Page 23 of Nothing To Lose
I need to get my head on straight. None of this work is going to do itself, and I've been distracted enough already. I’d hoped throwing myself into work would help get my mind right. Every swing of a hammer, every cut of the saw, is made with the intention of driving thoughts of Tyler out of my head. It’s not working. He's there, still at the forefront of all my thoughts since I dropped him off this morning.
Something doesn't feel right. Call it intuition, call it being a nosey bastard. I know none of this is my business, but I can't help obsessing over the guy with the shy smiles and a raw vulnerability that calls to my protective nature.
I sent him a text as soon as he got out of my car, so he'd have my number once his phone was charged. I'd hoped he would send me something back by now, but there's been nothing. I look down at the message I sent, like I have every ten minutes since getting home.
Me: Hey, it's Isaac. Now you have my number.
It's still unread. Though it's possible he has read receipts turned off. Maybe he doesn't want to hear from me. He's probably happy to be home, resting in his nice apartment that has comfortable furniture instead of boxes, tools, and sawdust everywhere. He’s probably scrubbing the filth from his skin and thanking his lucky stars that he can afford a better life.
Although, there's also the possibility that he doesn't feel comfortable reaching out. He seems to focus a lot on how much space he thinks he takes up, when he could take up a lot more.Should take up a lot more. Biting my lip and second guessing every word, I type out another text, delete it, then type it out again. I rewrite it so many times I don't remember what my original intentions were.
Me: How are you holding up?
Me: Hey. I'm here if you need me, okay? Day or night. Don't hesitate to call for anything you need.
I regret it the moment I send it, even more so when I see the message marked as read, and the little dots appear telling me he’s typing pop up, then disappear. After a long while, there’s still no response.
With a sigh, I get back to work. Now that the drywall is up and the joint compound is dry, I need to sand the walls to prepare the surface for painting. Thankfully,I don't have any close neighbors, so I turn my music way up to drown out the sound of power tools, hoping to shake off the lingering feeling that something isn't right. It's probably not intuition at all, it's probably my pathetic ass being lonely or some shit. I never had that problem before. I’ve also never invited anyone to share my space like that before. For a guy who’s never had a real relationship that lasted past a few hookups, I sure got used to having Tyler around a little too easily. Maybe Mom is right, and I should start putting myself out there more. Maybe once I get my shit together and it doesn't look like I'm living in squalor, I'll join a dating app or something.That’s what I tell myself, but I know I’ll never do it.
I get lost in a daydream about what my life might look like once the gym is done and the apartment upstairs is finished. Maybe then I’ll have the time and space for dating, but no matter how hard I try to picture anything else, Tyler is the only one I can imagine sitting across from me at a restaurant, or waking up next to. If I could get my shit together, and show him more than the gruff, dirty, broke ass loser he's seen so far—would he want to date me? I'll never be a buttoned-up preppy type like that guy he was on a date with, even if he wasn’t having a good time. Despite the circumstances, there were moments over the last day or so that we were definitely enjoying each other’s company. And a few times I even thought he might be looking at me with interest. Maybe he'd give me a chance. Would I take a pity date? Yeah, I'd probably take it if it's all I could get. I could pull out all the stops, and show him I'm more than my outside appearance. More than my upbringing, or my pay grade.
The phone ringing interrupts the music, and I set down the sander, wiping sweat on my forearm.
"Hello," I say into the phone, without looking at who's calling.
"Isaac?"I nearly drop the phone when I hear Tyler, instead of my mom or sister, like I assumed it'd be.
"Hey, Tyler. Everything okay?"
"Um… yeah. Sorry. I know you're busy."
"I'm not," I lie. "Are you? I mean… Do you need something? I meant what I said, Tyler. I'm here if you need me."I can hear the uncertainty in his silence, in the huff of air on the tail end of a sigh. "Tyler, what's up?"
"Can I, um… Can I come over?"
It’s all I can do to suppress my surge of happiness over hearing from him, and that he wants to come over. "Yes! Of course. Anytime." I'm smiling, hoping he took our conversation about being friends to heart. He needs more people in his corner. Even if he’s never interested in more, just being part of his life would be enough.
"Would now be okay?" His voice is barely audible, and I pause to process the words.
"Now?" I look around at the mess that's worse than it was when he was here this morning. "I mean, yeah, of course. Want me to come pick you up?"
"I'm sort of… already here."
"You're what?"
Running over to the front door, I pull up the shade and see him standing outside in the dark, looking pale and small. He's wearing colorful pajama pants with comic book print, unlaced sneakers, and my hoodie. There's a small duffel at his feet.
He looks around, as if checking that the coast is clear. "If this is a bad time…"
I snap out of my shock, realizing I'm staring at him through the window, still holding the phone to my ear.
"No no no, come in. Sorry. You just surprised me, that’s all," I say, still talking into the phone even once I've hurriedly unlocked the door and let him in. Then I shake my head at my brainlessness, chuckling as I hang up and put my phone in my pocket. He grins up at me, at least a little amused by my dumb ass. I’m tempted to gather him into a hug, pick him up and carry him inside and never let him go again.
My eyes trace over him from head to foot, sensing something is off. He looks the same, still bruised from the other night, but there's something in his posture that's setting off alarm bells. "What’s wrong?"
"I'm fine. It's stupid, but…" He looks down at his phone, which is buzzing loudly in his hand. He presses the power button on the side, still staring at the screen even after it turns black.
"Tyler."
