Reality's Illusion

Chapter 8

Every night, Ferry returned. His crew scurried around to set up. Ferry then captured what he came for, the team broke everything down, and they left. The entire production was like watching the sugarplum fairies in the Nutcracker. Although nothing about it smelled like sugarplums or held their vibrancy. The colors had started to fade, and it stunk-a visual and sensual metaphor of my life.

"Hey, Ferry." I grabbed his attention before he left. "I won't be here tomorrow. I'm going to a gallery opening downtown. Do you want to come earlier, or do you want me to give you a key?"

He appeared a bit stunned, but the grimace quickly passed. "No worries. A key is fine. I want to continue to shoot at the same time each night." Ferry gathered the remainder of his things as he talked. "I'm surprised, Bastian. I haven't seen you out and about in quite some time." He raised his eyebrow in question.

I shrugged, unsure of how to respond. "I doubt I'll stay long but figured I'd make an appearance."

"Enjoy it. People will be glad to see you."

I couldn't put a name to what I heard in his voice or the look that flashed across his face before he had cloaked it with indifference. Ferry and I weren't close enough to question it, so I let it go and gave him a key.

"See you Friday, Bastian."

I tilted my head in acknowledgment, and he left.

Reliving high school and all the awkward shame I'd felt for four years did not appeal to me, yet that was precisely what I did. I was the gangly dork whom the prom queen had agreed to give a pity date; therefore, I'd changed clothes multiple times and spent more time on my hair-which essentially looked just like it had when I had gotten out of the shower-than I cared to admit. The man in the mirror was unrecognizable. No matter what I did to find some semblance of who I used to be, I just looked...haggard. Or maybe, what I saw was old age. f**k, I didn't know anything other than I didn't like it.

The familiar pounding signaled Nate's arrival. And when I opened the door, I found him standing there in slacks and a button-up shirt, offering me a bouquet. I could have slapped the smirk off his smug face.

"You're a douche, Nate," I sneered and took the flowers.

"They aren't for you, asshole. I figured you wouldn't have thought to bring her flowers, so I got them for you."

His ignorance never ceased to amaze me. "You don't take flowers to a gallery opening."

"Why not? She's a girl, and it's a big day. Why wouldn't you give her flowers to congratulate her?" Confusion clouded his eyes.

"Where's she going to put them? In the pocket of her dress? Buying one of her pieces is how I say congratulations, not flowers. Especially not cheap s**t with a Publix supermarket sticker on them." I smacked him upside the head. It was a gentle swipe, but he got the point.

"Can you afford to buy anything?" He already knew the answer.

"No, but I will." I didn't have the financial means to purchase anything, but not buying something would ensure no "real" date in the future.

"Have you thought about telling her the truth?"

"Nope. Women don't want to hear that you've spent every nickel you had since your wife died because you've been too depressed to work. Suicidal tendencies aren't a huge turn-on, and neither are poor-ass bastards."

"She's going to find out, Bastian. You can't hide the last five years. She could Google your name and find out everything you're trying to cover up."

I didn't have a response; I was winging this s**t as it was. I didn't have a clue about how to date. I had sucked at it when I was a teenager, and I appeared to be even worse now. At some point, I'd have to be upfront with Sera, but hopefully, that moment would come later rather than sooner. "You ready?"

He opened the front door and ushered me out with a sweep of his arm. Taking a deep breath, I exited, locked the door behind me, and headed toward my future.