Half Shame, Half Glory
When I woke the next morning, my bed felt miles wide and terribly empty. I fumbled around, my hands tangling in the covers and coming up with nothing but flannel and stuffed animals. The events of the night before came rushing back into my mind like a movie played in fast forward and I couldn’t find the pause button. The bed was empty. Zac was gone. I felt sick and I was pretty sure there was more working against my stomach than the night before’s alcohol.
When I finally managed to pry myself from the bed, I saw that Justine was already up and working on some drawing. She must have been at it for a while, because her hands were covered in charcoal and her face wore a look of sheer frustration. It looked like she might bite clear through her bottom lip before she finished whatever project she was working on. I cleared my throat to get her attention and she looked up at me with a forced smile.
“Sorry if I woke you up. I’ve been so worried about getting this project done that I woke up early to start on it. I didn’t hear you come in last night at all,” Justine said.
I grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and attempted to pull them on, all while still sitting on the edge of my bed. “So I guess you didn’t see Zac come in? Or leave?”
Justine frowned and I wasn’t sure if the gesture was directed toward me or the drawing in front of her. She stared at the drawing pad for a few moments longer, then glanced up at me and shook her head. “No. Zac was here?”
I nodded. “I… I don’t really know how it happened. We came back from the party and just sort of collapsed here. We keep doing that, don’t we? Not the party stuff necessarily, but the sleeping together – I mean. Not like that! I give up.”
Justine tossed her drawing pad aside. “I give up too. This drawing just isn’t working. I wonder if Zac is having more luck with his? Or if he’s even started. So, what’s the deal with you guys?”
“I don’t know!” I cried out. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s just, I really don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on at all. It really was just friendly until last night. And that’s what he said, he said I was his best friend… Justine, I really don’t know.”
“He said you were his best friend… when? I mean, what were you guys doing?” She asked, her eyes wide.
“Not that! No… we just cuddled here, that’s all. But… he kissed me,” I replied.
Justine’s eyes were still wide. We always joked that she could never be an actress because her face always betrayed what she was feeling even when she tried to hide it. She nibbled on her bottom lip a little before asking, “So, what about Donovan?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had answers to some of this stuff,” I replied. “Donovan is so charming and, and I don’t know. Not really like any guy who’s ever been interested in me. And he called me his girlfriend. I guess I do like the attention. And Zac is just Zac. He’s just sweet and dependable and comfortable. I wouldn’t have really thought of him like that at all until… well, he kissed me first. And I couldn’t stop him.”
Picking at her fingernails, which were no doubt as caked with charcoal as the rest of her hands, Justine replied, “Well honey, I don’t know what to tell you. You need to figure all this stuff out, though. I wish I could help but it’s really all up to you. You know who you want to be with. And if you don’t, you need to figure it out or not be with either of them.”
I sighed and threw myself back onto the bed. Justine was right. I had to figure things out or it would just get worse. But to say that was easier than to do it.
I didn’t see Zac or Donovan for the rest of the weekend. That was mostly by design, as I spent most of my time sitting alone in my room working on homework. That was a little bit overkill. I certainly did have a lot of reading to complete for my classes and I always needed to continue running lines to make sure I was ready for off-book on the first act of the play. But I was playing the part of the hermit to the best of my ability. Justine let me know, in no uncertain terms, that my hermit act was driving her insane and that I just needed to stop being so pitiful.
Again, her advice was easier said than done.
Monday evening was unusual. For once, I didn’t actually have rehearsal. I had skipped lunch in any of the on campus restaurants just in case I ran into Zac, and I hadn’t sat near him in class. By 6 o’clock that evening, I was starving and feeling desperately alone. Justine had run off to the studio to give herself some time and privacy away from me to finish up her art project. I nearly jumped out of my skin when my cell phone buzzed, announcing a new text message.
It was from Zac. That shouldn’t have surprised me at all. I typed out a quick reply, making sure it was as non-commital as possible.
A moment later, his response came.
I sighed. For a few minutes, I stared at the phone, incredulous. Did I want to see him? I didn’t know. But I didn’t know how to say no to him. Finally, I typed a response and sent it off.
Within seconds, my phone buzzed to announce his reply.
I read the message three times and I still didn’t realize what he meant. Then I heard a knock at the door. Shaking my head, I walked over to the door and flung it open. Zac stood there, phone in hand, backpack over his shoulder and looking quite sheepish. I wondered why he would want to come hang out with me when he was obviously in the middle of doing homework himself.
“Well, can I come in or are you just going to stare at me?” He asked, looking almost apologetic for his sarcasm.
“Actually I was thinking we could just stand here in the doorway and look really awkward? Maybe we could even have a huge argument for everyone who walks by to see. I’m sure they need the entertainment, you know. Should I punch you or just slap you across the face?” I replied, giving him a small smile so he would know that I was mostly joking.
He laughed, but it came out a small breathy noise, almost strangled. “If I’m gonna get a black eye, I want to earn it.”
I didn’t have time to reply to that or even fully process his meaning before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. This kiss was much more forceful than his drunken ones from the Friday before. He cupped my face in his calloused hands and I couldn’t have pushed him away if I had wanted to. And I hated the realization that I didn’t want to. It took all my restraint to keep from parting my lips under his pressure, and I felt my stomach turning somersaults as he ran his tongue along my bottom lip.
He pulled back and smiled at me, looking more smug and self-satisfied than I could ever remember seeing him. I did want to punch him. I wanted to punch him and push him away and slam the door in his face.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
I stared at him and stammered. I don’t think I formed a single word. It felt like we must have stood there suspended in silence, his face smug and mine aghast, for minutes. Maybe it was only seconds. Maybe it was hours. None of that mattered. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I kicked the door open with my foot and walked backward into the room, my eyes still on him. I felt like Ophelia taking my leave of Hamlet, yet knowing he would follow me. So he wasn’t my Hamlet. Was he Romeo? Maybe I should just start thinking of people as people and not actors on a stage.
But if I wasn’t an actor on a stage, playing a part, what would I be? How would I get myself through the day without everything crumbling around me?
I couldn’t think of those questions. It wasn’t time for that. I plopped down my bed and flipped on the television. Some new show was on – Veronica Mars or something like that – and I hadn’t seen a single episode but I decided to watch it intently. It was a distraction from Zac; a greatly, greatly needed distraction. Then I felt like a horrible hostess, inviting him into my room and leaving him standing awkwardly, hands in his pockets, while I pretended to watch some show I’d never seen before.
“Are you going to say anything or should I just go?”
I looked up at Zac and realized that, though his words had been confident, his face had lost all its smugness. I sighed. “I thought you came here to talk to me. I don’t know, maybe you should leave.”
“Maybe I should. But I don’t want to.” He took one hesitant step toward my bed.
“Then don’t.” I sat in the center of my bed, not scooting over to give him any room.
He finally plunged in, looking terrified. Like a sky diver realizing a second too late that his parachute might not work. With three more steps, he came to my bed and sat down, close to my side. I didn’t budge. He tossed his backpack in the floor and I watched him deflate before my eyes. He seemed to shrink to half his size and I was certain that without a doubt, that kiss, and my reaction to it, had taken all of his confidence and left him with nothing. I almost felt bad. But he didn’t know what he had taken from me with it, and that thought alone kept me from throwing myself into his arms and apologizing for wrongs I hadn’t even committed.
“Look, I’m a horrible, stupid person,” Zac said, still sitting too close for comfort.
“It feels like that isn’t a complete thought,” I replied.
Zac frowned. “It isn’t. I’m a horrible person because, after everything I’ve done, I have a favor to ask you.”
I sucked in my breath and I felt my face go hot. A favor? After everything? I couldn’t believe it. More than anything, I couldn’t believe what I heard myself saying in response. “Okay, what is it?”
“You know that art project? Justine’s been working on hers like crazy,” Zac said.
I could see where he was going with that and I nodded, unable to formulate a better reply.
“Well I’ve been trying to do mine. For days I’ve been trying. But it just isn’t working and I need your help,” he said, then looked down at his hands, seemingly embarrassed.
“It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?”
He nodded slowly, still not looking up at me.
“Well that’s waiting until the last minute. And what do you want me to do? I’m not an artist.”
He looked up, chewing his bottom lip intently. My heart fluttered. I never thought I would actually think those words or that such a feeling would ever happen to me. He looked precious, so sad and worried and that damned bottom lip – I had to stop myself, had to derail my train of thought.
“Well? What do you want from me?”
Wrong question, Toria. Really the wrong question. A question I didn’t want to know the answer to.
“I was just hoping you would model for me,” he said, his voice small and meek.
I baffled myself again with my reply. “I can do that. I guess. If it’s really what you want.”
Zac smiled hesitantly. “It is. You’d be a great model. Even that little sketch I did of you in crayon turned out pretty good, just because it was your face.”
He looked almost embarrassed that he had said that out loud and I was embarrassed just to have heard it. I smiled to let him know that I did appreciate the sentiment. “Well alright, what do you want me to do? Should I pose?”
He jumped up and looked like he wanted to start pacing around the room. “Umm, well it’s a project about shadows. So I can turn off the lights and maybe turn on your lamp? And then if you sit at your desk I can get some nice shadows on your face. Oh! Or in the floor. Definitely sit in the floor. You don’t really have to do anything, just sit there while I draw.”
I frowned, and contemplated the thing. On the whole, it would be fairly painless. Tedious and boring, but I could do it. I nodded. “Alright. I think I can handle that.”
He smiled and lunged for his backpack, then sat in the floor to dig through it. He seemed to dive almost head first into the bag, then came back up to breathe, clutching a large pad of paper and his pencil pouch. The pouch, minus the Swan Song sticker he’d slapped on it, reminded me of elementary school and it made me smile to see Zac with something so childish. It suited him, in a weird way.
I settled myself into the floor and tried to get comfortable. Wasn’t it always the way of things? When you try to get comfortable, you just can’t. I smoothed down my dress, tugged on the sleeves of the tee I wore under it and combed my fingers through my hair. I still felt as far from at ease as I ever had. Being on stage was like second nature, but staring one person down and having them stare back was like walking into a room without my clothes. Especially if that one person was Zac – the person who had developed the annoying trait of making me feel totally revealed anyway. Now I felt like he was stripping away every layer – clothes, skin and all. Completely down to the brittle bone. I scratched an annoying itch just above my eyebrow and tried to think of anything, anywhere, anyone else.
Zac smiled, and I guessed – no, knew – that he felt my discomfort. He dug through his blue pouch and pulled out a handful of pencils in different sizes, and something that looked like a ball of silly putty.
Sensing my confusion, he held it up. “It’s an eraser. You can knead it like silly putty or a stress ball or something. Here, you can play with it. I’ve got a bunch more erasers. I go through them really fast.”
He tossed me the eraser and I began kneading it. It was nice to have a little distraction from the task at hand. I wondered if he was as stressed by everything as I was. It would be ironic if the subject of the drawing was more nervous than the artist, I suppose. But maybe not. I’d never really done this before, with anyone but Justine, except for the first night that Zac drew me. And circumstances between us were different then. I tried just to focus on the silly putty eraser and ignore everything else.
Zac stared at me for a moment, looking to be in deep contemplation. Finally, he picked up a pencil and started to draw. He would occasionally glance up from the paper and spend another moment staring at me, chewing on his lip and almost frowning. I hoped he was frowning about something on the canvas and not something on my head. After a few minutes, he seemed to fall into a rhythm, switching back and forth between different pencils and shoving the extras behind his ears. He barely picked up an eraser at all and I supposed that was probably a good thing.
Under his breath, he started to hum softly. I couldn’t quite pick out the words, but I liked the way it sounded. I had no idea he had such a nice voice, but I guess it shouldn’t have taken me by surprise. Zac just seemed to be a never ending font of talents.
“What’s that song?” I asked.
He started and one pencil fell out of his hair onto the floor. He didn’t speak.
“Sorry, I probably should stay quiet. You know that’s easier said than done for me. But I didn’t recognize that song and I just wondered what it was,” I said, digging my fingernails into the putty eraser.
He sat still, pencil suspended in midair. “Oh, it’s just something I wrote.”
“You wrote it? Sorry, I’m shutting up.”
He nodded, diving back into the drawing. “Yup. Me and Taylor play together, we’ve kind of got a band. Isaac – that’s our older brother – plays with us too, but not much. It was mostly just while me and Taylor were in high school. I’m always writing songs though.”
“That’s really cool. I’d love to hear you guys play, you know. Okay, seriously. Shutting up this time.” With that, I mimed zipping my lips, and for good measure, locking them and tossing away the key as well.
Zac smiled that wonderful sideways smile, but didn’t look up from his canvas. He cleared his throat and began to sing again. This time I really did keep quiet so I could concentrate on his voice.
“So small, yet still so proud. At night before he dreams he looks into the clouds. A high flyer’s what I want to be, seems they won’t let me. Says I’m too small. I don’t feel small at all…”
The longer he sang, the louder and prouder his voice became. He sang snippets of what I supposed were at least three different songs, all slow and sweet, and I focused on his voice to the point that I forgot completely about the drawing. When he stopped singing, the silence was deafening. I felt like I had been in a trance.
“Well. I’m done,” Zac said, setting down the drawing pad on his lap. He reached up to scratch his head and began digging out the pencils that had accumulated in his hair.
It took a moment for me to totally register what he had said. I had gotten so caught up in his songs that I had really forgotten about the drawing. When it dawned on me that he had finished it, I relaxed and let my shoulders drop. “Great! Can I see it?”
He nodded and picked the drawing pad up, holding it up in front of his face. He peaked around the corner and said, “Well? What do you think? It kind of looks like you, right?”
It did look like me, if I were some shadowy, half-goddess model. He had drawn a piece of hair over my eyes that wasn’t really there; I think it would have annoyed the hell of out me to sit there with some strand over my left eye for that long. And my hair had a wave to it in his drawing that I was quite certain wasn’t really there. But the essence of me was in there somewhere, somewhere in the deep set eyes and high cheekbones, and the tiny little mouth I could barely keep shut. I guess it was how Zac saw me.
“Wow! That’s really good. I love it. You need to quit hiding all your talents from me, Mister.”
He set the pad back down and inched closer to me. “I’m not that good, it’s just that you’re fun to draw. Can I be honest?”
I nodded, though I had no idea what he was going to say and I was almost fearful for what it could be.
“I kept trying to draw other stuff for this project. Still lives and stuff, but they all sucked. And I just got frustrated with all of them and kept drawing little sketches of you. That’s why I figured I should just come here and ask you to model for me,” he said, the words spilling out of his mouth in an almost-whispered jumble.
“That’s really… strange. Strange and sweet.” I smiled and leaned forward to put my hand on Zac’s knee. It was an awkward gesture, like you’d do to someone who just found out their kitten had been run over. But I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“Well, that’s me, isn’t it? Strange and sweet,” Zac said, grinning. The grin faded quickly and he added, “And I wanted to apologize for being such a twat.”
“You’re a twat?”
“I’m a twat.”
“Somehow I had failed to notice that fact. Well, I suppose you have some twat-like tendencies but usually your cuteness overpowers them.”
Did I really say that? This was what that boy did to me. He disarmed me. Not in the alarming and nerve-racking way that Donovan did, but in a way that I didn’t even notice until it was too late to take back the things I had said or done. In a way that was subtle and slow and creeping.
In a way that didn’t really feel like lust or a schoolgirl crush.
Oh, fuck.