Chapter Seven
Troy
The smell of coffee, warm and aromatic, wafted through the air. I looked over Seth’s countertop, probably made of expensive, rare marble or whatever rich people use. Seth glanced at me over his shoulder and smiled. “Did you want a cup?”
Was I imagining that all his smiles seemed slyer and more mischievous now? I shifted uncomfortably on his sofa. “No, I think I’m fine. Thank you.”
Seth nodded and cheerfully poured what looked like an entire bottle of creamer in his coffee.
I grimaced. How did he manage to eat that overly sweet, artificial crap?
I could feel my teeth rotting just watching him.
Seth sat on the opposite end of the sofa; his hands curled around his cup of coffee.
He looked unfairly attractive sitting there, wearing a too-tight, black shirt and gray, fleece pants.
His hair was wild in the mornings and vaguely resembled a bird’s nest.
“So, what are the plans for today?” Seth asked.
Why was he so damned cheerful in the morning?
That damn attitude made it really hard to look at him with indifference.
He was too charming. Evidently. God, I’d practically thrown myself in bed with him, and it had taken such a ridiculously small amount of effort on his part, too.
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.
“I shouldn’t have slept with him,” I thought.
I’d really screwed that up. Seth knew where I worked. He could tell anyone about this if he wanted to. And how could I ask him not to tell anyone? That sounded even worse. “Hey, Seth. The sex was great. Now don’t tell anyone we did that, okay?”
That sounded like I was embarrassed of him or something. I wasn’t. But I didn’t want to be out yet. Surely, he’d understand that, right?
“Is something wrong, Troy?” Seth asked.
He leaned forward and let his forearms rest on his knees.
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
There was a beat of silence. “You're not breaking up with me—we weren't even together,” Seth said.
I nodded, too anxious to appreciate his sarcasm. “It’s just—look. We shouldn’t—we shouldn’t have had sex last night.”
Seth tilted his head a little and sipped his coffee. His face wasn’t judgmental. No, he seemed to take my comment surprisingly well, since I doubted Seth faced rejection all that often. I bit the inside of my cheek, but Seth seemed to be waiting for something. And maybe I owed him that.
“It was nice. Enjoyable. But I feel like we shouldn’t have…I haven’t done that in a long time. Okay?”
“Can’t relate.” Seth grinned and winked.
He was probably trying to lighten the mood, but I felt a jolt of irritation toward him. Maybe that wasn’t entirely fair. Seth couldn’t know what I was thinking because I hadn’t said. I couldn’t expect him to read my mind.
“You didn’t enjoy yourself? Or you’re having remorse now?” Seth asked.
“No, I did enjoy myself.”
Quite a bit, actually. And Seth was probably way out of my league, that he’d even agreed was something of a miracle.
I glanced around his apartment. It was eerily clean, like an apartment from Southern Home and Gardens or something.
Like no one actually lived there. He probably had someone clean the apartment for him.
Duh, he’s rich. They don’t clean anything.
“It’s just that I’m not…” I trailed off.
How could I possibly tell Seth, who was so confident and out about his sexuality, that I was still in the closet? It sounded pathetic, even in my own head.
“I’d rather you not tell anyone we had sex.”
“Why?”
I dug my nails into the palms of my hands and tried to steady myself. “I’m not exactly out to most people yet, Seth. And I’d like to remain in the closet until I’m comfortable with being out. So, if we could keep this between us, that would be great.”
“Sure, no prob.”
I waited for him to turn angry, or maybe act like a spoiled brat. I didn’t expect someone loaded like him to take this sort of thing well.
“Sure?” I echoed.
Seth sighed. “Look. I’ve had a ton of sex, and I don’t make that a secret.
But if you don’t want me to tell, fine. I get it.
I mean, I wasn’t always out myself. So why would I make your life unnecessarily difficult?
I’m not going to tell anyone something like that. That’s your story to tell, not mine.”
I watched him for a long moment. His face softened, his hazel eyes bright with sympathy and understanding. Seth wasn’t a bad guy, or a spoiled brat like I’d anticipated. No, he was a decent man who understood. I’d been absurdly wrong about him.
“Thank you, Seth,” I said, forcing down the lump in my throat. “That’s very…very nice of you.”
“Not really. It’s more common courtesy. We’ve all been there; you know. And if you ever want any—well, I won’t say guidance or something, but—someone to talk to, don’t hesitate.”
I doubted I’d ever ask him for anything, but the offer seemed genuine.
“Thanks,” I said.
Seth nodded and climbed to his feet. “Shall I show you out, then?”
“I can show myself out.”
He sat again and smiled. “I’ll see you again soon.”
I nodded. As I left, I couldn’t decide how I felt about Seth’s promise to see me around. The thought of seeing him again after this filled my belly with a sudden, fierce fluttering. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Life kind of sucks, sometimes. You know?” I typed into my phone, hitting “Send” before stowing my phone once more in my pocket.
It was difficult not to think about Seth.
Not only did he show up at my work, but we’d also gone shopping for junk.
So now, when I looked at the scattered bits of metal that I’d bought while out with him, I thought of him.
And Seth was nice, too; understanding. And all this made it much harder not to think about him.
It was stupid. Like being an awkward teenager again. Worse, Seth seemed the sort of guy I could really like. But I couldn’t. Committing to a relationship with Seth would mean coming out, and I wasn’t ready for that.
I sighed, and stared at the window in my apartment as if I could force thoughts of Seth away through willpower alone.
Outside, rain lashed against the window, obscuring the streets of Bluehaven.
The water seeped around the window frame, seeping into the apartment walls.
I grimaced at the black mold growing there.
All that silicone and caulk had done nothing for the leak.
And maintenance would take forever to fix it—if they even tried.
I’d already called maintenance about the leak, actually.
And I saw now the fruits of both their labors and mine.
I went to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, blotted with stains of oil that no amount of washing would remove, and shoved it into the damp edge of the frame.
Saving the carpet was probably a pointless endeavor, but I still shoved two more towels against the now-damp carpet.
Truthfully, it all needed to be replaced, but the landlord and I had been over this time and time again.
Apparently, mold didn't count as a real problem to him.
“At least I don’t have asthma,” I muttered.
I went back to my project on the floor. Right now, it wasn’t much—just bits and broken pieces of glass and metal—and my inspiration had run dry. But the competition was fast approaching. I had to come up with something. I couldn’t just have all this wasted time and money.
I sat cross-legged on the carpet and glanced upward, grimacing at the yellow-brown discoloration on the ceiling. Someday, this whole apartment was probably going to cave in.
My phone beeped, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Godofdiscord.
“What happened?”
I sighed. “The window leaks or something. It soaked the carpet and the walls, and there’s already mold growing everywhere. The maintenance in this place sucks. The elevator hasn’t worked in years. I almost wish they’d get into some big lawsuit, so maybe they’d actually fix some damn stuff”.
Or they’d get shut down, and I’d have to find somewhere else to live.
And that sure wasn’t going to happen with my crap credit and near-zero income.
I ran a hand through my hair and gazed at the ceiling, as if all the solutions to my problems would suddenly fall on my face.
I knew they wouldn’t. But the ceiling itself might, at the rate I was progressing.
I wondered if those water spots I saw looked like sunken places in the apartment above mine.
“That sucks! What are you going to do?”
What could I do? I didn’t have the finances to move anywhere else, and I couldn’t ask anyone for help.
Which…
That wasn’t entirely true. If I called them up, my parents would be happy to help my finances.
But that would mean dredging up the past. And they’d insist on visits and phone calls.
I’d come to Bluehaven to put some distance between us, not that my plan had entirely worked. Skye lived too close for comfort.
“I don’t know,” I typed back. “Hope it doesn’t rain much more. I guess. Avoid my sister. If she comes over here and finds tons of towels all over the place, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She’d offer to help me clean things up. No, not offer. She’d nag me into an early grave over it. And what kind of grown-ass man depended on his sister to take care of him?
“I wouldn’t count on the rain holding. Don’t you live near NYC?”
“Something like that,” I wrote.
You could never be too careful with people online.
And as much as I trusted Godofdiscord, I didn’t want him getting too close.
When people got too close, they wanted things.
They wanted your time and attention, and I was ready to give neither.
I didn’t have either. Between working at the autobody shop and working on my art, time was scarce for me.
And affection even less. But I didn’t want to think about how I just didn’t want to be close to people.
Letting people in just meant getting hurt.
“It’s been raining for a week straight now,” I replied.
And the gray, heavy clouds outside the apartment window promised more rain on the way.
I felt an unwelcome spark of envy for Seth and his nice, posh apartment.
It must be nice to have money and not have to worry about things like leaking windows or mold on the walls.
If this was a problem that more caulk couldn’t solve, I didn’t know what I would do.
Keep living in my crappy, leaking apartment and deal with it; I guess. I couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.
“Do you want me to PayPal you some money?”
That was tempting. But I couldn’t take it. I was at a point where I ought to be able to make ends meet without having to mooch off people I’d met online.
“No, I couldn’t,” I said. “I’d feel like I owed you, and I don’t have the money to pay you back.”
“But I have it to spare,” he argued. “You might as well take it. It’s not like you’re asking for a million bucks.”
No, I wasn’t. I looked back at the window and grimaced.
It would probably cost a ton to fix. The whole window probably needed to be replaced, truth be told.
And then, the carpet. Maybe some sheetrock.
And maintenance wouldn’t agree to do it.
That was for sure. I had a feeling their plan was to run the building into the ground, and then cut their losses.
“No,” I replied. “I’ll figure it out.”
I always figured it out. Somehow.