Chapter 3 #2
Opening his eyes, Eden finds Addy in front of him smiling in that all too familiar way of hers.
She leans forward, pressing their foreheads together before kissing his nose then nudging him down the hallway.
Making his way towards Addy and Ella’s shared room, he lets his fingers drag over the crayon portraits taped to the wall.
He can’t imagine having grown-up in a home like this—wanted and loved and safe.
It’s everything Ella deserves. Taped to the front of their open doorway is one she drew last week, a scribbled stick figure meant to be Eden standing with Ella and Addy.
My family she’d said, unaware of the way she’d broken Eden entirely.
Centered on her small bed, surrounded by her army of plushies, sits Ella, talking to her favorite plush while waiting for Eden.
“You came,” she claps.
“I’ll always come,” he promises, scooting onto the edge of the bed.
She snuggles into his side, holding up the book she picked about a lost puppy.
They’ve read this book half a dozen times since she got it from the library, and Eden has it memorized at this point, which is good since sometimes new books give him trouble.
This is why when she gets books he’s worried about, he’ll sit in the living room and practice reading them when she’s not around so he doesn’t stumble over any unfamiliar words during their story time.
“Once there was a very little puppy—” he starts, the tightness in his chest loosening.
Ella fidgets to get comfortable, eventually rolling herself into the corner where she will, despite all protests, fall asleep while Eden is reading.
Sure enough by the time he’s turned the last page Ella is sound asleep and drooling on her plush pig.
“Night, Ella,” Eden whispers, pressing a kiss atop her bonnet covered hair before switching off the bedside lamp then leaving the room.
When he comes out, he finds Addy waiting in the kitchen, one of Ella’s unicorn lunch boxes and a filled, reusable water bottle with the sanitation department logo on it they got for free at a street fair.
“Did you make my lunch, Mommy?”
“Smart ass,” Addy snorts. At twenty-three, she’s only a few years older than Eden, but sometimes she acts like she’s decades older. Then again, the world made her grow up far too fast as well, albeit in different ways. “We both know you won’t eat anything tonight if I hadn’t.”
“They let us eat whatever is left over at the end of the night,” Eden reminds her.
“Uh-huh, and you won’t eat any of it,” Addy says while holding out the lunch box. “There’s a cheese sandwich with no crust, a mixed fruit cup and a string cheese. Also some water so you don’t die of dehydration.”
“Thanks,” Eden mumbles, uncomfortable with how good it feels to have her care. He grabs the lunch box and water bottle, hoping he might have five minutes in the parking lot to at least do some eyeliner so he doesn’t feel fucking naked tonight at work.
“It’s nothing,” Addy shrugs. “Make sure to say hi to your hot artist.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? You don’t remember those gorgeous twins at the art gallery last night—over six feet of sexy man.
One of whom, need I remind you, eye-fucked you half of Friday night and some of Saturday.
He looked at you like he wanted to devour you, Eden, and you stared at him all night.
You even chatted him and his brother up—that real sweet, quiet one. That ring a bell?”
“Nope,” Eden lies, fingering the worn handle on Ella’s lunch box.
“So if I asked around for his number you wouldn’t care?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Eden grouses.
“That guy isn’t good enough for you. Rich fucking asshole in a sea of other rich, snobby assholes.
Besides, he's a total player. I was too busy to acknowledge his flirting so he left with some other rich woman on his arm. Not that I’m judging anyone who wants to slut it up but uh, that’s not your type.
You deserve someone nice and stable who worships the ground you and Ella walk on. ”
“Like you,” she grins.
“Addy, my love, if anyone could turn me straight, it’d be you.
” Eden laughs as he says it, but it’s not far from the truth.
If sexuality were a choice, he would’ve picked her a million times over.
He supposes he has picked her and Ella really, depending on how you look at it.
Not that he would date anyone if he were alone because fuck that with a ten-foot pole.
“Fine, so maybe he isn’t boyfriend material,” Addy begins.
“Pigs will fucking fly before I want a fucking boyfriend,” Eden interjects.
“Alright, king of cynicism. I am well aware of how you feel about relationships. If you had let me get a word in edgewise you would know I was only going to remind you that if you wanted to have a little fun tonight you should. I’ll be here watching my reality shows all night, and Ella is safe and sound in her bed.
There is nothing stopping you from slutting it up with him if he asks again. ”
“I will not be slutting it up with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome,” Eden grumbles.
Addy’s grin is wicked. “So you admit he’s handsome.”
“Fuck you, Addy.” Eden steps backwards, shaking the water bottle at her. “Fuck. You.”
“Do all the fun things I wouldn’t,” Addy laughs, ignoring the way Eden flips her off before heading for the front door.
Eden does not think about Charlie, with his stupidly attractive face and his stupid fucking wavy hair and his nice fucking voice because he will not be fucking him tonight.
Absolutely the fuck not.
“Eden, you’ve got another tray coming.”
That’s all the warning he gets before his empty tray is yanked from his hand and a full tray of something topped with disgusting caviar is placed in his upturned hand. Eden will never understand rich people. Fucking caviar.
He wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve, trying to catch his breath. Tonight’s been a cluster fuck of needy rich people asking for ingredient lists and recipe cards while alternating between treating Eden like he’s invisible or hitting on him. He’s not sure which is more annoying.
“Hurry up and get back out there,” his supervisor orders.
Eden has barely made it out to the floor before he hears an all too familiar voice.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”
Holding his breath, Eden barely resists the urge to scream. This fucking cream suit dick has a lot of fucking nerve. Eden can’t remember his name, though he’s told him twice now. Stewart or Richard or some shit. It gives Eden a thrill to refuse to remember his dumb name.
Tonight he’s wearing another equally bland suit, and his smile makes Eden want to throw the tray of food in his face.
Sure, maybe it’s not his fault that someone spilled their wine on Eden’s shoes—his only pair of work shoes—and despite cleaning as best he could there’s something sticky in his socks.
And yeah, maybe it’s not his fault that Eden has been out of fucking sorts all night because he didn’t have time to do more than a half-assed winged liner.
And no, it’s not this guy’s fault that Eden hates being called beautiful.
It is however, his fault that he won’t fucking leave Eden alone, despite him giving zero indication he is interested.
“The offer from last night still stands. You’d look gorgeous in my car or my bed.” He winks, making Eden’s insides churn.
Don’t get yourself fired. Don’t get yourself fired.
Losing his other job last month means that this weekend’s serving gig is the only one he currently has.
Under no circumstances can he afford to lose this one.
Addy would never kick him out for not having money for rent but the prospect of being unable to contribute makes him feel way too vulnerable.
When he isn’t working serving jobs or babysitting Ella, he’s putting in applications all over town. Unfortunately, since most people aren’t clamoring to hire a high school dropout with a bad attitude and a disregard for gender norms, he’s yet to find another job.
Smoothing his fingers down his skirt, Eden frowns.
He wishes he understood why so many people give a fuck what he covers his dick with or puts on his face.
So he loves showy eye makeup, even when he’s wearing ripped jeans and Converse or, when he feels comfortable, his preferred clothing item—a skirt.
Fucking sue him. It doesn’t mean he’s less of a man.
His gender isn’t reliant on his strict adherence to made up social norms, and he’s just fucking tired of having to pretend he doesn’t care how much people look at him.
As a kid, he’d wanted nothing more than for someone, anyone, to pay him attention.
Now he’d like nothing more than for everyone to leave him the fuck alone.
At least here, surrounded by art and a more liberal attitude, Eden’s never gotten shit for his appearance.
Just a pocketful of unwanted phone numbers from people who view Eden the way they do the art on these walls—something to own and consume.
Well newsflash, Eden isn’t a fucking piece of art, and he’s no one’s to own. Not ever again.
All Eden wants to do is scream, or throw his tray of food in this guy's face or across the room, but Eden can’t afford to get in trouble.
Especially since someone anonymously complained to his supervisor about his attitude last night, putting him on thin fucking ice.
Someone who, based on the complaint leveled at him the second he walked through the back door, was definitely this boring fucker standing in front of him.