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“I…” He lets me slip the cold, styrofoam cup from his hand, but his arm doesn’t lower. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He gestures vaguely. “There was a lot going on in there. Bright light. Music. Humans.” He clears his throat. “…sticky floors.”
It was pretty empty, but I’m not one to judge. Some days, I can’t deal with electronic silence. A dull buzz from my charging laptop? Ha, ha, ha. Kill me.
Doliver swears, scraping his fingers through his hair. “I’m not usually like…this.” He rakes in a breath and grips the roots. “It’s just…you.”
“Me?” I whisper.
“Not…” His arm falls, and his eyes pin—huge. Lips parted, he stares at me. Moments pass like minutes, dragging out longer and longer as pressure builds in my chest.
What’s wrong with me? Has he discovered that this is all useless? That I’m useless? That I don’t actually know how to date any better than he probably does?
I have no idea why I offered to help when I’m so unqualified.
Condensation from my milkshake slips into the seam between my fingers and the cup. “We don’t have to do this. If it’s not helpful, there’s no pressure. I’ll completely understand. It’s probably weird, right?” I force a laugh. “I mean, going on a practice date with a random fan. I-I don’t know why I say some of the things I do, but if I made you feel obligated at all—”
“Brittny.”
I bite my tongue.
Doliver shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not…good in this kind of role. This is what Zy’s good at.”
“What role?”
His laughter is bitter as he pulls open one of the bags of food, grabs a grilled cheese, and peels back the wrapper. “The good guy role. You don’t expect it from him; you expect it from me, but—” He rips a bite out of the sandwich. “—well. I don’t meet a lot of the expectations people have had for me.”
I know the feeling. Lamely, I say, “I think you’re a good guy?” At the very least, he didn’t make me pay for all of this. “I mean, what bad guy writes dozens of songs for the girl he likes?”
“One too afraid to tell her directly how he feels. One so scared that he won’t measure up to being what she deserves he’d rather hide in plain sight than face the possibility of hurting her.” He crushes his sandwich, takes a small bite, swallows. “Seriously… I’m pathetic.”
“Love is terrifying. I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
Lifting his head, he shoots me a terse smile. “Of course you don’t, sunshine. You’re an angel. An angel who’s out here sitting on the ground in a pretty dress, trying to help a basic stranger.”
“It’s not like you’re putting me out. This is a dream come true for me. I offered, partly to help and partly because I’m an obsessed fan.”
“You’re so much more than that.”
When he says so, I almost want to believe it.
He hands me one of the burgers, and I set my weeping milkshake down in order to take it. “It’s just…” he begins. “Girls want guys who are strong, right?”
“I guess? It doesn’t hurt.” My gaze skims the outline of his physique as I take a bite of my burger, and I wonder where exactly he finds himself lacking in the strength department. Maybe guys look in the mirror and think they aren’t strong enough while girls look in the mirror and think they’re too fat?
“Girls want someone reliable?” he continues.
“Yes.”
“That’s never been me. I’ve always been the embarrassment, and I… It would kill me to drag her into that. I have nothing to offer her, but she has everything to take, and people have already taken so much from this beautiful woman…”
He thinks he’s an embarrassment with nothing to offer? Does his family not understand that having millions of followers is an insane accomplishment that can open opportunities for him that will take care of him for his entire life? I guess it’s hard to exist as a creative in some families, no matter how successful you are. If they don’t understand, they just won’t see it.
And, sadly, that can make you not see it either.
No matter how many comments and reads I get on my fanfiction, no matter how much fan art, no matter how many messages people send daily saying how much they love my work, it’s never going to be something I can share with my parents, something I can be proud of, something I can consider more than an embarrassment. It’s never going to be half as incredible to them as I wish I could believe it is to me.
