Finding August

Chapter Fifteen

Vincent was hanging out by the newsstand with Chuck. He watched the men in front of him discuss politics before he returned his attention to his sketch pad. He was sitting on the stout bench next to the stand, humming as the men just meters away argued with themselves.

As the men continued to argue their voices blended in with the noise coming from passing vehicles and the busy bar just opposite the stand.

Vincent wondered why he followed Chuck all the way here to get a simple Newspaper. He knew his friend was just trying to get him to leave his house, but Chuck had a tendency to get into arguments or squeeze himself into a conversation that in other words, he would have never been part of.

"Vin," Vincent heard Chuck call his name. He looked up, raising a brow in question when he noticed the rest of the men staying on the stand were staring at him.

"Ain't this August?" Chuck asked, pointing at the picture on the top of an inner page. Vincent's gaze followed Chuck's finger to the picture in the newspaper. Vincent squinted, but he couldn't read the headline. He shrugged, looking away.

"I know he's making it big, there's no need to point that out to me," Vincent spat, already making an assumption. He returned to the sketch he was doing, but he could see his own handshake in frustration. He'd never gone all out in his drawing before. They'd always been pure sketches, minimalistic drawings, and they had all purely for his tattoo work. He'd never just sat down and decided to draw before. Maybe August had rubbed off some of his artistic enthusiasm on him.

"Vincent, you're getting this wrong. It seems like he's having problems," Chuck muttered, making Vincent's ears perk up.

He wasn't supposed to care anymore. In fact, he thought he'd started reclaiming his life. He's even ignored the text August had sent him, blocking his number so he wouldn't be able to receive anything like that anymore.

"What do you mean by problems?" Vincent asked, looking up. Chuck just waved the newspaper he was holding, making Vincent get up and head over to him. Vincent snatched the paper from Chuck's hand, flipping through it before stopping at the lengthy critique August had received on his last exhibition.

It didn't look pretty. There simply wasn't an ounce of praise, just harsh criticism without any reference to the problems they mentioned. Vincent's heart tugged, knowing how defensive August was of his art. It wasn't front-page news, but it must have been enough to crush August's spirit wherever he was.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Chuck asked, making Vincent snap out of his thoughts.

"I have to go," he muttered, handing the newspaper back to his friend. He headed to the bench he'd been sitting on to pick up his materials before leaving as quickly as he could.

He wasn't sure of what he was doing, he was more or less letting his instinct lead him. He bent over to pant heavily when he got to the front door of his tattoo parlor. He hadn't even realized he'd broken into a run midway in his walk until he stopped.

He straightened up, fumbling for his keys before unlocking his front door and walking into the building. He headed up his apartment, dashing into his room to retrieve his phone that was charging at the corner of the room.

He unlocked it, going through his messages to find the one August had sent to him about four or so days ago.

Vincent, I'm scared. Please come and get me. I miss you.

Blocked number. Tue, 7:30 PM.

Vincent felt his heartache as he read the text. He'd just blocked August immediately he'd seen the notification for the message, he had not even bothered to check it.

His eyes started to sting and they felt heavy with unshed tears.

How was August doing? What had actually happened?

These were the questions that ran through his mind as he tried to collect himself in his sitting position at the foot of his bed. He put his phone aside, covering his now hot face with his palms. He was frustrated with himself.

What have I done? He asked himself, daring to peek through the gap between his fingers to look at the cream wall of his bedroom. He let himself embrace the silence for a while before a wave of motivation hit him like a brick against a skull.

He could go to New York. It was roughly a ten hour and a half drive. He could rent a car from the motor park and leave immediately. Yes.

The more he thought about it, the less ridiculous it sounded. He got up and headed to his wardrobe to pull out a small duffle bag. He couldn't waste any more time, and he immediately started stuffing the bag with items he would need. He did a quick checklist in his head as he stuffed the bag. His phone, its charger, clean clothes and enough money was checked off the list.

He changed into something more travel appropriate. Zipping up his jeans and buttoning up his shirt with shaking hands was the only thing slowing him down.

When he was done he started locking up, turning the lights off before locking his apartment's front door.

A sigh escaped his lips as he rested his head on the cool wooden surface of his apartment's door.

His keys, who was he going to give is keys to?

Vincent raised his head, deciding to drop it off with Chuck or Jane — any one of them he came by first. He felt the pouch of his duffel bag from the money he'd brought along with him. He wasn't sure how much it took to rent a car, but he had some sort of idea.

Where was he even going to stay when he got to New York? He wasn't sure he had enough on him to stay at a motel. He let himself think for a while before he decided to call Claude, a friend of his that had moved to New York a year ago.

He went down the stairs to his tattoo parlor, giving the place one last look over before heading out the door and locking up.

Vincent started to head to the local bar where Jane worked. People gave him odd looks on his way, wondering where on earth he was heading to with a duffle bag.

His neighborhood was small so everyone knew each other, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was the center of gossip by the time he left.

"Hey — woah, where are you going?" Jane asked as Vincent walked into the bar with his sling bag. She was looking at him from behind the counter. She raised an eyebrow that was filled in with a blue eye pencil at him in curiosity.

"I need you to hold on to my keys," Vincent muttered, taking the nearest seat to him. He pulled his keys out of his pocket before sliding them across the table and into Jane's waiting palm. Jane caught the keys, holding them tight in her clutch before she gave Vincent a look that said she demanded an explanation.

"I'm going to New York today."

"What?" Jane asked in disbelief as her big eyes that were rimmed in dark eyeliner widened in shock. "Why? When did you decide this?!"

"I'm going to meet August," Vincent answered honestly. Jane's disbelief only seemed to heighten. She threw her hands over her head before letting out a groan of frustration.

"Fine," Jane sighed afterward, trying to understand Vincent's decision. "I'll keep your keys, but I hope you're not going there without an actual plan."

"I have a plan," Vincent half lied. He didn't have a plan per se, but he did plan on depending on his instinct.

He left the bar soon after, walking out into the street. The sun had retreated behind the clouds and a cool breeze was blowing. It was late noon, and the sky was painted a deep yellow.

Vincent soon got to the motor park. He inspected the place, hoping that he had not made a mistake. When he was satisfied that he was indeed in the right place, he went about asking how he could get a car.

While they were processing his request Vincent messaged Claude to tell him that he was coming over. His friend didn't mind at all and messaged him back almost immediately to say that he was expecting him and would make preparations.

When Vincent got into the old worn out Toyota car he remembered that he hadn't talked to Anita. He started the car, removing his phone from his pocket before dialing her number and putting the call on speaker.

"Hello?" He heard her mumble from the other end.

"Hey Anita, I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to New York," he informed.

"What? Why?" she asked, as her voice pitched up in obvious confusion.

"I need to meet August. I'm sorry, I just have to," he muttered. He didn't wait for her to respond before hanging up. He put his phone away, turning his full focus to the road ahead.

He felt heart tug as he drove out the parking lot. He just hoped he could make it there on time.