Finding August

Chapter Five

August sat in the filled up tub, his eyes blood red from crying. His mother had called an hour or so ago and they'd gotten into a screaming match. Apparently his parents wanted him to come back home.

Bullshit. August thought as he rubbed furiously at his eyes. They hadn't wanted him when he was still sharing an apartment with Vincent, but they wanted him now that he had acquired a considerable amount of success and would hopefully continue doing well. Coincidence? August begged to differ.

He sniffed, running his index finger under his nose. His head was aching from crying. Why couldn't he do anything without it hurting?

August clearly remembered how his mother had tossed his art materials into the nearest waste bin if she found them with him. He remembered their screaming matches which always ended up with his mother destroying his canvases and drawing books by tossing them into the living room fireplace. He used to go down and sit by the fireplace to watch them burn as his eyes blurred with tears. That was one of the reasons he didn't have much of an art record in regards to his earlier years.

He remembered the screaming battle he had with his parents when he didn't make it into the business school they'd wanted. They'd accused him of intentionally failing. August had denied it, even though it was true. All he wanted at that time was to attend the art school he'd applied to secretly.

His parents eventually caved in when no other business school gave him an admission, but he didn't expect the price he had to pay to attend it.

His parents had harassed him through phone calls in class every few hours. His teacher had once pulled him aside to explain to him that he'd been contacted by his parents to drop him as a student. August had been pleased with the master, but after eight months his master had decided that enough was enough and it was the better decision to let him go. He'd called August to his office and explained to the young man why he had to leave before wishing him the best of luck.

August had returned home only to be pulled into constant arguments regarding his future and what he should be doing with his life. His parents had always sent servants to him, bombarding August with forms and applications for schools he had no idea about. He'd angered his parents by simply ignoring them, but he simply hadn't cared.

His father had called him to his office once. August had stood in front of his father's desk, glad that he hadn't inherited anything but a lighter skin tone and a slimmer nose from his father. He didn't want to be staring into a mirror when he was face to face with the person that tried so hard to control his life. Gladly the monster was red haired and green eyed —nothing like him. It wasn't as if looking like a carbon copy of his curly dark-haired mother made him any more comfortable. Both of them were equally horrible.

"If you don't abide by my rules under my own roof, I'll have to treat you like an outsider and cut you out of my will."

Sinking into the bath water, August could still hear his father's words from that day in the office ring in his ears.

Fuck him. He thought as he shut his eyes. He still couldn't believe his father had tried to scare him with material wealth. He must have been surprised to wake up to the news that August had vanished the next day. He must have probably turned red with shock, considering the lengthy email August had addressed to him just before packing his bags and leaving must have fanned the flames.

The only thing that had kept August sane for the few weeks he'd wandered about, sleeping in motel after motel was the fact that he was finally free from his parents. None of them had even bothered to call him throughout the time period. Apart from the text August received from his mother simply stating that he was disowned, there had been no effort to communicate with him until now.

August wasn't exactly sure what made him knock on Vincent's door that evening that he did. He'd been in the neighborhood for a few days and he hadn't approached anyone before.

August felt his face heat up as he thought back to that evening. There had been a reason — sort of, but it hadn't made sense and remembering it always made August feel embarrassed.

Frankly, he'd been completely infatuated with Vincent before he'd set foot in his apartment. For the time he'd spent in the neighborhood without approaching anyone he'd sit at the far corner of the local bar although he didn't drink anything just to observe Vincent. He'd followed Vincent out of discretion early into his stay hoping to be lead to a place he could get something to eat. Vincent had unknowingly led him to the bar. August had asked for something at the counter before heading over to the far end to stay alone. His eyes had wandered to where Vincent sat, watching him as he engaged with his friends.

It had become a habit. Vincent always happened to be in the bar at the same time as August and August always watched without approaching. Everything about Vincent had fascinated him from his smile, laugh and even the way his eyes glittered when he was tipsy.

He'd grown the balls to follow him once, hoping to start a conversation. He'd chickened out; retreating to the motel he'd been staying in. Time passed and August started to get a little desperate. His money had started to run out, and he needed a place to stay. August wasn't sure what Vincent thought of him when he'd opened his door to find him there with a small traveling bag and a stack of canvases. Vincent would never know the amount of courage it'd taken August to knock that night. How August had come to him for help strictly on the discretion that he seemed like a nice person.

A sigh left August's lips as he looked about, observing the dimly lit scented candles he'd placed in the bathtub to give him a sense of relief — they weren't working.

For a whole year, August had been completely happy staying with Vincent and paying attention to his art. It was a slow but eventual realization that he'd lived off Vincent for a whole year, and when it fully dawned on him he felt horrible.

August shut his eyes, irritated by the pain in his throat and around his eyes from the effort he was putting into not sobbing. He'd made the right decision to leave, and he wasn't going to convince himself otherwise.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, reaching into the water to undo the plug on the drain. He watched as the deep sound that resembled belching took place as the water drained. He noticed how similar the action was to his present emotions. He shook his head, trying to rise above self-pity before getting out of the tub and grabbing a towel.

He turned off the bathroom lights before heading into the room of his temporary apartment. The present state of the room reflected his feelings perfectly. Everything was out of place and in chaos with itself. Papers torn out of his sketchpad littered the carpet around the reading table. The sack of clothes on the unmade bed only got bigger and bigger, and was only moved aside when he wanted to use the bed. The box he'd come with was still sitting open at a corner of the room half unpacked.

Although he'd been living in the apartment for a while it still felt foreign to him. It didn't feel like home. It was missing something — someone to be exact.

August went about to get ready for another session of brainstorming composition ideas and having internal battles with himself as he decided what he eventually came up with was good enough or not.

He let out a sigh when he moved to stand in front of the room's full body mirror. He pulled at stands of his hair, inspecting the shrinkage his curly hair had undergone like it was accustomed to. He didn't have time to run a hair dryer through it. He gave himself a look over before deciding that he'd manage it that way. It wasn't as if anyone was going to see his hair in its present state that looked like a cross between cotton candy and a sponge.

A smile made its way on his lips when he took his seat by his desk. He'd always had a love-hate relationship with his hair. He'd actually full on hated it throughout his childhood but started to have a soft spot for it when Vincent had voiced out how much he liked it.

August got to work, enhancing and remaking various sketches he'd set aside the day before. He worked on them with pencil color first, mapping out the tones and highlights to reference when he turned them into paintings.

His mind started to wander a bit with the stress he was feeling, and he mentally started questioning himself. Was he going to finish the paintings in time? So far his paintings followed no exact theme, what was he going to even name his exhibition?

He let himself wander with his thoughts a bit, until the snap of the tip of the color pencil against the drawing paper he was sketching on brought him back to reality. He gritted his teeth, his small nose twitching with annoyance as he rubbed at his tired eyes. He needed a break; he needed to talk to Vincent.

He picked his phone that had been lying on the stack of sketchpads at the corner of the table. Unlocking it, he headed directly for his email.

His eyes widened when he took a look at his inbox. He swallowed looking directly at the email he'd never thought he'd get. He opened it out of curiosity, wondering what its contents would be.

From: VincentThomas[at]gmail.com

Title: Why?

Why didn't you tell me? You broke my heart.

August's heart rate picked up after reading the short mail. His eyes watered, he wasn't sure what his next action should be. It felt like a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and it also stung that he'd been found out before he wanted to be.

He bit his lip awkwardly before putting his phone to sleep and putting it aside. He rested his head on top of the sketchbook littered with pencil shavings and broken pencil ends. He needed time. He wasn't just up for explaining himself to Vincent at the moment.