Chapter 17 #2
Another commenter left: I want to be that sweatshirt. Cosmo wrote, Please have a little more ambition in life.
Cheeks aching from how hard he was grinning, Micah scrolled through the comments on each shot. Ice sleeted through him as he stopped on the photo of his and Cosmo’s hands.
They all leave you eventually, you cheap slut. But I won’t.
They all leave you eventually, you cheap slut. But I won’t.
They all leave you eventually, you cheap slut. But I won’t.
They all leave you eventually, you cheap slut. But I won’t.
They all leave you eventually, you cheap slut. But I won’t.
Micah swallowed hard. The commenter’s account was brand new, with only five followers. The profile pic was of some punk band. Hadn’t Cosmo mentioned his ex was a singer? Zedd probably created a throwaway profile every time he got wind of Cosmo being with someone new. But it wouldn’t work this time.
After screenshotting the comments and hitting the Report flag for each one, he left a comment of his own:
For you, my love, I would watch hours of infomercials.
For you, my love, I would pull on wet socks.
For you, my love, I would endure ten paper cuts.
For you, my love, I would drink bathroom tap water.
I’m here for you, my love, and I’m not going anywhere.
Even if Zedd’s messages were removed from Flashbulb and his account suspended, he’d probably make another one and see Micah’s comments. He’d probably click on Micah’s profile and try to figure out who’d stolen Cosmo’s heart. Good.
Micah took more selfies. They didn’t look any better than the previous ones, but that was no longer the point.
After adding some artsy filters, he loaded them onto Flashbulb, then walked to the drafting table and snapped photos of all of his portraits and sketches of Cosmo.
He added them to his account and tagged Cosmo’s profile.
He glared at Zedd’s disgusting comments. “Look upon this anisocoric bicon and despair, loser. I’m not going anywhere.”
A soft meow came from somewhere nearby. Micah expected Phantom to materialize and weave through his legs like she often did.
He turned around; the room was empty. The meow came again, a strained and pitiful sound, and he realized it was coming from outside.
When he opened the door, a flash of dingy white fur disappeared behind an empty flowerpot sitting on the balcony.
“How’d you get out here? You, missy, are an inside cat.” He’d never really thought of himself as a cat person, but she brought him comfort during her unpredictable appearances, and he could only imagine how upset his other self would be if something happened to her.
He stepped around the flowerpot, and Phantom darted away from him and through the open apartment door.
She immediately went to her water dish in the kitchen and drank greedily.
Her fur was clumped with dried mud and burrs, and dirty tear tracks ran from her eyes.
Bits of dried blood coated the inside of one of her ears.
Micah knelt down to check her ear, and she scurried down the hall and dove under his bed.
“What in the world happened to you? You even lost your… Oh.” He straightened, staring at the clods of mud on the tile. She didn’t lose her collar. He hadn’t given her one yet. The frightened, filthy cat beneath his bed was real, and this was the first time they’d met.
His other self hadn’t mentioned what a poor state she was in when she first turned up.
As much as he wanted to, he resisted the urge to follow her into the bedroom and pull her into her arms. Instead, he opened a can of cat food and scraped it into her dish.
When she returned to the kitchen and started eating, he kept his distance.
Hopefully with her belly full and a warm place to sleep, she’d grow comfortable enough to let him clean her up a bit later.
He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Welcome home.”
Cosmo - Snagged Thread
The familiarity of Night Gallery made sliding into the temporary position as registrar much easier than a first day at a new job normally was. It helped that Cosmo had experience doing half of the required duties during his time as Identical Dog’s art handler.
It was impossible to forget that he should not have been doing those duties as the art handler, because his new director, Clarence, scrunched his face and shook his head every time Cosmo mentioned some aspect of his experience.
Clarence had muttered the phrase “how unbecoming” half a dozen times, and it was only noon.
Clarence stood at the computer, squinting through his thick glasses as he trudged through instructions about a program Cosmo already knew how to use. The light from the monitor settled into the creases of his face and made him look much older than the forty-something he probably was.
Simone was wandering the gallery and kept appearing at random times to ensure Cosmo was doing okay, but she wouldn’t always be here, and Cosmo would be working under the direction of Clarence most of the time.
He suddenly felt the phantom sensation of Royce’s crinkly windbreaker against his face as he’d leaned in, hoping for a bit of emotional support from a friend.
If he’d had any sense at all, he wouldn’t have become close enough to consider his boss a friend.
The idea that Royce never had been, despite coming to Cosmo’s funeral, to birthday parties, to his rescue whenever Zedd showed up, dumped a sour sickness into his gut and made him feel both oblivious and stupid.
He knew he needed to give himself some grace; he would never call another person stupid for ending up in a situation where someone violated them.
He needed to be kinder to himself. But that feeling of guilt that he’d brought this upon himself, that maybe he deserved it, was so loud that it was difficult to drown out.
The director tapped at the keyboard, and Cosmo eyed the wedding band on his finger. “You’re married?”
“Hm? Yes.”
“Happily?”
Clarence frowned. “Is this your idea of small talk?”
“Are you queer?”
A flush crawled up the director’s neck and he sputtered. “Are you hitting on me? I don’t have anything against people like you, but I’m straight. And happily married. I find your questions very unbecoming and would prefer you don’t ask things like that again.”
“I’m not hitting on you.” Cosmo brushed curls from his eyes and folded his arms. “I just wanted to make sure that– I’ll feel better if – if you aren’t interested in me.”
“Why would that…” Clarence turned his attention back to the monitor. “Right. You’ll find that unlike some galleries, we’re capable of conducting ourselves in a professional, sexual harassment-free manner.”
He knew. Somehow, he knew what had happened. Maybe the whole gallery did.
Cosmo suddenly felt like someone had peeled open his chest and exposed every dirty thing that made him up. “May I take a short break to smoke?”
“This isn’t the time.”
“Then may I use the restroom?”
“Which is it you need to do? Smoke or use the restroom?”
Cosmo clenched his jaw. Neither one would get rid of the cramp in his stomach, but he couldn’t stand here a second longer. “Please.”
Clarence sighed. “Five minutes.”
Striding around the counter, Cosmo hurried past exhibits, pushed through the bathroom door and locked himself in a stall.
He leaned against the side and squeezed his eyes shut.
Nothing was wrong. The gallery was beautiful, Simone was kind, and Clarence was offended by the mere suggestion of him being queer.
And if everyone here knew what had happened between Cosmo and Royce, that wasn’t any more awkward than having a public argument with Zedd or sleeping with someone once and running into them at a party weeks later.
Everything was fine. Even so, abandoning this job to go home and take a scalding shower was tempting. What were the odds that Clarence would believe their new registrar had appendicitis too?
His phone jingled with notifications: m.wildsmith tagged you in a post. m.wildsmith commented: “For you, my love, I would…”
Oh, Micah. The ache in Cosmo’s stomach soothed a little as he swiped open Flashbulb and tapped on the comment. His laugh bounced through the empty restroom. Micah would pull on wet socks for Cosmo, would he? How dreadful. Clearly there was no lover who would sacrifice more.
Simone’s voice carried into the restroom. “Cosmo, are you okay?”
He tucked the phone away and left the stall. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I’d like to come in, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Gender is a construct. And I’m fully clothed. You can come in.” He stopped before the mirror and smoothed rebellious strands of hair.
She peeked inside, then walked up to the sink. She reminded Cosmo of a much curvier version of Grace Jones, and whether in the gallery or in a bathroom she looked like an art piece herself. “You’re feeling ill?”
“The only thing making me ill is that people here know my dirty laundry.”
She frowned, heavy crystal earrings wagging on her lobes. “Clarence is a busybody.”
“How unbecoming.”
“Your reasons for leaving Identical Dog shouldn’t be anyone’s business, and I’ll talk to Clarence about feeding the rumor mill. If you have any more issues with him, please text me. I want you to be comfortable here.”
His voice came out strained. “I’m fine. And the gallery is lovely. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it here.”
“Someone dropped this off for you.” Simone squeezed an envelope, glanced at the front of it, but didn’t offer it. “It doesn’t say who it’s from, and the message written on the outside is a little creepy.”
No doubt she was worried it was from Royce, but it was more likely to be from Zedd.
There’s room for two in your grave.
In fact, Zedd and Royce were probably colluding to make Cosmo’s life miserable.
He eyed the envelope. “If it says I’m a slut, please toss it in the trash.”
“No, nothing like that.”
Cosmo peered at the words: Taste our pleasures. We have such sights to show you!