Page 74 of For the Fans
“Maybe,” he grumbles. “You don’t know what I do with my time. What if I was gonna go out?”
He sucks in a long drag, blowing the pungent smoke in my direction. My face scrunches in displeasure as I wave it away. “Yea, well… I’m sacrificing my free time to be here, too. So get over it.”
“I feel so very special.” Sarcasm lines his tone as he pads around the kitchen.
Scanning him briefly, my eyes take in what he’s wearing… Gray sweatpants, a fitted black tank top, and a Yankees cap on backwards. At first glance, Avi kind of looks like a jock. I don’t want to pay him any compliments or anything, but he’s unexpectedly fit. I’ve never known him to work out, and he eats junk food like he’s afraid the wells of trans fats are going to dry up. Yet he’s all curves and slopes of defined muscle. A full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm and more scattered in other places…
Shaking it off, I push my worrisome thoughts to the back of my mind, watching as Avi stubs out his joint, then pours liquor into two solo cups. His nails are painted chipped black, some ink marks on his knuckles that prove he’s not, in fact, a jock, despite how he’s dressed and the way his body looks.
He’s a bizarre character… A nerd who’s not good at school. An emo kid who smiles all the time. An artist with more muscle than some of the dudes on my team.
He’s an aberration, and I think his haphazard personality is what makes me dislike him so much. More than the fact that he popped up out of nowhere and moved into my life like it’s just that easy, he’s almostimpossibleto pin down, and I hate that.
I want to be able to read people… to know what their intentions are. I like my humans transparent. And Avi is a murky mass of opaque complexities.
Stepping over, he hands me the cup. He lifts his to mine, and I give it an apathetic tap before slugging back the shot. The liquor warms my throat, burning its way down my esophagus and hopefully working quickly into my bloodstream to help fog up my awareness.
I might need to be blasted every time I set foot in this place… I don’t want to be cognizant of where this is going.
Reaching for the bottle, I pour myself some more, eyes sliding into the living room. The couch reminds me of us being on it last time I was here…And my stepbrother’s hand curled around my—
“Where’s the thing…?” My voice comes out rumbly, spouting words to distract myself from the hectic way my nerves are rattling. “The tripod or whatever…”
Avi is quiet for a moment, and when I peek at him, I find him watching me, curiously intent; the way someone might observe a dog they think could potentially bite them.
“In the bedroom,” he answers, slowly sipping from his cup.
Nodding, I force myself into reluctant motion, wandering in the direction of his bedroom. Unfortunately, being inside only ripples my anxiety more.
His room is a little bigger than mine, set up the same with two beds and two desks, though it’s obvious that only one of eachare currently in use. Avi’s bed is all rumpled, with sheets and bedding strewn about, his clothing and belongings covering the opposite bed. I’m not surprised in the slightest by how messy he is, since we lived in the same house for years.
Thank God we never shared a bedroom. I’d probably off myself.Sharing a bathroom with him was enough of a headache. The way our sinks looked was like a portal between the real world and the bizarro world. Extreme cleanliness meets pure chaos.
Slinking into the room, I sneak a peek at the scattered papers all over his desk, drawings of people and faces and different scenes. The detail is sort of incredible, but I don’t want to dwell on it… Especially when I hear his bare footsteps entering the room behind me.
“So… no roommate?” I ask, sipping from my cup. “Like, at all?”
He wanders over to the tripod, fussing with a video camera.That’s new…The sight of it lurches my stomach up into my throat.
“Guess not…” He sighs and shrugs. “The dude never showed.”
“That’s… good.” My eyes flit to his. “I mean, for this.Privacy…”
Jesus, this is fucking awkward.Rubbing the back of my neck, I take a larger gulp of booze.Please work faster…
Avi says nothing. He simply plops down on the bed, setting his cup on the floor as he reclines on his elbows. I’m annoyed by how he always seems so much more relaxed than I am. He’s perpetually unworried… and I can’t tell if it’s a symptom of his nonstop weed intake, or if he just genuinely doesn’t care about anything.
I end up shifting in place for a few heavy moments while Avi lies there fiddling with his nail polish like he has all the time in the world and none of the concerns I’m wrestling with. Finallyinching over, I take a seat on the bed by his feet, sucking down the rest of my booze.
“Is the nail polish part of youranti-establishmentimage or something?” I place my empty cup on the floor.
“If that makes you feel better,” he huffs.
“I don’t feel any type of way about it…” I grunt. “I’m just making conversation.”
His eyes settle on mine. “Did you come over here to chat, or are weworking?”
My jaw sets. “Forgive me for needing to build myself up to this… I’m not as interested in bisexual experimentation as you are, apparently.”
