an hour anyways, putting off getting ready for when Finn comes over at 9:30.
I don’t know what I’ve been doing this whole time either, which is probably sad. And I don’t know why I won’t move, or get up. It’s like I’m frozen, with the same expression and position. I suppose I’ve just been thinking endlessly about things that don’t even really matter right now. Thinking about what I should paint next. Thinking about what I’ve just painted. Thinking about my parents. Thinking about getting up and having myself a cigarette. Thinking a lot about Finn and the coffee shop. Thinking about Marshall.
He has been occupying my thoughts a lot lately. I’m not going to bother lying to myself, but even though I don’t know him that well, I want to. And unfortunately he probably already knows it, seeing how much of a loser I was at the Gala a few weeks ago. I still can’t believe I acted like that around him. The more I think about it though, the less I care.
The snooze buzzed once again, the man’s shrill voice filling the room, causing me to jolt in surprise because I had already forgotten about any alarms. I tore my gaze away from the ceiling reluctantly, and got myself out of bed so that I could jump in the shower.
I let out a soft groan as the water pounded against my back, immediately becoming relaxed. It was like the stress that I never even knew existed had suddenly disappeared. After a while, the heat started to fade, and I started to get cold. I sighed as I turned the faucet off; wrapping a towel loosely around my hips.
The clock on the coffee table came into sight as I ventured into the living room, and my eyes widened at the 9:20 that was shown. What the fuck? How long was I in the shower for? I dashed over to my closet, gripping the dark red towel around me with one hand so it wouldn’t fall off.
After a few seconds, I ended up slipping on a soft green t-shirt with a black cardigan over it and a pair of skinny jeans. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to get it to cooperate since I didn’t have much time to do anything else with it.
The doorbell rang just as I walked back down the hallway, and I stopped in my tracks before shouting, “Come in!”
I grinned at the sight of Finn, but it dropped into a frown when I saw that he had brought someone with him. “- I swear to God, you do realize that I’m older then you, right? You can’t just moan and complain and expect me to want to do anything about it.”
And right behind him was Max. “Oh, hi Max,” I greeted, a friendly smile plastered onto my face that wasn’t nearly as authentic as it appeared.
I’ve never really gotten along with Finn’s younger brother, which I’ve always found odd. I always thought that anyone even remotely related to my best friend, I’d immediately like. But apparently that’s not the case with Max, because even Finn’s parents are amazing.
He’s just an all around strange guy. Max is unnaturally quiet, and always stares at me. Seeing how I’m almost 100% he’s straight, it just scares the fuck out of me. Finn and I kind of have a mutual understanding that I think he’s weird, so we never talk about it. He is his brother, after all. And it’s not like I see him that often. But I’ve gotten used to Max. Didn’t have much of a choice, actually.
The both of them look a lot alike too, and that somehow makes everything weirder. Max has really dark brown hair, and they’re about the same height and weight. His eyes are this faded blue, so they’re almost this color of grey that looks a lot more appealing then it sounds.
“Hi, Zeke. I brought Max too,” he told me, “I hope you don’t mind. As an older brother, I found that it was my duty to get him out of his Goddamn apartment. It’s not healthy, you know, going days without seeing sunlight.”
I laughed as my way of telling him that I didn’t care, while Max merely rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounding like, “Fuck you.”
Finn shoved him as he walked past to take a seat on the couch. “Max, Max, Max. Respect your elders.”
I let out a snort, and took a seat as well, tossing him the pack of cigarettes after taking one for myself. I coughed awkwardly at the sight of Max, who was still standing, and gestured towards my cancer stick. “Do you want one?”
He gazed at me, as if contemplating, and I fought the urge to groan out loud. It’s not like I asked some hard, complicated question. Eventually he took one with trembling fingers, and sat down carefully onto a chair. I pulled out my lighter, watching the younger brother for a moment, before Finn’s voice got my attention.
“So,” he began, “How’s your weekend been so far?”
“It’s been good. Oh!” I blurted out suddenly, leaping out of my seat. “I actually finished another painting last night. Do you want to see it?”
“Nope,” he returned after taking a long drag of his cigarette, “Why would I care about anything you do?”
I pouted, and Finn grinned before I left for my room to retrieve the painting. I took a deep breath, and reentered with a hesitant expression, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. I’d worked especially hard on this one, and it meant the most to me over all my other finished pieces.
Finn’s eyes softened upon seeing the canvas, and any amusement that had been there previously faded. “Zeke,” he sighed, “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, I was looking through some old photographs, and came across this one of my parents. I thought it’d be perfect to paint,” I explained, biting my lip.
I could hardly stand painting it, to be perfectly honest. It was so hard to look at them for that long, because it brought back so many memories that I haven’t thought about in ages. The photograph isn’t that old, maybe from about ten years ago, and it’s of them sitting at the dining room table right after Christmas morning.
When I was fifteen, I was such a douche bag. Just a teenager, I suppose. Maybe that’s why I’m the complete opposite now, a shy loser that can’t stand the thought of anyone being mad at me. An insecure human being who blushes at anything and everything.
It disturbs me that I can’t even remember what exactly I wanted from the store, but I complained about it for hours to my parents. I’ve racked my brain for years, but that bit of what happened has completely slipped my mind. Whatever it was, they wanted to make me happy, and left to get whatever the Goddamn thing was.
On the way to the store, they had gotten in a car accident: apparently they lost control of the car and crashed. The thing was, there wasn’t even a drunk driver or somebody else that I could be angry at. It was only me. There was no one else to blame except for me. They shouldn’t even have been out, you know? Nothing like that was ever supposed to happen. Not to me, not to their friends, not to anyone else who loved them.
I had to move in with my grandparents, and completely shut down. I couldn’t handle the guilt, or the loss. I ended up resorting to smoking, and cutting myself. So now, each scar that I have decorated up and down my arms is just a reminder of that guilt. That regret. It reminds me of how everything was and still is my fault.
So when I was a little older and could move out, I learned to express things differently by painting. Finn knows about everything, and has tried endlessly to show me that I’m not at fault, but it hardly means anything anymore. He knows it, I know it, but he still tries.
I’m not saying I’m this complete depressed disaster, and every smile I wear is a fake one. Because that’s not true. I mean, I’m happy. I love where I live, and the few people that are in my life. I’m just better at repressing things that I don’t want to face, now.
I stopped staring at the painting to look back up at the brothers, and realized that I must have been quiet for a very long time. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling the heat slowly flow to my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Zeke,” Finn whispered, and Max wasn’t even looking at me; his attention directed at something out the window. I stared at him, momentarily wondering what he could possibly be thinking about, before I turned away myself.
I brought the orange and white cigarette back to my mouth, and ended up taking too quick of a drag due to the sudden rush of anxiety. After coughing for a few seconds, the attention was taken off me as Finn changed the subject to something irrelevant. Somehow, I managed to engage myself in conversations with Finn –even with Max there who kind of ruined things, for the rest of the afternoon.