Page 34 of Bad at Love

“Sure is. Thanks for the ride, Gabe.”

I get out before he can say anything, and I start up the driveway. Hope to hell he doesn’t stay there and watch me go all the way up. This could get really weird.

He does, though. Of course he does. Because why would this be easy? I’m nearly at the house when he finally drives off. The front door opens and an old man in a red plaid robe glares at me. His grey hair is a wild mess and there’s a few days’ worth of white stubble on his face.

“I ain’t buying nothing!”

“Not selling anything, sir. Is this where Stephanie lives?”

It’s the only thing I could think of to say…

“Who?” he barks.

“Stephanie?”

“You got the wrong house!”

I apologize then hurry down the driveway, looking both ways to make sure Gabe isn’t hanging around to see where I am. How ridiculous am I? It would be so much easier to tell him where my mother lives and say I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe he’d let that slide. Maybe he wouldn’t. Who the hell knows? I move quickly as I make my way to the living facility and hurry inside.

“Storm, it’s nice to see you,” Cindy, the nurse at the front desk, says.

“Nice to see you, too.”

She writes me a pass with my name and my mother’s room number on it. I slap it to my chest before taking off to visit Mom.

Since I didn’t visit Mom at the usual time, I stayed until visiting hours were over. It’s dark as I walk home, and the house is just as dark when I reach it. The front porch light is on, and so is the light above the stove. I’m starving, since I stayed with Mom during dinner, but didn’t eat anything. The nurses offered to order something for me, but I declined.

I go right into the kitchen after locking up and tear open the fridge doors to find something to eat. There’s a plate covered in plastic wrap with a sticky note attached.

I made you dinner. Warm it up for three minutes. Be sure to unwrap it and use the splatter guard.

Sighing, I pull it from the fridge and do as it says.

I should apologize to the guy. He does so much for me and he doesn’t even have to. Gabe did not have to make me dinner, but he did. Even though I wasn’t here and even though I’m lying to him. That’s pretty shitty, and the guilt has me annoyed with myself.

The microwave beeps, and I pull out the food and go to the table. It’s a little too hot to eat, so I get a bottle of water and drink half while I wait. By the time I’m done, the plate of chicken Alfredo is the perfect temperature.

Gabe’s door is closed when I get upstairs. It’s always closed, which is why it was so strange when it wasn’t the other day. I get out of my shoes and my shirt and head into the bathroom for a quick shower. I’ll make a video tonight before I go to bed, but I need to be up early in the morning so I can talk to Gabe and apologize for overstepping.

I’m not ready to come clean about the lies yet. Though the stuff with my mom isn’t all that big of a lie, I’m pretty sure if he finds out I let people watch me jerk off for a living, he’d have a heart attack. Maybe even kick me out. He made a comment about convincing me to keep my clothes on in my room. If he knew what I was doing, not only in my room but in the bathroom too, he’d lose it.

I like living here and don’t want to leave. He isn’t a bad guy, just a little weird. Seems like he needs a friend. He says he has one, but maybe he needs another. Also, his only friend is a female and not that it matters, but maybe all he needs is a guy friend. Imagine if someone moved in here and they were a complete asshole? They’d probably be so mean to him, and that just pisses me off. Gabe needs to be protected.

Everything in the shower is done on auto-pilot. I’m suddenly exhausted when I step out, and I’m surprised to see Gabe standing in his bedroom doorway when I get out of the bathroom.

“Just wanted to make sure it was you,” he says softly.

He’s adorable in his pajama set and messy bed hair. I like him with his glasses, but he’s hot when he doesn’t wear them too.

“Do burglars break in and take showers around here?”

He smirks, looking so damn handsome. “Fair point.”

I hold his gaze for a minute, until he says, “Well, good night.”

“Night.”

I hold the towel tighter around my waist, my dirty clothes tucked under my other arm, and head back to my room. Dropping to the bed, I stare at the ceiling for a long time before I find the energy to get up and make a video. It’s not my best work. I’ve been losing subs the last few weeks and I know it’s because my content hasn’t been great. I used to have all sorts of stuff on here. Me jerking off in public places, cameos with other creators, and anything else I could come up with. I’ve been sobusy the last few months that I’ve been slacking. I can’t blame people for leaving. If it’s not worth the money anymore, then what’s the point of giving me money? This isn’t charity. If I want their money, I need to put in the work for it. I need to earn it, and I haven’t done that lately.

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