The Heartbroken - S01 E94

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E94

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 94

“All I can think of right

now is strangling you.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“I have a cutter on my

study table.”

Needless to say, he

shut up. After a few

more incredibly

awkward and

uncomfortable fidgeting

(me) and frustrated

complaining (him), I

forced myself to forget

about him and his

presence in the room,

focusing instead on

Rapunzel and Eugene

singing on the boat.

I’d actually managed to

watch the movie

(what’s left of it,

anyway) and brush the

uncomfortable, slightly

creepy feeling of

someone watching you

intently.

“It’s done.”

I looked up from the

scene where Eugene

was dying. He was

standing up, stretching,

and I couldn’t help but

watch as he raised his

arms, loosening his

muscles, one hand

massaging the back of

his neck. Seth wasn’t

exactly the buff

muscular type, which I

never really appreciated,

but he was lean and

had the right muscles

at the right places.

Actually, his built was

exactly what I would

usually call—

I stopped my train of

thought and mentally

slapped myself.

“It’s just a rough

sketch,” he said, almost

defensively as we

walked closer to me,

still not showing me the

paper. “And I’m not

really that good.”

I paused the movie and

slowly clicked on the

folder with my

Literature assignments.

A sudden feeling of

uncertainty almost

made me back out, not

wanting to show him

what I’d written. It

could be possible that

Ms. Adams has some

sort of mental condition

that could readily impair

her judgment. What if

he read it (I decided to

choose the poem Ms.

Adams liked) and

laughed because it was

lame?

“I’m not really a good

writer either,” I told

him. “Maybe this was a

bad idea. Yeah, it

probably is. Let’s just

—”

He rolled his eyes. “I

didn’t spend an hour

and a half watching you

and your constipated

expression for nothing.”

Conceding, I clicked on

the folder and opened

the word file with the

poem. He sat beside

me, handing me the

loosely rolled piece of

paper as I handed him

the laptop.

“I’m telling you, it’s not

really that good,” I said.

He grunted in response

and started reading. I

forced myself not to

look at his face to

watch his reaction, so I

carefully unrolled the

paper instead.

I gasped upon seeing

the sketch. Holy shit, he

was good. He didn’t

bother erasing some of

the unnecessary lines,

but I could easily look

past them as my eyes

focused more on the

emphasized lines. In

fact, the rough lines

gave off a really good

effect to the whole

sketch. Like an almost

ethereal quality. It was

mostly just my head,

just a fraction of my

shoulders were included

in the sketch.

Thank god I didn’t look

constipated. Or demonic.

Or psychotic.

In fact, there seemed

to be a slight smile on

my face. It wasn’t

perfect—not like the

portraits you see for

sale or the computer-

generated ones—but it

was better. Better than

perfect.

“Seth, this is really

good,” I said, just as he

let out a breathy, “Holy

f--k, this is good.”

We looked at each other

and laughed.

“You said you weren’t

good!” I told him. “You

can sell this! Well, no,

not this, I mean,

obviously not my face,

but you could get people

to pay you for

portraits.”

He looked embarrassed,

a blush creeping into his

cheeks. But he pointed

at the screen of my

laptop, “This is better.

This is genius. This is

pure, f-----g genius.”