by J. Grandison
*****
Walking into the Pettigrew’s overly large, overly decorated house, it’s a sea of people talking, drinking, and looking over a list of what’s being auctioned off. There’s an open bar set up in the dining room. That’s where I need to be.
I veer off from my parents and stand at the bar. The chick that’s bartending keeps eyeballing me up and down.
“Can I get a beer, please?” I ask with a wink. She stands there biting her bottom lip, nostrils flaring staring at me...Oh, you poor dear. Bless your heart, you are just not my type. “Excuse me. Can I get a beer, please?” I ask again. This time she reaches down and grabs a bottle of Budweiser, opens it, and pours it into a glass then hands it to me slowly. “Why thank ya’ darlin’,” I say as I begin to walk away.
I step over to a makeshift dance floor, watching the old people dance in their finest. Some of these women look like they had to be stuffed in their dresses. The men all dressed in tails, and some even have top hats. What the fuck? I watch and laugh to myself as they begin to do the Charleston.
Turning to head back to find my parents, I run right into Charlie and the bitch squad.
“Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Shawn Dominque,” she says as she fans herself like she’s fucking Scarlett O’Hara.
“Charlie, ladies, y’all look very nice tonight,” I reply as I drink my glass of beer down in one gulp.
“Well, Mr. Dominque, you clean up pretty well yourself. This is the first time I’ve seen you at one of these functions. Are you enjoying yourself?” Charlie asks as she runs her hand up my arm, then pretends to swipe something off my shoulder.
“I just arrived about five minutes ago,” I answer as I try to move past the bitch squad.
“Would you like to come see what’s being auctioned off tonight?” she asks giggling behind her fan.
“Not really,” I say rolling my eyes.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a fuddy-duddy. Follow me.” She turns to walk back through the crowd of people standing around the dance floor.
Fuck it, I will follow her if nothing more than for shits and giggles. We make our way to the second huge sitting room. There are easels with paintings set up all around. Tables with vases, candelabras, and other expensive looking shit.
I stand in the doorway as Charlie whispers something to her squad. She grabs me by the elbow and takes me to a painting. A painting of…me, except one side of my face has been smeared. Maybe smeared isn’t the right word. It looks like someone took water and threw it on the canvas.
“I particularly like this one. The artist calls it Perfect…Until it Wasn’t, she murmurs to me with a satisfied look on her face.
Chapter 11. Braden
It has been the worst week of my life. I have not had the desire to go to any of my classes. Hell, I have no desire for anything it seems. I paint, but it lacks any of my prior pizzazz. I’m alive but not really living. I cry myself to sleep at night, and I dream of him in the arms of that older man. I can’t get that picture out of my head. I had my phone replaced but never answer his calls or texts. I see that he desperately wants to hear from me; yet, I can’t seem to find the courage to talk to him. I do not want to hear about this other guy or what he might mean to him. I thought what we had was special until I saw that picture with my own eyes.
I set the painting of him outside my door the first day I ran from him by the World Cultures building. I couldn’t stand to look at it. The strange thing is that it was gone the next day. I’m sure the hall director saw it sitting there and threw it in the garbage. I shouldn’t care, but a part of me already misses seeing it, even as distorted as it was. It was created with my love and his image in my mind. I miss it nearly as much as I miss him. Not that the two are even comparable.
My phone dings and my heart starts racing. I want it to be Shawn as much as I don’t want it to be him. I want to know he misses me as much as I miss him, but at the same time, I just want to move on with my life, even though the thought of actually doing just that makes me sick to my stomach.
I open my phone and see it’s another “unknown” picture message. My heart stutters as I remember the last time I got a message like this. I open it and gasp.
It’s a picture of Shawn, only this time, his jaw is clenched, and he has an agonized look on his face as he stares at a painting. The time stamp on the image is from last night. Where could he have been at that time that makes him look so wrecked? I hiss out my breath between my teeth when I finally notice the painting. It’s the one I had set outside my room. The one of Shawn that I spilled the water on causing the side of his face to melt away into a swirl of colors. I look at the bottom where the painting has been named. Perfect…Until It Wasn’t.
Tears pool in my eyes as I observe the way Shawn is transfixed on the painting. It’s as though I can see his agony. The same agony I have been feeling, too. The agony he caused both of us.
Why did he do this to us? I may never know the answer to that question.
*****
A few days later there’s a knock at my door, and I nearly drop the phone. Ever since I received that dreadful message, I can’t stop going back and looking at Shawn. I exit out of the messages and set my phone aside. Running my hands down my face, I make sure there are no lingering tears before heading toward the door. I peek through my peephole but don’t recognize who it is.
Opening the door, I realize I have seen this man before, but I can’t seem to place him. It’s a large school, and many faces blend into one another. This person I should remember, though. He’s definitely gorgeous, and you can tell he knows it by the way he carries himself.
“Are you Braden? I was told that you were the best tutor for History, and I could really use your help,” he says, and I nod my head without thinking. I know that the school department will not leave me alone until I tutor someone. As long as it’s not Shawn, I should be fine.
“Sure,” I reply as I move to open my door further. The guy steps in and looks around the room then turns back to me with a flirtatious smile. My stomach clenches. It’s not that he isn’t a good-looking man, it’s that I’m not entirely comfortable with his attention. For some reason, it feels wrong, off in some way. I have had straight men who were struggling with their sexual identities hit on me. I’m like the poster boy for men who want to take a walk in the land of homosexuality. It happened to me many times in high school. A quick grope and feel, maybe a little making out, and then they’re either out of my life, or they want more. More than I was willing to give them. I hope this is not that case. I’m not available emotionally right now.
“So, can we get started now?” this person asks as he moves over closer to me. He invades my space, and I take a step back.
“Yeah, let me grab my books, and we can head to the library,” I tell him as I try to move around him. He blocks me.
“I would rather we stay here,” he suggests as he presses against me. Fuck. I should have seen this coming.
“I would be more comfortable if we studied in the library,” I firmly respond as I push my hand against his chest and give him a slight shove. He doesn’t move, just settles in against me further.
“Come on. We can have much more fun here,” he says. I look up into his eyes and can see how many would fall into his arms. He probably has no shortage of men or women clamoring for his affections. Why he’s bothering with me, I have no idea. I mean I know I’m good looking in an effeminate way, but I’m nobody’s fantasy man. I’m too thin and short. I would be considered pretty, I guess, or maybe cute. I do not inspire poetry or anything of the sort.
“Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m not interested,” I tell him honestly. If it had been any other time, I might have been tempted by him but not now, not after Shawn. He gave me a taste of what I want, and I will settle for nothing less than what I had with him, even if it wasn’t real. It sure as hell had felt real. Now, if I could find that with a man who would be completely faithful, I would hold on and never
let go.
“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically. He knows he’s hot and thinks I can’t do better.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, giving him another push. This time he does move away from me with a hurt look on his face. I sigh before speaking again. “It’s not you, okay. I’m just getting out of a relationship, and I’m not ready for anything,” I say candidly. I’m not ready for any of it. Do not get me wrong, I do not want to hold on to my virginity forever, but I do want it to be with someone that I can see myself having a future with afterward.
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he says with a smirk, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m not looking for a fuck buddy,” I reply, and his face drops again.
“I can be your friend, though, without the benefits.” I put my hand out, and he looks at it for a moment before taking it.
“Deal. I really do need help with History,” he responds, and I walk over and grab my book bag.
“Well, you picked the right tutor,” I say as I open the door and hold it for him. He steps through, and I follow him out. We walk next to each other as we head down to the library. As we enter, I see Shawn, and my belly flips. He is sitting at one of the tables with a girl. Apparently, he’s found another tutor. My heart doesn’t care that they are not together; it wants him even though my mind is screaming to run.
“Hey, Shawn,” the guy who I will be tutoring shouts. I didn’t even ask his name. That’s how out of it I really am.
He obviously knows Shawn, though, and my heart sinks as his eyes look up at us. Then they narrow as he takes in how close we are standing together. Fuck him and his jealousy. I wasn’t the one making out with another guy while we were seeing each other.
I take my new friend’s hand and lead him to one of the tables off to the side of where Shawn is sitting. His eyes are now on our joined hands. Good, let him be jealous. Now he knows how I feel.
Chapter 12. Shawn
That painting has haunted my dreams since Saturday. I know Braden painted it, but I am confused as to what Charlie’s intentions were that night, or if she even knew it was me, or who the artist was.
I’m trying to concentrate on what Shannon, my new tutor, is saying, but I can’t. Every hair on the back of my neck stands straight up, and I immediately start looking for him. I spot Braden and Tristan standing across the library staring, then I see them walk faster, holding hands. I instantly feel sick to my stomach. What the fuck? Tristan isn’t gay; he has screwed his fair share of girls. What’s his game? I watch them go into one of the empty media rooms in the back of the library.
My knee begins to bounce nervously as I try to turn my attention back to Shannon. Everything she says sounds gurgled like I’m under water. I can’t catch my breath and feel like I’m drowning. My anger builds.
Braden ignores me then shows up with the douche of the school. I excuse myself to use the restroom, and instead of going the one that’s twenty feet from us, I end up the one by the media rooms.
When I walk by, I see them sitting side by side, Braden pointing to something in the book that is placed between them. He knows I’m there but never looks up. I saunter into the restroom, heading straight to the sink. I turn on the cold water to splash some on my face. When I look up in the mirror, I see Braden standing there.
“You haven’t answered any of my calls,” I say looking at him through the glass. He doesn’t respond, just stands there staring at me. I can see the tears building in his eyes, and my heart begins to hurt. “Are you going to say anything or just stand there?” I ask as I turn around, leaning against the sink.
“You looked good Saturday night.” I am surprised by his compliment. “You were there?” I say shocked.
“No, I wasn’t there. Someone sent me a picture,” Braden answers reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. Scrolling down, he then holds it up to show this picture. I take the phone out of his hand, studying it.
“Who sent you this?’
“I don’t know. It said ‘unknown,'” he responds sadly, lowering his head. “Just like the other one.” My head bolts up at his comment.
“What other one? Show me.” I push his phone back into his hands. “I can’t,” he says still looking at the old white ceramic tile. “It was on my other phone. I smashed it, though.”
My stomach drops as I prepare to ask, “What was the picture of?” He shakes his head as he begins walking backwards.
“Answer me,” I demand in a loud voice.
“I can’t,” he murmurs as he hurries out the door.
“Fuck!!!” I yell as I follow behind him. Yanking him by the arm, he turns around quickly, pulling his arm from my grip. “What was the fucking picture of, Braden.” I clench teeth. His eyes turn a darker blue than usual, and his face that usually radiates innocence or lust when we are together now shows anger.
“It was you! You were kissing some…some guy! Some old guy! Fuck you, Shawn, stay away from me! I thought you sincerely liked me, but no, I was some conquest!” he screams, trying to wipe away the tears that are racing down his face. At that moment, my chest tightens. I reach out my hand to dab at his tears, but he smacks it away. That’s when my heart finishes breaking.
“Do not touch me, stop calling and coming to my dorm room. I am done with you!” He runs out of the library.
After Braden ran, I grabbed my belongings and apologized to Shannon and left. It didn’t take long for me to figure out where the picture from the charity ball came from, and I’m betting that Charlie was the blonde I had seen hightailing it behind the bar. I reach for my phone looking for the bitch’s number. I text her.
Meet me behind the high school at 9pm. Alone.
I hit send.
Sure., is what I get back.
I need to lie down; my head is throbbing. I flop down on the bed and close my eyes. I see Braden’s teary doe eyes looking so hurt, so broken. I need to clear my mind, so I shake the image away only for another one to pop up—him lying on my chest. I like this one. It’s warm, soothing almost. I feel my body relax as the image takes me into the slumber I so desperately need.
I am awoken by my mom knocking on the door. I open my eyes and see the sun is disappearing. I look at my phone, it’s eight p.m.
“Shawn, honey, are you hungry?” she asks as she slowly opens the door with a tray in her hands. I sit up as she enters the room.
“Starving actually,” I reply as she sets the tray on my nightstand next to my bed.
“I made you a ham and cheese sandwich with mustard just the way you like it.” She hands me the plated sandwich. I take a bite and moan at its goodness. I know it’s just a sandwich, one I’ve eaten a thousand times, but when my mother makes it, I swear it tastes like a gourmet meal.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say taking the last bite. She swipes a piece of hair away from my eye.
“Are you feeling okay, son? You’ve been moping around here for weeks.”
“Just busy with everything. Nothing too serious.” I take a big gulp of the apple juice she brought with the sandwich.
“You sure?” she asks patting my knee. I nod my head, and she gives me this smile that says she really doesn’t believe me but will drop the subject.
After Mom leaves, taking the tray with her, I sit at the edge of the bed running my hand through my hair preparing myself for Charlie. I put my shoes on and head out of my room to the bathroom to piss and wash my face. I make it out downstairs and grab my keys off the hook next to the door. Before I can open it, my parents come out of Dad’s office with this look of disappointment on their faces.
“Shawn, get into this office now!” my dad yells at me. What the fuck is wrong now?
Chapter 13. Braden
That look of utter devastation on Shawn’s face in the library hasn’t left my mind. I lay in bed clear into the night contemplating what to do. If I didn’t see the picture of him kissing that man, I would believe he was set up, but I know that’s just wishful thinking. I hate that it’s come to t
his. Shawn and I were so hot together, burning bright, and then we were nothing. It seems so anticlimactic when you think about it.
I close my eyes and reflect on all that has happened today. I shouldn’t have followed Shawn into the bathroom. That was the stupidest thing I have ever done, and it hurt, even more, knowing he still wants me.
I should have stayed away.
Now, here I lay, wondering what would happen if I forgive him. I scold myself. That would be incredibly stupid. He obviously doesn’t love me and will just break my heart again. The look in his eyes when I pushed his hand away and asked him not to come near me almost killed me. Why does he care so much if he has that older man to lean back on?
These questions plague me, though I don’t have the heart to ask them. I fear the answers will hurt even more. Finally, I give up on sleep and get up, go over to my easel, and put up a new canvas. Painting takes me over without thinking, just letting the medium and the swift strokes of my hand carry me. I take deep breaths and let out all my emotions, my unrequited love, my passion for Shawn, and the impotent anger with every brushstroke. It’s cathartic, and I can feel it all falling away. My art taking me peacefully away.
I have no idea what is going on with Shawn and me, probably never will, but here with my paints in hand, I can be whoever I want to be. I can travel anywhere my mind will allow. I climb to the top of the highest peaks and fall from the sky in a glide of wings. Skies the limit if I have my imagination and creativity. Here, I am free. Free of pain and angst. Free of expectations.
My phone dings, my heart plummets, and my brushstrokes halt. Damn it. I groan as I place my brush in the cup and grab my phone. It’s my mom asking me to call her. I smile. It will be nice to talk to her. I have been avoiding contact with either of my parents since my breakup with Shawn. They both have an uncanny ability to know when I’m upset, and I’m not ready to talk about it. Taking a deep breath, I touch the call button.
