Probably.
I did my best to make him eat what he could before leaving him to rest. Every muscle in my body seemed to have evaporated, leaving me weak and heavy. I desperately wanted to return to my childhood home and curl up in the room that Mom had preserved, snuggling in bed while she made me soup. But I didn’t want to deal with her right now.
So I drove back to the Briars apartment. It wasn’t quite home, but at least I wouldn’t be surrounded by reminders of my shortcomings as well as mementoes from my earlier years when I’d somehow been exactly as stupid as I was now.
The front door closed solemnly behind me as I entered the kitchen, and I was hit with the warm and unmistakable smell of baked goods. I scoured the room for evidence that Armand had been baking again.
On the counter, staring me in the face, was another plate of muffins.
These ones were bigger than the last batch, and appeared to be stuffed full of chocolate chips.Thousand-calorie death traps.A note accompanied these muffins as well:didn’t realize I’d made meat muffins.
Meat muffins?
My note was still hanging on the fridge—the one I had hastily scribbled to remind myself never to contemplate eating frozen beef burritos again.Is that why he thought I didn’t eat his muffins before?
I stared down guiltily at the miniature heart attacks.
He’d bothered to bake muffins for me, and I’d just blown it off. I really was a terrible person.
Waving goodbye to all my future diet plans, I reached for the nearest chocolate chip muffin and took a generous bite. It wasdelicious, better than it had any right to be. My hips still remembered the ice cream from earlier, but what was the point of keeping healthy? What was I if not a lonely dying horse in a world that had tossed me aside?
I grabbed the plate of muffins and started out of the kitchen. In the living room, Gaston and LeFou were swimming slower than usual. “I get it, guys. Life sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it. But you two have no excuse. So snap to it, okay? You’re making me depressed.”
Leaving Gaston and LeFou to clean up their act, I turned back around, plate of muffins in hand, and locked myself in the bedroom. I was going to eat every single one of these deliciously deadly sugar grenades, and I would hate myself, but I couldn’t possibly hate myself more than I already did, so what the hell.
Armand’s gesture was sweet but misguided. Hopefully he’d never know that his muffins were wasted on a miserable, undeserving piece of shit like me.
July 26th- (Still) Twenty days until the convention
The first figure-drawing class was going far better than I’d had any right to expect. Skyler was brilliant, of course, but the students had a hand in it as well— having a body to draw really seemed to be igniting something in them. Everyone who’d grown listless was suddenly bright-eyed again, drawing like they were consumed with the fiery passions of creation.
I wandered the room, trying not to burst with pride at the general air of busyness that had settled over the students. I paused beside Ashley/Ashton The Mulleted; they were excitedly scribbling character-study after character-study, finally allowed to indulge in micro-expressions and outfit design.
“Watch the feet,” I muttered despite myself, and they nodded.
“I will not go the way of Rob Liefeld,” they responded, with the air of a soldier on the eve of battle mouthing their commander’s words of wisdom under their breath.
She of the blue glasses and adorable afro-puffs (another A name, for sure), was doing an excellent job crafting a story told entirely through body-language, not a word bubble in sight. “Nice,” I said softly as I passed by her easel, and she paused to beam up at me.
The renewed energy among the students was fantastic, and it was just in time for them to begin preliminary work on their final projects.
I almost felt bad calling time and couldn’t help smiling when the class groaned as one. “Buck up, lads, we get to do this all again tomorrow!” I handed Skyler his robe. “Shall we thank our model?”
A brief round of applause turned Skyler a bit pink, but then he stepped up to the edge of the dais, now clad in the thick, stolen Manchurian robe, and gave a regal bow—winning every last heart in the room.
The students filed out, and after Skyler had dressed behind the privacy screen I’d set up, he said goodbye, glancing sadly at the upper rows. I followed his gaze: there was still a figure sitting slumped in one of the chairs, head in his hands.
Skyler hesitated, but after a few seconds, when Finch continued to ignore him, he made his way out.
I waited till Skyler was gone, then made my way up between the seats and finally sat down across from Finch, leaning over the back of a seat.
I tried to make eye contact, but he kept shrinking further and further into himself until he appeared to be nothing but a small, fuzzy, orange creature hiding in a pile of clothes.
“Titch ...” I cajoled, “what happened?”
He peeked up at me, looking so pathetic and miserable I had to physically fight the urge to yank him forward into a hug. As it was, he made hugging impossible by raising both his arms and wrapping them around his head, face hidden in the crooks of both elbows.
He then, naturally, attempted to communicate.
