Like You to Me

“How long?”

I turned to Vic, the voice from which the question was born, and raised an eyebrow. That was the thing about Vic: he was almost always off in his own world, dreaming up some musical masterpiece that would finally show itself months, sometimes even years, down the road. He chuckled at me and shook his head. Eventually a small smirk played upon his lips and I found myself wanting to slap him. I hated people who smirked. They always seemed to have some sort of superiority over you, like they knew something you didn’t. That’s what bothered me. Vic was no different, judging by the way he would barely even look in my direction.

“You’re mental.” I scoffed and resumed what I was doing before he dropped the bomb that destroyed the city otherwise known as my sanity. I hated being a joke at my own expense. Putting up with the boys’ teasing was a walk in the park -- it was harmless and I was typically witty enough to fire something even more lethal back in their direction, but smirking I had absolutely no patience nor tolerance for.

I groaned as another set of photographs popped up on the computer screen in front of me. That’s what I was doing before Vic asked such a stupid question. He and Mike decided to tag along as if it was Bring Your Best Friend and His Brother to Work Day and I was the only one who hadn’t gotten the memo. Not that it would’ve deterred them had I told them they couldn’t show up. It never did, although if I forbade them to step one inch into my office and they did regardless, they usually brought along some sort of bribery in the form of overpriced coffee. Anyway, the pictures in front of me were important, and going through them and sorting them out was critical. If I didn’t get it done before the weekend I was going to fire myself -- one of the upsides of owning and operating your own business.

Vic was standing next to me but he was bent over at the waist. His palms were flat on the desk at which I was seated and he was staring intently at his brother, who was in the process of being photographed in front of us. It wasn’t my idea of the perfect Friday afternoon but the presence of both Fuentes brothers was enough to make it bearable. After all, they were the only reason I’d made it half as far as I had; I had a lot to thank them for, even if Vic smirked at me occasionally and I wanted to slap him. I never did, and if he’d known the sadistic thoughts that ran through my head when the left corner of his mouth tugged upwards, he’d thank me for not acting upon them.

“I like that one,” he said as he pointed at the most recent photo that popped onto the screen. In it, Mike was standing perfectly straight while his fingers tugged at both shoulders of the t-shirt he was wearing. Not that it was easy dressing someone of his stature -- it wasn’t. He was abnormally shaped and it was more difficult to dress him for a shoot than it was actually making the clothes. Regardless, I agreed with Vic that it was a decent picture and saved it for future reference. What I didn’t tell him was that I’d never seen his brother take a particularly bad photo, even if I loathed his bearded era more than I could possibly express.

After six additional wardrobe changes, I finally got so fed up with Vic’s smug smirk that I demanded he put on a t-shirt and get in the damn picture. Since I rarely exploded like I had he obliged with no further questions. He tried to get out of it by saying his hair wasn’t up to par but I wasn’t having it. If he was going to do nothing but stand over my shoulder and smirk then he may as well have made himself useful. The brothers took a few pictures together before Mike started complaining that he was going blind in his right eye from all the flashes. At that point I rolled my own pair, muttering something along the lines of him being a pussy even though no one could hear me.

He took Vic’s previous spot to my left and began doing the same thing: looking at every picture that popped up on the screen and making comments about every single one. Normally I’d find this helpful, but Vic’s smirking had gotten under my skin so badly that I told him repeatedly to shut the fuck up and not say another word. He backed off then and I was sure I was going to regret my outbursts once the shoot was over and I was left to idle in the awkward environment I’d created. More pictures popped onto the screen and I didn’t have time to worry about hurting Mike’s feelings; if I ignored the pile of photos for more than a few minutes they became overwhelming. It was already nearing closing time and, with the mood I was in, I didn’t want to be stuck at work any later than I needed to be. Especially not with Vic and Mike breathing down my neck.

Adam wrapped up the shoot and, just as I’d expected, an awkward smog settled down upon the office once he left. I was always the only one who worked on Fridays so it wasn’t like I could demand one of my secretaries or assistants to go get me a drink from the local coffee shop that had a ten-minute long name and more espresso than all of Italy combined. Vic took a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs and began pressing random buttons on his phone. It was obvious he wasn’t doing anything more than trying to avoid my stare. Mike was just standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he was waiting for something -- probably an apology from me but I wasn’t as quick to oblige as Vic had been earlier.

The shrill ringing of the office phone interrupted our animated conversation and I ran to it so quickly you’d have thought it was my savior. I recited the typical greeting and tried my best to act interested. I’d nod along and agree to things when it was necessary and I’d do that head bobbing thing that almost made me seem sophisticated and professional. Truth be told, I was everything but. I was a few weeks short of my twenty-forth birthday and I called my father every night asking for business tips. I hadn’t known the extent of what I’d gotten myself into until I was already waist-deep. At that point it was like I’d been stuck in cement; I had no choice but to live with it because there was no way I could back out.

Once I finally disconnected with the imbecile on the other end, I set the phone on the charging dock and stared at the boys in front of me. Vic was still feigning important activities on his phone and Mike was staring right back. Out of all the years I’d known Mike and as good of friends we were, you’d think the intimidation factor would’ve diminished to zero, but it hadn’t. There was something about him that always managed to frighten me, even though I knew he’d never hurt me and he’d kill anyone who did. I wasn’t stupid, though, nor was I naive. Mike had a reputation -- a bad one, on top of it all, and most of the time I was lumped into the same obscene categories as him. Most of the time Mike and I were complete opposites; other times you’d think we were the same person. It scared me, it really did, because I’d never been in that situation with anyone before -- being so different yet so alike at the same time.

Mike’s phone started ringing and he excused himself. I watched him walk to the front of the office and out the door, the bell hanging above it chiming as he departed. Without missing a beat, Vic looked up from his phone. Once his eyes registered that Mike was outside and I was inside, a mere ten feet away from him, he smirked again. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell my brother you’re in love with him.”

I opened my mouth to say something, anything to defend myself against Vic’s accusations, but no words came out. Lying wasn’t an option because he knew me better than that. He could see right through me like I was a goddamn ghost. I’d known Vic just as long as I’d known Mike, seeing as they came as a duo, and though we weren’t as close, he still knew me better than most people. Some of my very best friends didn’t know me as well as Vic did. It wasn’t that I had shitty, oblivious friends, I was just easy to figure out, according to him.

So I just stayed quiet, and I found myself hoping that whoever Mike was on the phone with kept him there for a long time. Long enough for me to ward off every stray thought about him that entered my mind. Because, in reality, my feelings did go a bit further for him than what I lead on. And Vic knew it, too, which meant I wasn’t as good as covering my tracks as I’d originally thought. I came to the conclusion that that’s why he was smirking at me so much -- he really did know something I didn’t. I’d gotten mad for no reason, because he was right and I was wrong. It got on my nerves that Vic figured it out before I did, but if he hadn’t, I would’ve been lost in my world of oblivion for god knows how long.

“I - I’m not in love with him,” I replied lamely. My argument was bound to fail, that much was obvious, but Vic didn’t try to argue it with me. Going back and forth on something so juvenile just wasn’t in our agendas for the day and I was thankful.

“I’m not going to tell him, Shea. Relax.”

I wanted to tell him that I knew he wasn’t going to tell. You could trust Vic with your life, I was certain of that much. He was a wonderful friend, probably the best I’d ever have other than Mike, and I’d always taken him for granted in a lot of ways. Vic was always the first person I’d call when I couldn’t get Mike in my car after a long night of partying, or the first person I’d call when his younger brother and I were both significantly plastered and I was too smashed to drive. He never told us no, either. He was always there, no matter what time it was or where we were. I’d never forget the time Mike and I went to a party in Los Angeles -- some grandeur thing that we were both underdressed and too obnoxious for -- that we only stuck around for because of the open bar. Mike drank too much and I was so far out of my comfort zone I was halfway to the moon that I drank even more than he did, completely forgetting that I was the one who’d driven us. In a fit of hysteria, I dialed Vic’s number, hoping he’d save the day. It was nearing three in the morning and it was a two hour drive but he said he’d be on his way as soon as he put his shoes on.

That’s just the kind of guy Vic was. He never asked for anything in return and while it was annoying and at times unfair to always be taking and never giving back, it was refreshing as well. So when he all but pegged me to the floor of my office with his blunt accusations, I didn’t have the heart to argue with him. I didn’t have the heart to admit he was right, either.

With a heavy sigh, I sat down on the armchair next to Vic. My posture was awful and my lower back started aching immediately, but I was numb to it at that point. Realizing that Vic’s accusations weren’t accusations at all was so startling to me that I forgot I was living in the real world for a few moments. Mike, the guy I’d known for years, was more than just my best friend. Well, I thought of him as more than just my best friend. Just because I felt that way surely didn’t mean he did as well, and knowing him as well as I did, I knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. Those realizations brought upon me a fresh wave of humility.

Vic didn’t say anything else until Mike reentered the office. That was his cue to get up, gather his things, say a few choice words to his brother, give me a hug, and leave. Before he left, though, he looked at me with all the emotion in the world behind his eyes. I knew he wasn’t going to say anything, I trusted him, but he was just trying to reassure me incase I had my doubts. I didn’t, but I appreciated the gesture regardless.

“That was Casey,” Mike said, as if it mattered to me who’d called him. “He, uh, invited us to a party later, if you want to go.”

That’s the thing that bothered me about Mike and I’s friendship: we were always considered a pair. At times I felt like I’d taken Vic’s place unintentionally and that made me feel guiltier than anything. It surely wasn’t my intention. Yet the invites to places and parties were always addressed to us as a pair. It was never just Mike and it was never just Shea. I don’t know if it bothered him as much as it did me, I’d never asked, but I had an inkling he probably didn’t give a fuck any which way.

I started gnawing on my bottom lip. It was chapped and it was probably going to bleed but I couldn’t help myself. I’d been doing it since middle school. “What time?”

Mike shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I’ll just show up whenever.” I nodded but I didn’t say anything. He stared at me for a few seconds just in case I was going to give him a definitive answer but I remained quiet. “You wanna go?”

Being in the same room as him, knowing what I knew, was torture. Going to one of Casey’s parties was going to be even worse, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it. I wanted to spend time with him, with all of our friends, but I wasn’t thoroughly convinced I wouldn’t go off the deep end if I did. That was one of my many flaws: when I fell, I fell way too hard. Falling for Mike wasn’t an option. One, he was my best friend, and two, he was not the relationship type. He’d break my heart before he swept me off my feet and I wasn’t going to risk our friendship only to be let down.

I wanted to believe I was something different to him, something special. I’d earned the coveted title of best friend, but that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. To Mike, girls came in categories: ones he could fuck whenever he pleased, ones he gave up trying to fuck because they required some effort, girls he was strictly friends with, and girls he’d already fucked and grew tired of. None of those categories had enough room for me. Most of them I’d never want any part of anyway, but just because I didn’t fit didn’t mean I was special. I knew this. I was somewhere between the strictly friends and the required effort categories but with special privileges, like the title of best friend.

Once I snapped back to reality, I shook my head, answering Mike’s question. Getting drunk would only make me vulnerable, and I was a loose cannon when I’d consumed one too many. I didn’t have loose lips but I was unpredictable. I didn’t trust myself. Mike didn’t seem too phased, though. Maybe a bit disappointed but that could’ve been wishful thinking.

“You have something better to do?” He asked, a playful tone to his voice. He knew me too well; better than I’d ever know myself, and that scared me.

“I have a shoot early tomorrow morning. Shooting hungover isn’t fun. You’d know that better than anyone.” He scoffed at my comments and I muttered a fucking alcoholic under my breath. The next thing I knew he was charging toward me, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and he threw me over his shoulder. I squealed and pounded on his back but my efforts were useless. He threw me down on the leather couch and started tickling me to the point I was gasping for air. “Mike! Mike, stop, I can’t breathe!”

“Take it back and I’ll stop,” he joked as he dug his fingers back into my ribs.

“It’s not-” I gasped for air again, “-my fault you’re a fuc-fucking drunk!”

“Take it back and I’ll stop,” he repeated and I knew if I didn’t take it back I’d wind up dead on the floor. My skin would turn blue and Mike would be wanted for murder.

“F-fine, I take it b-back!”

After what seemed like an eternity, he recoiled his fingers from my sides and just smiled at me. If I hadn’t died from the lack of oxygen to my brain I would’ve died right then. In my twenty-three years of life I’d never seen anyone as handsome as Mike, and I’d seen a lot of people. If I was the only person in the entire world who felt that way it would’ve worked to my advantage but I wasn’t. There were prettier girls than me who found him appealing and that’s why I’d never have him. I’d never have his loyalty because there was always going to be someone better, someone prettier, and Mike never settled for anything but the best.

I was never going to be it, and I just had to accept it.