Chapter 6 Andrew #3
It’s so exhausting caring what everyone thinks. It’s exhausting being what everyone needs. It takes so much energy being everything to everyone all the fucking time.
“Break it,” Nicki yells, his demand freeing Andrew from the responsibility of making the choice.
Without second guessing it, Andrew takes the bat, pulls it back, and swings it with all his might, watching as the vase shatters into pieces, spraying the room in rose petals and broken glass.
“Fuck yes!” Nicki crows.
Adrenaline courses through Andrew’s veins, an unexpected relief at seeing the mess he created.
He’s never messy. He never lets himself be messy, but it’s only Nicki witnessing the chaos.
Nicki, who is somehow a bigger mess than Andrew.
Nicki, who isn’t Andrew’s real boyfriend or real friend.
It’s all pretend, everything is pretend, and Andrew is suddenly angrier than he’s ever been in his life.
Fuck this stupid fake boyfriend shit.
Fuck only being wanted because he can help people and not because someone wants him.
Fuck his friends for taking advantage of the fact that he will have their backs even when it hurts him.
Fuck his family for never seeing how much it kills him to be the first one they call when something is wrong and the last one they call when everything is right.
Fuck his coworkers for giving him all the extra work because they know he won’t say no.
Fuck everyone.
Fuck everything.
Letting go, Andrew feels the bat connect with the corner of the table, the wood splintering with the force of his hit. It’s not enough, he needs it to break the way he himself can’t, the way he’s never been allowed to.
Throwing every ounce of strength he possesses into his swings, he takes the bat to the center of the table over and over until the wood cracks and splits in two. His arms shake with exertion, his lungs tight, yet he’s never felt so free.
Before he can overthink what to do next, Nicki is beside him with an arm full of shit to break, passing Andrew frames and cups he sends sailing across the room. As each one breaks, he feels something inside of him loosen.
“There’s another room,” Nicki yells, guiding Andrew through the door he assumed was locked and into a replica of a kitchen.
Much like the mock living room, it’s clearly been damaged and repaired, but the staging with the dinner plates on the table and the pile of mismatched dishes in the sink lends an air of believability that makes it feel wrong.
Once again the choice is taken from Andrew, and while any other time it might trigger anxiety, all he feels is a swell of relief when Nicki passes him a plate.
“Fuck it up,” Nicki instructs, the smile clearly reaches his eyes despite the goggles and is as unrestrained as he himself is in here.
Suddenly Andrew can see what Nicki likes about this place—the controlled chaos, the freedom—it’s euphoric, and Andrew lets out the last of his rage as he and Nicki join forces in absolutely destroying the room beyond what seems repairable.
Each time Andrew feels a flicker of guilt about who has to clean this up, or worries they’re breaking too much, he recalls Nicki’s earlier words.
Get pissed off. Fuck shit up. Andrew is never going to have this chance again.
He would never come here alone, and if he ever came with his brothers, he’d spend all his time watching them to make sure they were being safe.
He doesn’t need to worry about Nicki, only himself, and that relief is staggering.
It occurs to Andrew how much of his days, all of his days if he’s being honest, is spent worrying about someone else. It’s exhausting, and sometimes, well—sometimes, it makes Andrew angry. He loves his friends and his family, but why don’t they notice?
Letting the frustration and anger that he normally buries rise to the surface, he lets out a deep, guttural scream and takes his bat to the cupboards.
His hands shake from the force of the swing, the echoing crunch of metal on wood dulled by the blaring bass thrumming through the speakers.
Andrew is suddenly grateful for the horrible music, grateful his own screams and aggression can be drowned out by something else.
Sweat drips into his eyes, his lungs burn, and he struggles to catch his breath as he swings the bat over and over until his fingers ache and his arms give out. Sliding to the ground amongst the mess he made, Andrew looks up to find Nicki watching him with an unreadable expression.
There is no responding barb, no teasing, only a quiet kind of understanding as Nicki sinks to the ground beside Andrew, taking the bat from his sore hands before sliding an arm around Andrew’s shoulders as if he senses how close to shattering Andrew truly is.
“This okay?” He questions.
Inexplicably soothed by the request for permission, Andrew nods.
Usually he’s the one giving the hugs to his brothers, the one comforting someone else.
It’s nice to be on the receiving end for once.
Nicki’s body is solid and strong, and Andrew collapses against him, unsure why it’s easier to fall apart in front of Nicki than anyone else in his life.
He barely knows Nicki, yet for all that what they’re doing isn’t real, the lack of pretenses between them is more real than anything else in his life.
“Maybe highness is too heavy a title,” Nicki says, a surprising lack of judgement in his tone.
Andrew doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how to confirm what Nicki has somehow sussed out in one single fake date. That Andrew is exhausted. How is it this behemoth of a man with a penchant for fighting and fucking managed to pick up on something his own family hasn’t noticed in thirty-two years?
“Perhaps you’re more of a princess.”
“Not a princess,” Andrew huffs, hating how much he doesn’t hate the name.
“So particular, princess.”
Even as a protest rises on his lips, Andrew fights it off. Maybe this isn’t real, and yes, it’s going to end when Nicki doesn’t need him anymore, but they’re already pretending to be boyfriends. What’s one more layer to their pretending?
“Did I finally find a way to shut you up?” Nick asks.
“No, I was just thinking.”
“Was it about how much fun you had? I was right, wasn’t I? Say it.”
“No,” Andrew protests, even as a tired smile pulls at his lips.
Nicki is a lot of things—a pain in the ass, self-centered, rich, famous, way out of Andrew’s league, but also real. He’s exactly what he seems, no bullshit or subterfuge, and Andrew likes that about him. He likes it a little too much.
When all of this is said and done, when Nicki walks away, Andrew suspects it’s going to hurt.
It’s going to hurt a hell of a fucking lot.