Lucky Bunny
Page 129
Before heading into the store, though, I pause. I think to myself that Scott and Brittany’s affair has pushed me to really think about my future. I’ll basically be starting from scratch. A life without a bitchy best friend, a seemingly loving boyfriend, or a soul sucking job— as soon as I can find another, hopefully better and more fulfilling one, and leave this one where I don’t have to be around them all the time.
When I put it that way, my situation doesn’t sound all that terrible. I’d even go as far as to say that my new imagined future life sounds like a pretty great one. I wipe away the few tears that had started to flow again despite my best efforts, and head into the art store. It doesn’t take too much wandering before my gaze falls on a gorgeous, red, leather-bound sketchbook.
It’s the perfect sketchbook in which to chronicle my new and improved life.
Chapter 4
Hazel
Six months have passed since my life was forever changed.
Since then, I have not found a new job or quit my current one. Even though I really wanted to, it turned out that when I crunched the numbers, I couldn’t keep my place with a lower paying job. The DA’s office was hiring legal assistants, but the salary wasn’t enough to pay my share of the rent and otherwise seek out a living in New York city. And there’s no way I’m leaving my cute apartment for some shitty studio, even though it’s required having roommates in order to be able to afford.
I still have the roommate I’d had back when Scott lived with us too, but without Scott as the third roommate to help us with the rent, money is tight and I’ve decided that for now I must choose money over personal fulfillment. I guess with all my talk about my soul-sucking job, I’d forgotten that it’s still a pretty good paying one as far as jobs go in Manhattan, and especially considering the fact, that, to be perfectly honest, I’m not qualified to do much else.
So, my integrity went out the window real fast once real life hit. In fact, I’ve had to turn my passion for making the art I used to love into a viable business making products I can sell online, just to supplement my income. Nothing I’m making is anything I really want to be selling. It’s not artwork I’d want in my home, or that I’m even proud to have made; it’s so emotionless and basic—sketches of elephants balancing initials on their trunks, for kids’ rooms, or of old ladies having tea, for suburban moms who like to bring a touch of a faux Victorian aura into their otherwise boring decor.
Maybe emotionless isn’t the right word for my art, because there is one emotion, but only one: Anger. Pure, unfiltered anger. My anger consumes each and every piece of art I’m able to create, be it a painting, or a sketch.
You wouldn’t be able to notice from glancing at my paintings—or else, they wouldn’t sell, therefore defeating the whole purpose— but there’s always some sign of it if you know where to look. Maybe the “J” in little Joshua’s name is a bit more crooked than the font normally calls for, or maybe, if I’m having a particularly bad day, his sailboat is upside down in the painting of his bath time.
Not only that, but I’ve had to take up bike riding since I’ve started to view my subway pass as an expensive luxury and choose between it and other treats while I’m out and about. It’s not all bad, though. Riding a bike has gotten my legs and butt in better shape, and it prevents me from being bound by the subway schedule as well.
Some new life, huh? I was so sure things were going to turn for the better, but everything that could go wrong, has.
I stand in a Starbucks waiting behind an incredibly picky person to decide what they want and order (their menu isn’t even that big so I don’t know why my luck happens to be standing behind someone who can’t decide on the small number of choices), as I contemplate what my next step should be. It can’t be leaving my secure, well-paying job can it?
Sure, I really want to quit my job, especially because I have to see Brittany on a daily basis and I’m forced to act as if she’s not the bane of my existence. Brittany even had the audacity to bring Scott to some work parties. In fact, I even saw him walking into the offices of Horowitz and Chau a couple of times after I clocked out, undoubtedly to fuck Brittany.
Even so, I can’t leave my job. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for performing my tasks, apparently my supervisors think I do it quite well: I could very possibly be promoted later this month and the pay raise that comes with it just might be worth all the bullshit Brittany and Scott are putting me through.
It’s hard to believe that the two of them could be so heartless. Cheating on me because they love each other is one thing, but they seem to be intentionally trying to make my life a living hell. They were the two people closest to me, and now they’ve made it so I can barely trust anyone.
There haven’t been many opportunities, but the few times I’ve met someone new who has shown an interest in being in my life, I’ve been too afraid to start anything. Whether it’s a friendship or a possible new relationship, Brittany and Scott’s betrayal has ruined me. I haven’t even been able to find someone to have sex with these past six months, due to the fact that I don’t want the next person inside me to betray me the way Scott did.
Finally, the person in front of me places their order (it took them all that time to decide on a bottle of water, for goodness sake). I order my simple vanilla bean drink and sit down alone with my sketchbook. Once I week I park my bike here and give myself a treat in exchange for giving up other luxuries.
At the same time, I try to start and finish at least one drawing. Starting is the hard part. Putting pen to paper has been so hard for me lately. And finishing whatever I draw is much harder than starting. All my sketches develop hard, coarse lines and I feel so compelled to add fire to the backgrounds of each of my drawings, rather than just more subtle details that show signs of their distressed creator.
Despite weeks of YouTube motivational videos, which I consider my pro bono therapy, self-help books, incense, and meditation, I’m not able to release any of the hate I harbor for Brittany and Scott. I see them in just about every aspect of my life. One or both of their faces continue to end up in my sketchbook, be it as faraway figures burning in a fire or as the main focus of the drawings, just as they’ve been the focus of my life for half a year even though I know I really should be able to move on from this by now.
Just as I think of this, who else should walk into this Starbucks of all the coffee shops in the city but Brittany. And behind her walks Scott.
In the past six months, I’ve only had the displeasure of running into Brittany and Scott a few times at my workplace. Never in my regular life, despite how often I thought of them. As far as I know, they’re completely unaware of what goes on in my daily life and now I’m being confronted with them getting a hint of how I am.
Here I am dressed shabbily even though I’m going to the office after this— I always mean to dress more professionally but then I lose motivation since I just sit behind a desk all day and no one sees me— with a ripped-up sketchbook, standing in line all alone at a Starbucks. I start to panic. They’ve got their eyes focused on the menu, which gives me a chance to leave the coffee place. But, as I stand up and try to inch closer to the door unnoticed, Brittany unexpectedly turns around.
Without thinking, I place my cup and sketchbook on the table nearest to me, so that I can look like I’m not here alone. It’s only then that I realize the person sitting at the table is a man. A very handsome man, at that.
He’s quite a bit older than me— in fact, he looks almost old enough to be my father, but he’s in much better shape, and is much more attractive, than my father. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular chest I wish I could just sink into and hide in right now.
“Oh, uh, well, hello there,” the man says to me, with a smile on his face that registers a mixture of amusement and confusion. He has sandy blonde/brown hair and emerald colored eyes that just want to make me melt. I try to stay focused on the task at hand— acting as if we’re together so that Brittany and Scott don
’t see how pathetic I am.
“Play along,” I ask him. “Please.”
The adorable man laughs quietly as he watches me steady myself on the seat across from his. I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize he’s going to do it. Out of all the people in this coffee shop, I’d lucked out by picking the one with the best sportsmanlike behavior. He’ll go along with my ridiculous stunt to save me from embarrassment, and he happens to look adorable while doing it. I guess my life isn’t that bad, after all.
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