Page 22 of Tilly in Technicolor
Damn it, what color is that? Why can’t I get this?
I feel myself sort of falling into this image of Tilly, eyes grabbing at little details I hadn’t noticed before. It’s easier to look at her like this, in the safety of pixels. In real life, she’s so much energy and noise and movement, it makes my brain feel like it might short-circuit if I’m not careful… But this is ridiculous. I have actual work to be doing. Why am I overanalyzing a blurry picture?
I click and drag the file, hovering it over the trash icon. I don’t need this picture. I have no use for this photo of a loud, beautiful girl with a confusing personality and a very obvious dislike for me.
But, at the last moment, my fingers flick away, releasing the file back to a corner of my hard drive.
I slam my laptop shut, feeling… off. What’s wrong with me? Am I getting sick?
I quickly pack up my things and hustle out of the pub and walk toward home, needing… needing… Well, I don’t bloody know what I need exactly, but I can tell part of it is to move.
The journey home is a blur, and when I get to my new flat, Marcus and his partner, Micah, are cuddled on the couch withLove Islandblaring in the background.
“Oliver!” Micah says, spreading their arms wide in greeting.
“Hiya,” I say, shooting them both a small wave and trying to figure the best way to dart to my bedroom.
“How was the first day?” Marcus asks, not dragging his eyes from the TV.
“Ooh, yes! How was it? Do you like your new bosses? Are you so excited? Come! Sit! Tell us everything.” Micah wiggles their bum, and Marcus grunts then moves over, pulling Micah fully onto his lap. Micah pats the open seat next to them.
Christ, I don’t want to deal with this.
Marcus is my best mate, and I genuinely, truly like Micah.
But they are so in love it makes me ever so slightly sick to my stomach.
They met online about a year ago, and have been doing long distance. With Marcus and me both moving to London for college, Micah and Marcus are finally able to be together in person. And they’re dead set on making up for lost time in the most romantically intimate ways possible.
To put it delicately, our walls are extremely thin, and both Marcus and Micah are extremely… passionate. At night. All night.
I am horrifyingly familiar with the details of their sex sounds.
“I probably should finish up some…” I wave vaguely toward my door.
“Oh, Oliver,pleaseno. Spend some time with us! It’s your last night here for months,” Micah says, pouting. “Plus, you told us you already finished packing last night.”
Damn. Micah has me there.
Reluctantly, I plop onto the couch. I tell them about my day, even showing them some pictures, diving into discussions about color combinations, that little special-interest engine revving up in my chest. Micah asks me tons of questions while Marcus keeps his attention firmly fixed on the show.
Prat.
How could anything be more interesting than color theory?
“She’s quite pretty,” Micah says, pointing at a picture that has Tilly’s smiling face.
I shrug. “She’s alright,” I say, clicking out of the screen and turning my camera off. I can feel Micah’s eyes on me, and I don’t know why, but I can tell I want to avoid whatever question is poised on the tip of their tongue.
“Who do we hate this episode?” I ask, nodding at the TV. This finally grabs Marcus’s attention.
“Pretty much all of them,” he says, and Micah laughs.
We fall down a reality TV hole, watching beautiful people in either bathing suits or clubbing outfits drink and curse each other out for hours.
Glancing over during a particularly dramatic crying confessional, I realize Micah and Marcus have fallen asleep. I flick off the TV, then stand, grabbing a blanket and draping it over them.
They’ve drifted off holding each other. Something about the way they’re cuddled close creates an odd, hollow type of ache in my chest. Like I’m looking at a future I’ll never have. One not meant for me.
