“Before I met you, I thought you were a huge asshole.” I admitted.

  He chuckled, “That article, huh?”

  I cocked my head. “How did you know?”

  He guffawed. “They grossly misquoted me in that. They wanted me to sound like someone well-traveled and important, to be like ‘look what kind of students we attract to the art school.’”

  “…Damn.” I said. I could relate 100%.

  “To be fair, before I met you I thought you were a total prick too.” He admitted with a chuckle.

  “What!” I gasped, surprised. Then I thought about it for a moment. “…same reason?” I asked, thinking of the Instagram version of me.

  “Your online presence, yeah.” He said. “It’s not like the real you at all.”

  I know what you mean,” I said, casting my eyes back up to the heavens. “I don’t write any of the captions, or take the pictures, or choose them. That’s all the university’s marketing team.”

  Sam let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

  “What?” I asked, pulling at the thread of his thought.

  He paused for a moment, trying to conjure up the right words. “You must feel like you can never be yourself. Not your true self, anyway.”

  Then I felt the love bloom inside me again. I was validated. Finally, someone understood.

  “More than you could ever know,” I admitted quietly. “But here with you, I feel whole. I feel like you see the real me. There’s been no one in my past, who looks at me – no, sees me the way you do, Sam. You have these eyes—these eyes that can cut through steel. And they can also cut through that,” I gestured to my phone up on the bench. “You have a gift, Sam. You can see the truth.”

  There were a few seconds where my words ebbed away into silence, and I had to wonder if I’d upset him.

  Then I heard a sniffle. When I looked up, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Tears were rolling down his face as this man who looked like a marble statue cast his eyes to the heavens.

  “You… you understand.” He whispered, holding me tight.

  I didn’t have the words to express the deep love I felt for him, right in that moment. But I knew that this memory would imprint me for my entire lifetime. I squeezed him tighter, then gave him another deep kiss. He returned it, as the sky was illuminated above us and the heavens gave us their blessings.

  Our kiss turned passionate, going deeper and deeper as we matched our rhythms. I felt like I was completely in tune with him, mind, body, and soul.

  He touched me and I felt my flesh burn and swim with desire. I loved his body up against mine; just his touch was enough to set my soul aflame. But when we were entangled like this, it was enough to make some kind of monster take over my body.

  For Sam and I, love and desire were one and the same. I had never wanted and needed someone, and been perfectly fulfilled by someone like this in my entire life.

  It was a drug, and I was addicted.

  24

  Sam

  The past few days with Evan had been pure heaven for me. I couldn’t believe I was with someone that completed me so, well, completely. And someone so beautiful, to boot! I looked at him and it was like the sun was rising in my world.

  I was sharing my bed with Evan, and saw my phone light up next to me. We were just about to go to sleep, and I don’t know what possessed me to reach over and check it one last time, but here I was—doing just that.

  I wished I hadn’t.

  It was from Kyle. “Hey. Can we talk?”

  Like, no motherfucker, we cannot!

  I heard Evan breathing softly next to me. He was asleep. Then I looked back at the phone and saw the dots again.

  “It’s important.”

  I sighed. I knew this would be a bad idea, and I felt like all my organs inside me had seized up. I remembered how he had made me feel when we were at our worst, and in order to get over him, I’d held onto that. But, there was good in him. He wasn’t going to try to murder me or anything. But what if this was about the business?

  Suddenly all my insides seized up again. That had to be it.

  I texted back, “I heard you’re in town.”

  I looked over at Evan next to me, all snuggled up in my bed. He deserved to get me with minimal baggage. And if what Kyle was saying actually was important, if it was about the business, I had to talk to him.

  The dots appeared again, “Yes. Want to meet at our old place?”

  Half an hour later, I was driving to a small dessert shop on the edge of town. Me and Kyle used to go here when we were back in Aspen for the holidays all the time. And for some reason, this was the place that Kyle chose to have his talks.

  I pulled up in the BMW, fully annoyed that it was frigid out here. What in the hell did he want to tell me in person that couldn’t be over the phone? I quelled my nervousness. This must have been about the business. I hoped it was just some regular plea to get back together, and not be about tampering with my money.

  Getting out of the car, I went inside and took a seat. It was eleven-forty at night, according to my Rolex, and he was late as usual.

  Kyle was always late.

  Ten minutes of waiting and playing on my phone later, I saw a car pull up. It was Steven’s car that he must’ve been borrowing. I took a deep breath and steeled myself, preparing for any kind of toll this would take on me. I felt the tenseness shudder and move into my arms.

  Then I saw his familiar face get out of the car, tuck his head down into his scarf like a turtle, and hurry inside.

  I was pleasantly surprised that he no longer had the same effect on me he used to. Actually, I was a little surprised at myself for ever dating him. He still looked good—don’t get me wrong, but there wasn’t that magical magnetism that drew me to him; that had long atrophied.

  He came up to me and when his eyes fell on me, I could tell there was some kind of reaction within them, even though he tried to remain emotionless. That was his whole thing anyway—the “emotionless businessman,” “cold hard cash,” he always said melodramatically.

  Just thinking of it now made my stomach curl up in disgust.

  “…Hey.” He said, sitting down at the table across from me.

  I cut straight to the chase. “Kyle, why did you ask me out here this late?”

  He sighed, annoyed that I didn’t have time for his charm, and his eyes went to the left.

  “I had to see you, for one, to catch up. I hear you’re dating someone now.”

  “That’s right.” I confirmed, trying hard to keep my face expressionless, but I felt the corners of my mouth turn up thinking of Evan.

  “Good.” He said curtly, “I am too.”

  “That’s great, now what’s this about?” I asked again. I swear to fucking God, if he dragged me out here in the middle of the night, out of my warm bed with Evan to have a pissing contest…

  “The business is going under.” He said soberly, hitting me with that glance that I knew things were serious.

  My mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He said, not meeting my eyes.

  “What—how?” I asked, flabbergasted. We had worked together on this project for years, poured thousands upon thousands into market research; our business was in a sustainable niche.

  “The market is volatile. You know with elections that the markets have taken a hit.” He said.

  “So what are you telling me?’ I asked, watching my source of money crumble before me.

  “It means we have to get out now. If we cut our losses, we each get to walk away with this much.” He said, writing a number on a napkin and passed it over to me.

  I studied it before responding. “That’s all?” I asked.

  It was enough to keep me living comfortably for a few years, but it wasn’t enough to sustain me for the rest of my life.

  “That’s it.” He said. “Do you want out?”

  I thought about it for a moment. I knew that was the right thing to do, rather than reinvest. But this meant I had to change my lifestyle and live more frugally. Did that mean that Evan would lose interest in me? Would he leave me?

  I sighed and said, “I need to talk to my lawyer. But this seems like it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Good. Glad we could get this taken care of,” He said. Then when he got up, he tossed back, “I hope you have a nice time trying to make money with your art.”

  I knew that was just a low blow to try to hurt me, so I didn’t respond. I watched him get into his car and drive away.

  Fear and worry seeped into me. My money was all going away; how was I going to sustain myself for a few years? Sure I was neck-deep in art school right now, and I had to finish that up, but then what? Where would I make my money?

  I went out to the BMW, turned on the engine and let the heat blow in my face when I tried to think of what to do next. All I knew how to do was create business, and even I knew that a significant part of it was luck. I was overcome with all this fear, and felt my mind spiraling.

  I needed something. I needed someone.

  Quickly, I dialed up Evan. I wasn’t used to leaning on anyone like this, but I knew I could count on him.

  He answered in a sleepy-sounding voice. “Hello?”

  “Evan…” I started, then explained the situation to him. Everything about Kyle, the news about the business, and my growing worry about my income. He listened patiently.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” He said.

  “No, you don’t understand. I won’t be okay. I won’t have any money rolling in anymore, and you’ll leave me.” I said.

  “Do you really think I only want you because of your money?” He asked.

  The question hung in the air silently.

  “You say that, but I know you’re not going to like dating a poor starving artist.” I said, rejecting his coddling.

  “Is that starving artist happy?” He asked.

  Again, I let it hang in the air. I wasn’t used to hearing someone argue with me in this way. Fighting for us.

  I pictured myself making a modest living off of art. Finding a way to make it work, somehow. With Evan.

  “As long as I’m with you.” I said with more determination than I’d ever felt. “As long as I’m with you.”

  “Good.” He said, then sniffled.

  “Aw baby, what’s wrong?” I asked. Now it was my turn to have him lean on me.

  Then with a growing realization, it dawned on me that he wasn’t talking in a sleeping voice – he was talking to me in his crying voice.

  “It’s nothing—really, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Please. Let me help you.” I said. I wanted to support him. I needed to support him. I felt like he’d just supported me; the least I could do was return the favor.

  “Okay, okay.” He relented, “I got the grade back from that exam I took.” He said.

  I bit my lip, hard.

  “I failed. I’m going to lose my scholarship.”

  25

  Evan

  I must have fallen asleep in Sam’s bed. Yawning sleepily, I reached over next to me to wrap my arm around him.

  There was nothing there but cold sheets.

  Assuming he was in the bathroom or something, I checked my phone and saw that I’d gotten a notification that my stats exam score was posted.

  Piercing anxiety coiled around my body, making the sheets feel tight. I wished I could wait until the morning to open it, but now I was wide awake. I couldn’t fall back asleep without checking it.

  Steeling myself, I opened the notification.

  I’d gotten a thirty-two percent on the exam.

  My hand started shaking. This was going to pull my GPA down below a 3.0. I was going to lose my scholarship, and… and without it I could no longer afford to attend the University of Michigan.

  My future was taken away from me. It was ruined.

  Then my phone screen changed to black and lit up with Sam’s name. He was calling me.

  There was something about him that let him know when I needed him most.

  After our conversation, it was only a few minutes until Sam was home again.

  He came into the room like a beacon of hope through my own personal darkness. He just lay down in bed next to me and held me wordlessly. Whispering words of comfort occasionally.

  It was a very sweet moment, but in my head I was already making plans of what to do. There might be a chance—might be—of me retaining the scholarship. If I appealed to the college and begged for it, maybe there was a sliver of hope.

  But that would mean I would have to get all A’s next semester and bring my grade back up. The score from this class would certainly bring me down a lot. I didn’t have time for distractions.

  The next day was our last day in Aspen, and there was a noticeable wall between me and Sam. We were still close, and we were still talking, but it was tangible.

  He could feel it, I could feel it.

  I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know how to get past it. Something had shifted.

  We ate breakfast together with his family, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, even though everyone was acting normal and jovial.

  We bid goodbye to his family, and Katie swept me up in a huge hug. “You better be back next Christmas!” She threatened with a wink.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I replied good-naturedly.

  Sam didn’t say anything.

  The flight back to Ann Arbor was equally awkward. We talked and talked, but something was gone. Something was between us, and though we still had a magnetic attraction, the wall was concrete. Soundproof.

  A few days after we got back, I was in Sam’s house again, and he was drawing me when he put down his pencil with a loud clatter.

  “I need to go for a walk.”

  And even those light, seemingly innocent words, were like arrows to my heart. I knew in my gut what this was about.

  “Do you want to talk?” I asked him.

  “No,” He said, “I just need some air.”

  I didn’t blame him—it was one of those rare chilly yet sunny mornings in Michigan.

  While he was gone, I was alone in his house. I thought of ways to cheer him up.

  I knew what I had to do—give his artwork more visibility.

  Then I got up off the couch and walked around the studio, where there were lots of pictures of me on the walls. I could see that he was transitioning into more abstract versions of me, and I could see distinctly when he was starting to fall in love with me.

  The ones he had made when we first started this thing were just pencil sketches of me, plain, boring, even though they were quite detailed. But the ones he had done recently were… they were something else. There was a perfectly, hyper-colorful version of me in fractals, one with me and flowers blooming out of my head, and one of me with cracks all over my body as if I were made of porcelain.

  I knew what that one meant; he did that one right after I told him all the pressure I was under. These drawings of me, they were the true form of me, not this fake Instagram account that the university peddled to sports fans.

  I didn’t like swimming. I didn’t like what I was doing at school, the classes I was taking. I didn’t like all this fame. What I liked was right here in this house, or, rather, at the moment, walking around outside going through something.

  So I took pictures on my phone that looked good, edited them, put a filter on them, and then clicked “post.”

  Within a few minutes, I already had thousands upon thousands of likes and comments. I tagged Sam too, and I knew his phone was blowing up with follows.

  He texted me, “What did you do?”

  I was so happy to hear from him, to feel that connection was still there.

  “Tagged you in a post.” I texted back. “You’re famous now, you’re welcome.”

  There were the dots, and then they went away. Then the dots again, and they went away.

  Oh no, did I do something wrong? I thought. The more time passed, the more I realized that I had probably made a terrible mistake.

  But I didn’t see what could possibly be wrong about it. No doubt people would be contacting him for commissions and stuff, which was how careers in art grew. Right?

  The clock was ticking into the silence and each noise thrust me deeper into anxiety. It seemed like an eternity until he got back.

  When he finally did, he came through the door as a stranger. There was something terribly off, terribly missing from him. I went up to greet him, to throw my arms around him and hug him, but he didn’t return the hug.

  “Did I do something bad? Was that wrong?” I asked.

  He sighed.

  “Let’s sit at the table.” He said.

  I felt like my head was exploding. Was he going to break up with me?

  “I’ve been thinking.” He said when we sat down. “Actually, do you want a water?”

  My mouth was ridiculously dry, but I had to know. I didn’t have time for distractions like water.

  “Tell me.” I said, ignoring his question.

  He sighed and looked down. “This isn’t going to work.” He said with a finality. And then it felt like there was a wrecking ball slamming through my chest, knocking everything out of me. I actually bucked, losing my breath.

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I asked, feeling the tears well up behind my eyes. “Is it because of what I posted?” I asked, grabbing at straws, but I knew it was more than that.

  He smiled a little smile that meant “kinda,” but it didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s more than that. I can’t give you what you need.” He said.

  “Bullshit.” I said, slamming my fist down on the table. “You’re all I need!”

  “Evan, we can’t do this anymore. I need to find a way to make a name for myself. I don’t have everlasting money anymore. It’s time to get serious about my career, and I’m already neck-deep in this art thing.”

  My mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe it. “So this is about your pride?” I asked, feeling disgusted, “This is about… being in my shadow? I was only trying to help!” I said, searching for something, anything, any display of emotion on his face.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16