A Hue of Blu

Present

My mom always told me never to let success get to my head, and failure to my heart.

Well, I’d been failing too much to succeed. My heart wasn’t capable of success.

Over the past year, I worked two jobs. One was at a contracting company that ran me dry for too little pay, the other was at a coffee shop and every regular cursed me for being too slow.

Too fucking slow.

Imagine how many orders you got per minute, a long criteria of ingredients that needed to be stirred and whipped within twenty seconds and I –

Was too –

FUCKING SLOW.

If I learned anything this year it was that people really loved to judge what they didn’t understand.

I guess I was one of those people, because when Blu ran away from me four months ago, I failed to make the connection that she was no longer the same girl I’d fucked with before graduation.

People did change, of course they did.

But how?

At what point did your brain and heart overlap and come to that conclusion – that you needed fixing, that you needed help?

After graduation [and Blu left the country], I sort of checked out. Grades weren’t an issue for me anymore, so there was nothing tying me to responsibility.

I didn’t have a job, no, just got the occasional winning from soccer bets and still lived at home. Where was the responsibility, Jace?

Where was the ambition?

Three months of nothing went by. I stalked Blu’s socials ever so often, repeating to myself that she was finally happy [without me] and I had to let her move on in peace.

Will tried to land me an internship at his company but that didn’t pan out because I had zero fucking experience and all jobs ever wanted was a shiny golden star on your resume that read: “HEY! LOOK AT ME! I WORK ON WALL STREET AND OWN THREE RENTAL PROPERTIES AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-TWO!”

Impossible. Unrealistic. But it was the world we lived in.

Experience = Success.

There was little room to grow because you were expected to be grown, to be mature – to erase any part of you that was incompetent.

But imagine that’s all you ever felt; day in day out, you hated the person you became so much you never felt worthy of stepping out of the shadows.

You were just one with them.

Lost, grey, mute.

It was almost better that way, having loneliness on my side. Silence became my friend. Silence never blamed me for the people I’d hurt.

My birthday was three weeks after graduation.

I think I was depressed.

Scott told me I should let out my feelings, but I couldn’t even place them. Numbness was kind to me, and paralyzing.

So very paralyzing.

The worst part was I didn’t even know what was truly wrong. It’s like every horrible emotion I’d ever felt metastasized into a fucking cancer that attacked my brain, probing my insides every second I was awake.

I spent my birthday combing through job sites, hoping that someone would miraculously come across the resume Will crafted for me. It was the only good thing he’d done in years.

Probably cause I was depressed and couldn’t do it myself.

As I slipped through the cracks, trudging my way through life every second of every day, my brothers became more prevalent players in my life.

Funny that, that when you stopped giving too much of a fuck, the fuck crawled to you. No finger lifting needed. So why bother trying?

That was the mentality that got me fired from the coffee shop. That was the mentality that pushed me to quit the contracting job.

That was the mentality that cost me Blu.

She was always so accepting of the affection I gave, the lack of it, rather.

God, that fucking trip to Winter’s Lodge. It still messed with my head every time I thought about her stripping down, begging for company, hoping for someone to listen – not just someone, but me. Me. She wanted ME.

And I didn’t give that to her.

I left her there, just like I did at graduation.

I couldn’t say goodbye, I just couldn’t. She’d grown on me too much to lose. So if I didn’t say goodbye, I didn’t lose her. No. She’d still be around, accessible… Ready.

The closure was tough, because there was none. When you see someone on a regular basis, they start to become a habitual part of your existence. Like, drinking coffee every morning or sleeping at night.

She was just there. And if she wasn’t, something was missing.

I never liked to lose things.

I obsessed over what was gone, even if never really mattered much to begin with.

So I went to Mel, told her that a part of me felt empty when Blu left, and she set me up with her friend Lily.

I’d never heard of Lily before; apparently Mel had met her over New Years at an art show. She was a petite blonde with bright blue eyes and a vibrant smile. As soon as I saw her picture, I knew she’d be a good distraction.

But that’s all that anything ever amounted to – a pleasant pastime.

Lily and I went on a few dates, but she was just kind of… boring? I guess? Fuck, everyone was so disinteresting nowadays.

Everyone except Blu.

It was a breath of fresh air when she approached me, when she peeked inside my brain and extracted elements that I never dared show.

I didn’t compare anyone to Blu because no two people were the same.

[I didn’t compare anyone to Blu because she was incomparable].

It became apparent to me that my tastes had changed, that they catered to Blu’s essence more than anything else when I asked Lily what she did for a living.

“I’m a model,” she gloated, a wide grin stretched across her face. “I was at the art show as Victor Chaffron’s muse.”

A muse.

Imagine being interesting enough, valued enough, beautiful enough to be that important to an artist.

One can only wish.

And that’s all I ever did while spending my time with her.

I wished that I could be up to standard physically. Some may say I was.

I say I wasn’t.

I wished that I could attend the art shows and stare at portraits of the beautiful Lily Kaiser.

I couldn’t.

Because she was the muse, the model, the mold of perfection. Front row, glimmering like a star.

But I wanted the moon, the night sky and everything Blu[e].

The artist behind the scene; the talented mind that created the muse. I wanted the director, the designer, the painter – not the bloody fucking canvas.

Blu made people feel important, made people feel confident.

I didn’t want the end result, I wanted the rough draft, the outlines, the Blu[e]prints.

For once, just once, I wanted something real. Someone to make me feel. Someone who understood what it felt like to be a jester, not a king. Someone who wore a coat of armour when underneath, they were as brittle as an apple seed.

So when I saw Blu four months ago, wasted out of my mind at Deaks, I caved. I fucking caved because I craved every inch of the feeling that she gave me once, and I thought that if there was still love left in her, we could do it again.

We could do us again.

But she ran.

And I died.

Four months later –

I was still dying.

***

One Week Later

After Bryce told me he’d been talking to Fawn again, the world rerouted itself to the past. I couldn’t not ask about her.

“How is Blu doing?”

He shrugged, increasing the weight on his squat set. “How should I know?”

I took a sip of water, ignoring the groans and moans of the meatheads at the gym.

“You’re fucking Fawn again, aren’t you?”

“What the hell gave you that idea?”

“You said you were talking,” I secured the clamps against the plates, “So I assumed.”

He settled on the bench and curved his fingers around the silver rod. “We’re talking as friends, Jace. She isn’t interested anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dude, I’m not either.”

I laughed out loud. “Bullshit times two.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” He began his bench press as I spotted him, wondering why he was lying to my face right now.

“How is it possible that you go from liking each other, to dating, to not speaking, to now being friends?”

He didn’t say anything as his arms shook, grunting in response.

“I mean, can you even go back to normal after that? I don’t think you can.”

After a few more reps, he released the bar and let out a long exhale, slapping a hand on his chest. “You can if you’re mature,” he let out two more tired breaths, “Why do you care about how Blu’s doing anyway?”

I gritted my teeth. “I can’t care about someone I had history with?”

“No, I mean, sure. But you guys didn’t even date and you were kind of an asshole to her.”

“Asshole how?”

I knew how. I knew all the ways how. But I wanted to hear my best friend say it. I couldn’t help it. Rubbing salt in my wounds became my favourite hobby.

He narrowed his eyes. “You know how.”

Can’t blame a guy for trying.

“I think she’s talking to someone, I don’t know –”

“What?” I snapped. “Who?”

Damn.

I did not expect to get that heated so quickly.

My jealously escalated to a burning point even before he continued his sentence. Scattered images of men I saw her associate with in passing, in the halls, on her Instagram stories, all flashed in my brain as I filed a list of potential partners that she could be interested in.

“Who is it?” I pushed, curling my fingers around the cold metal bar.

“Again,” he rested on his back once more, preparing for his final set, “How am I supposed to know?”

“Well how do you know she’s talking to someone?”

“Christ Jace, you’re sounding like a crazy ex right now.”

“I’ve got to make a call,” I said, storming away from the gym mats and into the locker room.

I could hear Bryce yell after me, “I need you to spot me!” But I ignored him and dialled Blu.

“Please be the same number, please be the same number,” I muttered just as she picked up within two rings.

“Hello?”

I’ll be damned. “Hey,” I rubbed my forehead, pacing back and forth, “Hey Blu.”

“Um,” her voice cracked. She knew it was me. “Who is this?”

Her and her games.

I fucking missed it.

“Jace,” I replied, biting back the smile.

Just as I opened my mouth to say something else, the line went dead.

She hung up on me.

She –

Blu hung up on me.

I gripped my case, staring at her contact name in my phone with a hung jaw, blinking in disbelief.

Blu. Hung. Up. On. Me.

But then my cell began to vibrate and her caller ID filled the screen, pushing me to answer in one ring.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” she apologized, clearing her throat.

“I…” How the fuck am I supposed to navigate this? “I probably deserved that.”

“You think?”

“Can we please not –” I began, but stopped myself before she could end the call once more. “Can we just start over? I want to catch up. Coffee?”

A moment of silence. “We caught up already.”

“When?”

“Four months ago.”

“Hm?”

“At the park,” she huffed in clear exasperation. “Do you not recall or?”

I caught myself smiling and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. She was pissed I was calling. Probably pissed that she even answered herself. But she couldn’t stay away. Meaning that night, when she said she didn’t have love for me anymore, she lied.

We were both such good liars.

“Honestly, I’ve got a pretty foggy memory,” I softened my tone, “If you want to recount the events that transpired I’d be more than happy to listen over coffee.”

I knew she was trying hard to stay mad at me. Her seconds of silence were a tell-tale sign of that. But I was an expert at breaking down those walls. It was my second favourite hobby.

“I still hate coffee,” she deadpanned, “But where?”

My brain screamed in victory. “Aroma at York, say, an hour?”

“See you then,” and the line went dead.

But this time, I wasn’t mad about it.

This time, I had something to look forward to.

This time –

The locker room door burst open and in walked Bryce, his forehead red as a fucking cranberry.

“What the hell happen –”

He grabbed my shirt, pointing to an evident injury. Ohhhh.

Shit.

Laughter bubbled in my throat as he released his grip, scolding me.

“I told you I needed a fucking spot.”