21. But I’m a Nice Guy
But I’m a Nice Guy
SARAFINA
I sent one more follow-up text, but I never did get a text back from Carter that following week, so I finally decided to let it go. Let him go.
I didn’t know why he was suddenly ignoring me after being so sweet on the phone, but I didn’t have the energy to overthink it, because I was busy using every ounce of energy, I did have to drag that damn paint bucket around campus.
The task was utterly exhausting and left me feeling like I was going to faint at any given moment.
It also garnered a cacophony of confused looks from other students, though I found myself surprised at how easy it was now not to care about things like that anymore.
A few assholes recorded me, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t dealt with before.
“Morning.” Isaac’s far too chipper voice sounded from behind me.
I grunted at him in response, and he went on filling the air with whatever it was he talked about while he strolled alongside me to class everyday now.
I really needed to use some of the paint because I was going to wither up and die if I didn’t get rid of some of the weight. That or Isaac was going to talk my ear off first.
How hard could it be? I was overcomplicating this, I knew that.
I’d just dump the bucket out on a canvas and be done with the damn thing—I’d just do it.
Easy.
Open the lid, and pour it out, bada bing, bada boom, didn’t even have to pick up a paintbrush.
Only when I got there that afternoon… I couldn’t do it.
Instead, I sat on top of the bucket and just stared at my paintings from last year.
The more I stared at them, the more I hated them.
They made me feel like an impostor. I knew I could never recreate a series like the one in front of me again, and it made me feel panicked.
I was breathing, but it felt like I was suffocating.
Everything was so different now. I was different now.
I had no idea how to move through the world anymore.
Maybe I wasn’t even a painter at all. Maybe I never had been.
And yet, knowing there was literally no point, I pushed the paint bucket out into the hall, and went through the effort to haul the damn thing home with me.
By the end of the following week, I was, of course, exhausted, because that stupid bucket was still full to the brim. I hadn’t been able to use a single drop. Which meant I’d been hauling around a full paint bucket for nearly two weeks now.
This morning to keep my strength up, I’d eaten two cheese sticks for breakfast, which I supposed was Professor Alden’s plan all along—trick me into eating more, out of sheer survival, but even with the extra cheese stick for breakfast, I was still running on fumes.
Professor Alden periodically checked in on me throughout the week, but she never pushed for an explanation as I hauled that paint bucket in and out of her class. I think she appreciated that I was taking her assignment seriously. Though, for the life of me, I didn’t know why I even bothered.
Oddly, I found myself growing attached to that stupid bucket. The weight was… comforting in a strange way.
Every day was the same. Cheese sticks, paint bucket, collapse into bed without dinner because I was so exhausted. The bucket was becoming so ingrained in my daily routine, I almost forgot I had an assignment to complete. Almost.
Isaac was a thorn in my side, since he’d figured out my schedule, and while I’d grown less and less suspicious of him, he was still talking my ear off every day—all while I nodded and grunted at him.
Clearly, he wasn’t smart enough to be a journalist, and the paparazzi would have taken their damn photo already.
What he wanted exactly, I wasn’t sure, but everyday he asked if he could carry the bucket for me, and every day, I told him the same thing.
No. And then he’d respond back, “Right, because you’re doing a process. ” Only today, that’s not what he said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be using that paint or something?” He scratched his head as we passed under the rustling trees.
I sighed. “Don’t judge me. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”
I looked over at him and decided it was too much work to keep being aloof. “I give up.”
He laughed. “On what, exactly?”
“On trying to avoid you.” I set the bucket down. “You can carry it.”
“Really?”
I gave him a small smile. “No.”
He made a face at me. “Are you serious?”
“That was called a joke.” I flexed my hand to get the circulation going. The thin handle was a nightmare. My hands had blistered last week, and now they were peeling .
He grinned. “You’re telling jokes now?”
“I suppose I am.”
“That means you’re warming up to me.” He nudged my shoulder and reached for the bucket.
“No, seriously, you can’t carry it.”
“You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that.”
I smiled to myself at the realization. I hadn’t accomplished anything of substance this year, but he was right, I was dedicated. I had committed to this assignment. Even if it was dumb.
“So, are you going to give me your number now?” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest, shaking me out of my thoughts.
“Nice try.” I scoffed. “Just because I’ve decided not to ignore you doesn’t make us friends.”
“Come on, how am I supposed to even try to be your friend if I can’t invite you to anything?
” He pulled out his phone, and I realized the loneliness of the last few months had felt like a suffocating blanket.
“We’re ten digits away from having a good time.
” He said, a flirtatious little smirk on his face.
Heart thundering in my ears, in a moment of pure insanity, I blurted out my number.
Isaac’s thumbs tapped away on the screen. “Check your phone.”
Oh shit. What did I just do? I swallowed hard. “Now?”
“I want to make sure you didn’t give me a fake number.” He smirked as I groaned and set the bucket down, checking my phone. I waited, but no message came through. “That’s what I thought.” Isaac laughed and plucked my phone out of my hand, tapping away.
“Not my fault you typed it in wrong.” I muttered immediately wishing I had given him the wrong number.
“Yeah, right.” When he handed my phone back, a new text thread at the top of my messages was addressed to:
My best friend Isaac
He y
I shook my head and stuffed my phone into my back pocket. “You’re very presumptuous.” I muttered, and then curiously, “What did you save my contact as?”
Isaac smiled, and his thumbs flew over his phone screen. “Check your messages.” He wiggled his brows and peeled off in the direction of his class. “Bye, baby.”
I saved your contact as Bucket Baby
Very cute.
Not as cute as you
Now go to class you slacker
I hauled the bucket up, and a small smile threatened to tug the corners of my mouth up. I shook it off and headed towards my studio. He was not my friend.
The next week, after following me around like a sad puppy as usual, Isaac made his move. He invited me over for pizza and a movie that Friday, and to my surprise, I said yes.
I showed up at his apartment after my evening class, sans paint bucket.
He opened his front door dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, looking shocked. “Woah, no paint bucket.” He motioned for me to come in.
“It’s my weekend.” I shrugged.
He smiled and shut the door behind me, tipping his head for me to follow him into the kitchen, where he handed me a plastic plate. I looked around his space, taking it in. Typical college guy apartment. It was clean at least, pretty empty though.
“Take your pick,” he said, opening all three boxes of pizza, each a different type .
“You got this all for us?” I asked, wondering how much he planned on eating.
He dropped his hand down onto my shoulder and squeezed. “I think you need to eat, young lady, so I came prepared. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for.” His thoughtfulness caught me off guard.
Truth be told, the smell of the pizza was making me queasy though, so I grabbed a single slice of cheese pizza and headed for the table just off the kitchen.
Isaac sat across from me, several slices piled onto his plate. “You want a beer?” He asked, setting an open one down for me. I shook my head no. “Suit yourself.” He used his t-shirt to twist off the cap of his own beer.
In the time it took him to finish his plate and go back for seconds, I’d barely gotten half a piece down. He looked at my plate with slight concern.
“I ate before I came. Sorry.” I tried to lie convincingly. “It’s hard to get through that evening class without dinner.”
Isaac nodded, clearly trying to decide if he believed me. “No worries. My roommate and I will probably finish all that off by tomorrow anyway.” Finishing his seconds in record time, Isaac wiped his hands on his jeans and asked, “You want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.” I nodded in agreement. That was what he’d invited me over to do in the first place, so might as well.
We picked a new release, and he sat at one end of the couch and I sat at the other. “You avoiding me?” He asked flirtatiously, and I didn’t know what to say. Kinda yes. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, and he waved me over. “Get in here.”
“I don’t know.” I said uneasily. Maybe I hadn’t fully thought it through, coming here, evaluating what his intentions were. I mean, I didn’t really know the guy.
“You look so damn sad all the time, a little cuddling isn’t going to kill you,” he argued and patted the couch next to him.
“Might even be good for you.” Maybe he was right though, maybe a little human contact wouldn’t be so bad.
I moved to the other side of the couch to sit next to him, leaving an inch of room between us so we weren’t touching.
He chuckled, and he spread his legs wider, so we were just touching, and I supposed I was okay with that.
“I’m here when you’re ready.” He winked, arm wide open, waiting for me.