Page 48 of Unspoken Rules

Bryson

Even though I was complaining about the job, it feels good to do something for money. And I haven’t stopped looking for a legit job either. This one is only temporary, and even if it wasn’t, twelve hours a week won’t cut it for long.

I met with Troy on Wednesday night, and we went over what he was looking for. I drew up some sketches with him and we planned everything out. Best part was him telling me he didn’t care what nights I worked, as long as it wasn’t on days they were closed and I was here before he locked up. Only thing he asked of me was to not exceed twelve hours a week because it’s all he can afford.

I bought all the supplies I needed Thursday afternoon, for which he reimbursed me, and I showed up Thursday night to start painting. Well, start outlining anyway. I don’t trust myself to paint freely, not on something so big. For my painting class in college, one of our finals was to do a six foot by four foot self-portrait in the style of another artist. It’s the biggest canvas I’d ever painted on, which is nothing compared to the walls in the tattoo studio. What is stopping me from panicking is that there are spaces blocked off with curtains for the different artists to set up, so at least all of my work won’t be done on a large scale, as he wants the smaller areas to have their own themes. One of them is music, and I’m excited about doing that one the most.

He’s paid me my first week under the table, because he said he doesn’t have anything set up for payroll yet but will handle that this weekend. I’m grateful for the $225 because I’m able to get both Mark and Mila a birthday gift with my own money for their party—which is tonight. My account is already bare bones.

The twins have always had the most interesting parties. Mark is wild and carefree, while Mila is a little uptight and organized. This means we have a raging party, with alcohol everywhere and loud music, that’s catered with fancy flowers and ironed tablecloths.

It’s… perfectly the twins.

After what Chris did the last time we were here, I’m surprised Mila can stand to look at him. She gives him a hug when we show up, and it breaks my heart. I feel bad for my friend. Both of them, honestly. Something is going on with Chris, and I don’t know what it is. I was hoping to talk to him about it, but we don’t have much time together. By the time he gets home, I’m getting ready to leave. That’s how it’s been all week, and tonight isn’t the time to bring it up.

The house is full of people, and I wonder how many of them they actually know. Does Mark invite anyone who wants to come because he’s in a band and doesn’t care, or does he know these people’s names?

“Happy birthday, Mila,” I say, giving her a hug and a kiss on the head. I hand her the glittery pink bag. She grins as she opens it, her eyes widening when she sees what’s inside. She pulls out the baby pink sherpa blanket and rubs it against her face.

“So sooooft! Oh my god, I love it, Bryson!” She hugs me, the blanket caught between us. It really is soft, which is why I knew she’d love it.

“Made me think of you instantly.”

“Thank you,” she says, giving me another squeeze before letting me go and putting it back into the bag.

I spot Mark across the living room, so head that way to hand him what I got him.

“Happy birthday, bro,” I tell him.

“Hey, thanks man,” he says, taking the bag. He opens it and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Fuck yes! Let’s grab a shot.”

He gestures me over to one of the many tables covered in alcohol, grabs two plastic shot glasses, and fills them both before handing me one.

“To you,” I say.

“To me!”

The liquor burns going down, settling in my stomach harshly.

Fuck, I hate tequila.

“Thanks, Bryson. But if I see you without a drink in your hand again, there’s gonna be problems.” Mark points at me and walks away backward. I smile to myself as I pour myself a drink.

I’m taking a sip when I spot Tomas.

“It’s you,” I say with a smile when he reaches me.

“It’s me.” He smiles back.

“Sorry I ran off the other day. Drama.” I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, kinda figured.”

“You know about them?” I ask.

“Who doesn’t? Anyone who hangs around them for more than five minutes can see the tension there. Any idea why they won’t get together already?”

“Not a clue. It’s been like this ever since high school.”

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