The Art of Being a F*ck Up

12. Baby Steps are Okay Sometimes

Remember when I said I can only really feel the bad stuff? Turns out that's more true than I thought, and all the worst things coming together at once—like some cosmic convergence—only helps drive the point home, exactly to where it hurts. I guess that's better than feeling nothing at all though, right? I'm worried about Bill, I still have no clue what actually happened to him, and while I genuinely thought about going up to check on him myself, I decided to heed my dad's warning. I'd say he doesn't scare me anymore, and in my head I maybe even believe it, but the heart is not so easily fooled. A lot of that boy I used to know five years ago continues to live in me, which is something else that's more true than I initially thought.

I used to be such a coward before, and while I'd long since thought I'd outgrown it I can't help but doubt that after just one encounter with my dad. It shouldn't stay with me like this, it's virtually no different than any of the other mean shit he's said to me my whole life, but it's still harder to shake than I care to admit. At least it doesn't tear me apart, like it used to, so maybe I should be grateful for that tiny step, no matter how small. Plus I could just be down in my feelings, you know, between Bill and my dad and Jonah and Maddy and exams and this hideous knee brace. The amount of introspection it takes to pinpoint the exact trigger is exhausting so I don't bother. Instead, I make for Jonah's dorm after I'm finished with my classes.

"Brent, hey, I'm happy to see you. Do you want to come in? Be careful, it's kind of cluttered right now so watch your step." Jonah's eyes get big when he answers his door to see that it's me. He leans precariously over the aforementioned clutter obstructing the door from opening all the way to grab my collar and pull me in for a kiss. It's not the sleep thick in his voice, or the disheveled hair that I notice first—it's the smile he wears that's been absent for weeks.

"Cluttered is an understatement," I trail off, stepping around the photos strewn across the floor to follow him into the room, watching as he straightens out the stack of pictures on his nightstand. There are some on the bed too—everywhere, really. I missed having him tucked under the covers with me yesterday, I struggled getting off to sleep without him in my arms, but seeing all this I have my doubts that he slept much either. "I thought I should probably check on you when you didn't come over last night. Did you even go to class today?"

"No, uh, I meant to, but I got a little sidetracked. I came back to grab some fresh clothes because Devin told me I was starting to stink—like seriously, who does that even—but then I got to looking at my portfolio and it hit me." He grins wider, excited. How I've craved to see that beautiful sight since the funeral, and it's almost enough to dispel all my own worries until he reveals the source of his joy. "I'm going to enter the competition!"

"Competition, like the one in New York?" We'd only talked about it so briefly that I forgot all about it, but when he brings it up now it rushes back to me about the contest and the internship and him leaving the state.

"Can you imagine me going to New York? Bram would freak! I owe him one for pushing me to enter, I just wish I'd started sooner. There's still a couple months before the deadline so I think I can make it if I work really hard—even if it means barricading myself in here." Daydreams fill Jonah's head, already pulling him a million miles away. I can't tell if it's because I'm still buried in my emotions or what, but the idea turns my stomach despite being nothing but abstract at the moment. "What do you think?"

"About what? I think anything you come up with will be okay." I don't want to lie to him, mostly since I feel like I'm probably being irrational. Things are hard for me too, but even I know the answer's not to run away. Am I overthinking it? I get that there are some things we don't talk about—like how I don't say anything to him about my dad on account of how bad I know he hates him—things that would only do more harm than good.