Page 13 of Break the Rule
When he isn’t working serving jobs or babysitting Ella, he’s putting in applications all over town. Unfortunately, since most people aren’t clamoring to hire a high school dropout with a bad attitude and a disregard for gender norms, he’s yet to find another job.
Smoothing his fingers down his skirt, Eden frowns. He wishes he understood why so many people give a fuck what he covers his dick with or puts on his face. So he loves showy eye makeup, even when he’s wearing ripped jeans and Converse or, when he feels comfortable, his preferred clothing item—a skirt. Fucking sue him. It doesn’t mean he’s less of a man. His gender isn’t reliant on his strict adherence to made up social norms, and he’s just fucking tired of having to pretend he doesn’t care how much peoplelookat him.
As a kid, he’d wanted nothing more than for someone, anyone, to pay him attention. Now he’d like nothing more than for everyone to leave him the fuck alone. At least here, surrounded by art and a more liberal attitude, Eden’s never gotten shit for his appearance. Just a pocketful of unwanted phone numbers from people who view Eden the way they do the art on these walls—something to own and consume.
Well newsflash, Eden isn’t a fucking piece of art, and he’s no one’s to own. Not ever again.
All Eden wants to do is scream, or throw his tray of food in this guy's face or across the room, but Eden can’t afford to get in trouble. Especially since someoneanonymouslycomplained to his supervisor about his attitude last night, putting him on thin fucking ice. Someone who, based on the complaint leveled athim the second he walked through the back door, was definitely this boring fucker standing in front of him.
His boss was less than impressed when Eden pointed out he shouldn’t have to field sexual harassment to serve people food, insisting if Eden was actually uncomfortable he should have gone through the proper channels with HR. As if Eden would ever. There’s not a chance in hell HR would have cared that Eden gets treated like a thing by rich people, not when it would jeopardize their entire catering contract.
The only person who is going to protect Eden is Eden, and tonight, protecting himself means shutting off his feelings and resisting the urge to tell this douche canoe to ride off Niagara Falls, which would definitely not be a smart thing to do. Eden isn’t really that smart, but he’s got self-preservation instincts, and all of them are telling him to shut his fucking mouth and pretend this guy doesn't make his skin crawl.
“You should let me draw you,” he suggests, clearly having no problem with Eden’s lack of response to his earlier question. At this point, Eden strongly suspects consent is not a word this fucker understands. Then again, people like him rarely do. When you have enough money, you can do anything, have anything. “No” isn’t a word men like this understand, even if Eden was allowed to say it.
Eden might be standing in the middle of a well-lit gallery but the darkness in his head is oppressive as he fights off unwanted memories. He did what he had to survive then, and he will do it again. The same way he’s always done.
“Are you an artist?” Eden asks with a forced smile, wishing Addy were here to witness this monumental display of self-restraint.
“I’m not,” the man replies, lifting his champagne glass towards one of the gallery walls. “I’m more of a connoisseur. I bought quite a few pieces tonight, not that I’m bragging mindyou. But looking at you, well what can I say. You make me want to become an artist.”
It’s a miracle Eden doesn’t throw up in his mouth. Fuck this fucking dickbag.
“I’m sure with your…wealth, you can learn,” Eden replies, desperately trying to figure out how to get out of this conversation without getting in trouble. He cannot curse out this asshole or tell him that his overinflated ego is the single most unattractive thing Eden has ever seen. Unfortunately.
“You could be my canvas,” he smirks.
Bile rises up the back of his throat, gagging him.
“They offer beginners art classes at the museum across town.”
As if appearing out of thin air, Charlie is beside him and smiling that handsome fucking smile of his. Eden hates him a little for it. Goddamn this nice fucker. Eden doesn’t need to be rescued. Okay well, maybe he did, but that won’t stop him from being surly about it.
“I’m more interested in private lessons,” the man replies, eying Charlie like one might eye something unsavory.
“I think they offer those as well, though if you hit on the teachers there and make them as uncomfortable as you’re making him, they’d probably drop you.”
“How dare you,” the man hisses, fingers clenched so tightly around the stem of his glass it’s a wonder the thing doesn’t shatter.
“Oh I dare,” Charlie grins, crossing his arms.
Up close his outfit is even more outrageous. Eden watched him from across the room all night, noticing the way he weaves in and out of conversations, flirts and flatters without staying in one place. His clothing draws attention, though unlike Eden, he seems to revel in it.
“You might think twice about speaking to me like this in the future.”
“I promise you, I won’t think twice about you at all,” Charlie replies, his congenial expression never wavering.
It’s such a concise and brutal take down that Eden hardly knows what to do with himself. Gratitude is not an emotion he has any idea how to handle, nor is the simmering attraction he feels to the man standing beside him.
Eden does not want men, at least notspecificmen; especially not one who looks like he got dressed using an Andy Warhol painting as inspiration. Even his Crocs are eye-catchingly bold. Something that Eden is annoyed he’s attracted to. Sure sometimes Eden wants sex, but in that vague way someone might want food when they’re hungry; a craving that anything can fill—or in Eden’s case filling someone else up anyway, since he hasn’t let anyone fuck him in years. Not since—well, Eden doesn’t like to think about that.
Sex has always been transactional, emotionally and financially, and nothing else. Sure, Eden has been attracted to his partners before because he’s gay, and men are sexy. Men are also stupid fuckers and not always safe, so Eden avoids them like the plague when he can. On the rare occasions his loneliness or horniness gets out of hand, he seeks out release from the first easy, non-threatening man he can find.
There was a time when sex was the only way anyone would touch Eden. When he had no say in how things happened, no power. It’s been a long time since then, but the memories sometimes feel like yesterday.
“Good, he’s gone,” Charlie announces once the other man realizes nothing he says is going to get a rise out of Eden or Charlie and finally departs. “Hmm,Addy.”
Glancing down at his name tag, Eden blows out a heavy breath. This isn’t the first time he’s worn Addy’s name tag whenshe couldn’t work the same shift as Eden, but it is the first time anyone has called him on it. He’s not sure he enjoys being perceived.
