Love is a fucked-up thing.
He buzzes me up and greets me with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. We haven’t been texting much lately. I try to explain it away with his busy schedule and my broken hand, but seeing him now and feeling this awkward distance between us, I know there’s more to it than that.
At least I didn’t ask him to be my boyfriend before all of this started. The way things are, I can skip the drama of a breakup.
“Green tea?” I ask, lifting the warm cup with my good hand.
Matty smiles softly. His eyes are puffy, and he looks worn out. It makes me want to rub his shoulders and listen to his problems, but when he steps back, I tell myself that it’s not my place to do that.
“Thanks so much,” he says.
“How long you been here?”
He shoves his hands into his tight jeans and leans back on the desk. “All day? I’m having trouble focusing, though. It hasn’t been very productive.”
I glance around at his work, which is chaotic as ever. “Is that a new set?” I ask, nodding to the large central table he uses to stage shots. The dog figure with puffy fur sits in its purse inside a cage while the cat prowls with a bandana wrapped around its head.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I thought the film would end when the dog ran away to live in the alley with the cat, but then the dogcatcher showed up, and now there’s a whole new act.” He shrugs, like the whole thing is out of his control. “I just have to get this rescue mission filmed, and I’ll be ready to finish.”
I smile. The way he takes his work so seriously impresses me. I know what it’s like when the art gets a life of its own, and I love that he trusts his instincts.
“I’m sure it will be great.”
He smiles and turns his eyes away from me. “How’s your hand?” he asks as he goes to fidgeting with some clay. “Any updates?”
“It’s healing,” I say but skip the part about the shop.
It’s just too depressing, and since I brought this whole mess into his life, it would be inappropriate to distract him with my problems now.
He glances back at me. “The guys can’t get away with this,” he says. “Someone will catch them.”
There’s a hopeful look in his eyes. It’s the look of someone who still believes that things can turn out right, that the world can be fair.
I love that he feels that way. No way in hell I’m going to shatter the illusion with the sick fact of my own life.
I rub the back of my head with my uninjured hand. “I can tell you’re busy,” I say. “Guess I should let you get back to it.”
Matty opens his mouth to say something, then stops. A couple of seconds pass between us in awkward silence, and my fucked-up heart hopes that he’ll invite me to stay.
Finally, he nods. “Thanks for stopping by and for the refuel.”
I nod. “Sure, anytime, Matty.”
We exchange another brief hug, and I tear myself away. Back on the street, the temperature has dipped, and a crisp fall breeze hits my skin, sparking a shiver. There are dead leaves all over the sidewalk, and the smell of rain is in the air.
Matty wants there to be some kind of justice. I can’t blame him. He’s lived through hell with all the bullying he faced growing up, and he deserves to spend the rest of his life safe and taken care of.
He deserves a world where the good people win.
As I hop in my truck, my frustration boils over, and I punch the steering wheel with my good hand. That’s the real messed-up part of all of this. My brain keeps insisting that Jeremiah is behind the attack, but even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do about it?
If I go and shoot my big mouth off and try to fight back, what good will that do? It will just lead to more violence and more consequences for me.
It feels like I’ve already lost Matty, but one more fight with Jeremiah or anyone else will just prove it. Bringing more chaos into my life will bring it into Matty’s life, too.
I wish the future I dreamed about were still possible, the one where I’m working at Blade and making a good income and happily together with Matty.
Instead, as I fumble to turn the ignition, then drive my truck back across Chicago with one hand, I face the hard, bitter truth.
