CHAPTER 1: Made You Look

CHAPTER 1: Made You Look

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, jolted into consciousness by a cold bucket of water on a rather chilly spring morning. “What the hell mom? Why’d you—”

“Did you just cuss in my house Marcus?”

“What? You woke me up with a bucket of water. What was I supposed to scream? Hallelujah?” he said, trying to control his emotions. His soaked white tank-top revealed the meagre figure that laid under it. Nothing too outstanding, but nothing overtly disgusting either. The water on his dark, afro hair gradually trickled down his face that, by the way, was still recovering from a tormenting bout of acne. His pitch-black eyes and pouted mouth showcased an emotion that wreaked of nothing but contempt.

“I wouldn’t have needed the bucket of water if you heard your alarm… that rung seven times. Forgotten why you set the alarm in the first place?” she gestured to the phone on the side table, and the brown folder beside it. Both which were just a couple feet to the right of the bed. “How does your alarm wake up everybody but you?” she said, turning the tables in a matter of nanoseconds. “Let me guess, late night talking…again. Right?”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone” he said, his voice getting a lot lower and starting to sound guiltier. 

“Really?”

“So you were up till three in the morning watching po—”

“Mom, please. Give me a break, you caught me one time. Don’t start with that” he said, getting up from his bed. His clothes and bedspread completely drenched in water.

“Pfft. Yeah sure. One time” she said, gradually taking her leave from the room scattered beyond recognition. “You are gonna clean up this room, right?”

“Jesus Mom, its Saturday” he massaged his head. “Can’t I just—”

“Exactly. It’s Saturday. And that’s exactly why you’re gonna clean up this room. Besides, your brother’s coming tomorrow, I doubt this is the perfect way to welcome him back from Re—” 

“Jesus mom, could you drop the act for like five minutes? I’m not eight or ten or twelve anymore. Nobody gives a fuck about Ryan.”

“Marcus, you watch your tone.”

“What, because I said fuck for a second? No, that’s not why. You know I’m telling the truth. Nobody gives a fuck about Ryan.”

“Your brother has suffered for years and the least you could do is be there for—”

“Mom, I’m not throwing shade at the nigga or anything, but come on. You’re acting like he’s some saint who hasn’t driven you nuts for the past couple of years. Like what the actual fuck? Everybody has problems and he chose his own method of dealing with his shit. At least acknowledge that and stop pretending like he’s gonna be some convert when he gets out of Rehab.

She held herself back from pouring the remaining water in the bucket, bit her lips to tame her words, and just said. “I don’t have time for this. This room better be arranged by the time I get back. And take out the trash when you’re done” She said, walking out of the room, visibly a wreck.

 “Mom don’t take it the wrong way, I didn’t mean to…Ugh.” He thought about hissing or closing the door to his room, but for a second, contemplated the pros and cons. Decided it’d be way better to remain mildly wet… and alive

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You know all those neighborhoods in films that they depict as children running around and playing with each other? Their moms keeping an eye out and their dads either at a barbecue or doing absolutely nothing? This neighborhood was the exact opposite. No close bond shared by anyone, and if there was any bond at all, you’d never know. Couldn’t blame them though, most teens around these parts were like that.

Seeing people from opposite houses conversing was very rare. Maybe by accident at best. But this particular morning, he thanked God for that. Wouldn’t want anyone to see his lean figure dragging out the plastic trash bag with a pair of joggers that was drenched in water. Wouldn’t look like water from an onlookers point of view though.

“Every fucking day got to put up a new act. Ryan this, Ryan that…please?” his mumbling ended with a grunt as he dumped the trash in the tall green bin. “It’s fucking tirin—”

“Hey Marcus” a fluttery, faint voice said, a number of feet away. 

Understandably surprised, he tried peering through to see who exactly it was that thought it decent to break the solemn ‘code of silence’ in the neighborhood. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the figure standing a number of feet away, just at the opposite house, the cloak of astonishment gradually lifted itself off his 6’1 stature. It was none other than Vanessa Hughes. His classmate/ sixth grade crush/former best friend/ (perhaps the most important slash) his older brother’s ex. The “Best friend” thing was kind of too strong though. They weren’t that close. At least not anymore. 

“Nessa? I mean, Vanessa? It’s… It’s been—”

“A long time” she said with a little smirk. “I see puberty’s had a good couple years with you. You’re taller than I remember.”

“Well—” he let out his stomach a little “—you remember” he said with a little smirk of his own.

“How could I forget?” she beamed an even harder smile. Her plaited locks fell gracefully behind her, and her fragile red eyes didn’t do enough to take away the attention from her bare, soft-looking lips. At least that was the way Marcus saw it. 

“So, when’d you… when’d you move in?”

“Umm. Not sure now’s the right time. Not sure here’s the right place either. Can I come over later though?” He could literally feel his heart pumping out his chest and he prayed to any gods that existed that she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of it.

“I mean… Ummm… I’ll need to talk to my… I mean sure. Of course you can come over. Maybe…”

“Seven?” she said, her eyes lit up a little.

“Seven’s perfect.”

“Alright then” she gently closed the mailbox. “Hope your bed’s gonna be dry by then though” she remarked as she walked away. Her night gown revealing her delicate figure as she made her way back to her house.

“Dry by then? What the? Ohh” it finally clicked, and that was probably the most red-faced moment in a while, he thought to himself, as he hurried back home to get a change of pants. Wonder why he didn’t just change it before he came out.

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“And that’s the synopsis. Pretty sure you’ve already read the—”

“Mr. Boaz, I don’t know if you’ve—”

“Please. Just call me Marcus” he smiled as he adjusted his seat so the laptop camera would get a better view at him for the video call.

“Okay Marcus. I don’t know if you’ve read through the books we’ve actually signed and seen their quality but umm—”

“Of course I’ve read through ma’am. In fact, I’d say I had to double on the quality of my work because of the level of expertise I saw on your platform.

“Really?”

“Of course ma’am” he said with a smile. Still buoyant and audibly hoping for the best.

“Well” the smartly dressed female on the other end said after a couple seconds of tense silence, “I’m sorry to inform that umm, your book doesn’t match our standards.”

Those words hit like a jackhammer, and for the first time in a long time, he was too stunned to speak. “Sorry?” he got a little closer to the mic and system likewise. “Ma’am, these are 67 chapters I put my heart, soul, effort and time into and you’re really gonna tell me that—”

“I’m sorry Marcus. But you’re a young writer so I’m sure you’ll bounce back in no time.”

“Oh. Okay. I think I get it now. Is this because it’s not about werewolves and that shitty vamp—”

“Goodbye Marcus” the middle-aged spokesperson said, ending the call in no time. 

He felt like throwing his laptop at something. Like punching someone. Like breaking something. Rejection hits hard the first time round, but this was the Seventh platform that rejected his book. The twelfth time he’d been rejected all in all. At this point, it felt like they were rejecting him to be honest. And he’d felt a lot of that through the years. 

He buried his face in his palms and gradually ran his hands through his stiff afro. Nobody saw it, nobody saw through the entire act, but it kind of felt like his life was slipping through his very hands. And there was nothing he could do to save himself.

“So much for the fucking alarm.”