Chapter 12
Noah
Silas called Mateo on speaker earlier and told him all about his impromptu date with Lucy, so Mateo could stop worrying about Lucy's state of mind.
I should have predicted how easily he'd revert to his old habits, like working later than he should, once he knew she was okay. Just because she's not having an emotional breakdown doesn't mean he should work till nine o'clock at night.
Silas is busy drawing on his tablet, coming up with new characters for future games. Sometimes, even when we're knee deep in the middle of a game, or even nearing the end when we're ready to sell the prototype, we need a break from the current project and work on other shit to keep our creativity flowing. A small smile plays on his lips as he draws.
He looks different. No, not different. He looks… content. Silas is always bouncing off the walls, needing to go out, get laid, get drinks. He's unsettled in his skin, but right now he's relaxed. Happy. He chews on his bottom lip, something he does when he's concentrating really hard, his dextrous hand moving quickly across the screen while he sketches out whatever is in his head, putting it to the screen. Silas is an amazing artist. I'm always impressed by him.
His eyes meet mine, and he narrows his in question. I'm staring again. I don't know why I do it. It's just with Silas. He and Mateo have both called me out on it before, and it used to embarrass me. Now, I've just accepted there's something about Silas that intrigues me, and I don't understand it. Maybe one day I will, and I'll be released from the trance he pulls me into.
I'm relieved when the door opens. Mateo tries to act indifferent as he fixes himself a scotch, but his irritation is obvious when he enters the living room, kicking Silas's leg for taking too long to acknowledge him.
In typical Silas fashion, he groans. "I told you when I called, she's good. By the way, you don't need a home office, do you? You didn't when you lived here."
"What?"
"Tell him about the stalker," I interrupt them, and Mateo looks at me in alarm.
Silas, thankfully, takes that seriously. "Dude, there was this crazy chick hanging out outside the apartment."
"What did she look like?" Mateo asks uneasily.
Silas, being an incredible artist, taps a few times on his tablet, then the stylus in his hand quickly moves across the screen. Flipping the tablet around, he says, "Like this. But with brown hair, and she kinda had this—"
"That's Delaney," Mateo huffs. Then he digs out his phone, taps a few buttons, then hands it to Silas, showing him a picture from Lucy's social media account.
"Yeah, that's the one. Wait, that's the chick that accused you of cheating?"
"Yes. And she's not supposed to be within a hundred feet of Lucy. I'm calling my lawyer," he says, already pulling up the contact.
"Did Lucy get a restraining order?" Silas sits up, suddenly more concerned.
"No. But I had my lawyer tell her if she came within a hundred fucking feet of Lucy, I'd make her life a living hell. Obviously, she's testing my resolve."
Mateo wanders off, shouting at his lawyer before his bedroom door slams shut. Silas and I look at each other.
"So, this girl, Delaney, is what? Stalking Lucy?" I ask.
"I don't know. We should ask her about it. Matty's seeing nothin' but fire and brimstone with that girl since she tried to fuck with his relationship. I doubt he has the patience to get all the facts straight."
"Did Lucy say anything about it today?" I ask.
Silas shakes his head. "No, but it's probably what she meant when she said she had some personal shit going on."
Pulling out my phone, I open her profile, replaying the last video she posted where she's jumping into a pool. Her white blonde hair darkens, bright smile shining in the night, skin glistening with water from the swim. I hadn't paid much attention to the comments before, instead focusing on the videos and pictures. Admittedly, they are distractingly sexy.
After reading a few of the comments, though, I'm worried. While I'm confident Mateo can deal with the Delaney situation, I'm more concerned about Lucy. Following the trolls, I click on links and tags, finding a video of WaywardDelaney, crying about social media pressure and expressing her concern for Lucy's wellbeing. What a fucking crock of shit.
Silas keeps working on his tablet but I can tell he's listening in, getting angrier, the more videos I play. Frustrated, I close the app. The internet is so fucked up. I don't even know how to help Lucy, because my first inclination is to tell her to just delete the accounts and purge the toxic people from her life, but it's how she makes a living.
The comments aren't nice. They're saying Lucy's fake, accusing her of working with Delaney to fake the cheating scandal. Every comment is contradictory to each other. And it's not just a few. It's thousands. No wonder she's upset.
I head to my room, even though it's too early to sleep. Pulling up Lucy's phone number, which I've yet to use, I send her a text.
Noah: I'm glad you're doing okay.
She's a social media influencer, so I expect her to reply immediately, assuming her phone's attached to her hand. But she doesn't reply.
Self-conscious unease pools in my gut as an hour goes by, then two, without a response. I try to distract myself with a shower, then watch TV in my room, getting into a documentary about volcanoes. It occurs to me she probably doesn't have my number, so she probably doesn't know who sent her that message. Feeling like an idiot, I text her again.
Noah: This is Noah, by the way. I heard you're coming over for dinner tomorrow night. What do you like to eat?
I already know the answer, just from watching her videos. She eats healthy, but she's adventurous. She'll eat almost anything, and she isn't picky. But she doesn't eat trash like me and Silas do.
Another hour goes by and there's no response.
Silas said their afternoon went great. That they cuddled, even, and she kissed him goodbye.
Maybe it's me. Maybe she's not into me.
I try not to overthink, but it's in my nature. I give sleep a half-hearted attempt, but I can already tell it's going to be one of those nights. Grabbing my laptop, I open up the software Silas and I built and start coding, working on the latest game, cleaning up lines from the notes Silas gave me.
Thoughts of Lucy creep in. I try not to feel left out, and not blow her lack of response to my text completely out of proportion. But it's difficult.
She's spent time with Silas. She's been with Mateo for months. But I'm different from the other guys. They possess a kind of confidence most people spend a lifetime trying to achieve. They can walk right up to a woman and make her smile or open up. I've never been like that.
It's just a silly text message. But her lack of response feels personal.
The years I've spent with Mateo and Silas only highlight the stark contrast between their stronger masculine energy and my own more subtle nature.
On the rare occasion at Atrium when we go off on our own, I know I'm the only one of the three of us who ever messed around with other men. And though my friends never made me feel like I couldn't talk to them about it, if they even noticed what I was up to, I couldn't explain what I didn't understand myself.
I'm not gay, I know that much. Fluid feels right, but even then, I feel anxious trying to come to terms with my identity. Sex is sex, and I like what I like. And while I've spent so much time at Atrium and with friends and around other accepting and like-minded people who don't care how I identify, it feels like that adds even more pressure to just pick a lane and it's fucking stifling.
My friends being supportive of my sexuality is one thing. Trying to date someone like Lucy and hope she accepts me is another.
I know it's fucking useless and stupid to spiral, but the brain does what it does. It takes me a while, vacillating between self-pity, frustration and worry for Lucy, but I eventually get lost in my work.
Sometime before dawn, I fall asleep.