Troublemaker - 5. Chapter Five

Todd

I usually wasn’t a morning person, and this morning in particular was no exception with a massive headache upon waking up. I whimpered with my hands on my head, mentally bashing myself for all the beer I must’ve drank the night before to warrant this kind of pain. Then a surge of nausea struck, and I heaved at the side of my bed where my trash can was conveniently placed. I heaved and then soon vomited into the can on top of discarded sticker sheets and doodled notebook paper.

I eventually regained my composure and spotted a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on my nightstand. I thanked whoever placed them there as I popped a couple pills into my mouth and took them down with a big gulp of water. I still felt like shit, but hopefully the medicine did its job fast, and I could lament for the rest of the day before inevitably going to work at Marty’s.

A knock on the door caused a spiked pain in my head, and I groaned before telling whoever to come inside.

Dillon stepped inside my bedroom, a concerned look marring his face as he said, “You all right, man? It sounded like you were in pain.”

“Uh, still am. I have a really bad hangover.”

“Really?” Dillon said with raised brows.

“Yeah… Why do you look so surprised?” I asked as I slowly sat up in my bed.

Dillon shrugged. “Well, you rarely go out of your way to get drunk.”

“Well, this time was different.”

Frowning, Dillon said, “Is this about your dad?”

I chuckled humorlessly. “How’d you know?”

“And how did you get home? Your car is not parked outside,” Dillon informed me.

Scratching my head, I tried to remember what happened last night. Flashes of talking with the Fairy Godfather then appeared, then the memory of telling the bartender to refill my mug for the sixth time, and after that…

“Oh, God!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Barrett is what’s wrong?” I tugged at my hair. “He found me at the bar where I drank.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, worse. He helped leave the bar and drove me back home,” I said, memories of him surging back in my head.

“Oh… That was nice of him.”

“”I don’t think that was it.” I grabbed the pillow next to the one I slept on and sniffed the subtle woody scent that didn’t belong to me. “I think Barrett slept with me.”

“While you were drunk!” Dillon exclaimed with anger.

“No, no! Not like that! He literally just laid on my bed and slept next to me,” I clarified.

“And why would he do that?”

I touched my eyes, still feeling red from the tears I spilled. “Let’s just say I kept my emotions bottled up for way too long.”

“Oh, Todd…”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Lines creased Dillon’s forehead. “I think you need to talk to someone.”

I sighed.

“I’m serious! I’m really worried for you, and I think finding a professional to talk to would only benefit you.” Dillon crossed my room and sat at the end of my bed. “Really think about it, okay? These feelings you’re harboring aren’t just going to go away.”

I just nodded in response, hoping that was enough for Dillon to drop the issue at least for a short while.

Dillon patted my leg and stood back up.

“I made enough breakfast for the two of us if you want some.”

“Yeah, thanks. Just give me a moment, and I’ll be there.”

Giving me one last look, Dillon left my bedroom.

I slowly sank back into my bed and covered my face with a pillow, the same one that Barrett slept on. I then tossed it onto the floor and swore.

Barrett saw me at my worst, and I couldn’t imagine what he thought of me last night.. And Dillon’s insistence about seeing a therapist? I don’t think I had the courage to tell a complete stranger about what was wrong with me. I wasn’t depressed or suicidal. But I knew people sought therapy for all sorts of reasons. Still, the idea of even setting up an appointment was terrifying to me.

My thoughts then returned to Barrett, and I could feel the ghost of his arm wrapped around my body. Not only did he drive me home, he also held and comforted me, while I cried and cried. He must’ve also placed the trash can by my bed along with the pills and glass of water. Whatever animosity I had for him disappeared into oblivion. Most people would’ve just dropped my ass in my bed and left, but not Barrett Jones.

I spent about ten more minutes in my head, the painkillers gradually taking effect and reducing my headache to a minor throb.

I then mustered myself off my bed and joined Dillon at the kitchen island where a separate plate of eggs and hashbrowns were set for me.

After my meal, I brushed my teeth and then took a nice, warm shower that helped reduce the remainder of my pain and spent the rest of the morning on my bed while watching ASMR videos on my phone. Barrett kept reappearing in my thoughts, though they were more pleasant ones compared to what I thought of him just a day ago. I began thinking about how I could thank him. He went out of his way to make sure I was safe, and a simple thanks didn’t cut it for me.

I thought of different ways I could repay Barrett, and after another couple hours of rest, the time notified me that I needed to get ready for work. I fully recovered by the time I stepped outside, due in no small part to Barrett. As Dillon noted earlier, I saw my gray sedan parked in front of the apartment complex.

Approaching my car, I spotted a piece of paper placed under the wipers. Taking it, I read the handwritten message that simply said, No need to thank me. And placed on it as well was the sticker of the cow-printed bandage that held my car key with a small message scrawled right under that said, PS I also followed your Instagram account.

I caught myself smiling like a geek before pocketing the delightful message into my wallet for safe keeping.

I kept smiling as I drove to Marty’s and greeted my fellow coworkers. My good mood remained intact as I restacked a tower of cans that was toppled by a crying child. Not even writing a damage report on all the dented bean cans could rain on my parade.

“Someone looks happy.”

I turned around to see Marty, the owner and actual manager of the grocery store, eyeing me with amusement.

“What makes you say that, Mr. Martinez?” I said, placing a damaged can with the others in a shopping cart.

Well, your smile for one,” he said, pointing at my face. “And two, I never saw any employee of mine smiling while restacking that damn tower of canned beans. I swear I’m losing money every time someone bumps into it.”

I chuckled. “It’s no problem at all. And why do we still have this can tower if that’s what you think?”

“Ah, my grandson is the one who thinks it’ll attract more people to purchase them. But the sales report says otherwise,” Mr. Martinez grumbled. “And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“It was more of an observation than a question, sir,” I said before freezing.

Mr. Martinez just laughed and said, “If you weren’t a model employee, I might’ve taken offense to that.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries, son.”

Tapping my chin, I then said, “About the beans and the low sales… I think I have an idea.”

Mr. Martinez leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

“How about relocating the booth where Carolyn cooks and offers food samples to customers and place it here instead. She then can cook a dish that uses the canned black beans, which could persuade people to buy more of them from the tower, thus increasing their sales.”

Nodding, he said, “Not a bad idea at all. I’ll go to Carolyn when she arrives later and tell her to find recipes for black beans. And I’ll have the booth moved next to the bean tower by tomorrow.”

“Great!”

“Keep thinking these ideas of yours, Todd, and you might find yourself working by my side as assistant manager soon enough.”

Mr. Martinez grinned and patted my back before walking away. The very thought of getting a higher position in the grocery store sounded insane to me. More money from being an assistant manager didn’t hurt at all, but it was hard to see myself in any kind of minor leadership position. Still, the possibility boosted my mood even more.

I heard a grunt, and I saw Damien standing close by with a deep frown. Shit. He must’ve heard what his grandfather just told me. Thankfully, he just stomped away, probably to admonish a fellow coworker for something very petty. The last thing I wanted was to get on Damien’s bad side, though, I could argue I was never on his good side either.

After placing the last dented can in the shopping cart, I pushed it and made my way to the stockroom.

I crossed the deli section and halted my movement upon seeing Barrett. He stood at the end of a short line, waiting to order a sub. He wore his paramedics uniform, and damn, did that fabric hug his thick body in all the right places. I wondered what magic was used to make men in uniform a hundred times more attractive, especially when it’s men like Barrett who already oozed sex appeal.

Barrett noticed me and offered me a friendly smile and a handwave. I waved back, hoping he didn’t see ogling him, and just stood awkwardly with my hands tightening around the handle of the shopping cart.

Okay, what do I do or say now?

I didn’t have to think for long since Barrett left his spot and approached me.

“Hey, you,” Barrett greeted.

“H-hey back,” I said and cleared my throat.

“How was the hangover?”

“Oh, bad.” I chuckled. “But thank you for putting my trash can by the bed along with the pills… And for returning my car from the bar… And for taking me home, while I was drunk off my ass.”

“It was no trouble at all.”

A moment of silence grew between us, and Barrett twiddled with the same necklace he wore at tBottoms Up more than a week ago.

Barrett then took a step forward and said, “About what you said last night…”

“Yeah, that… Sorry I dumped all of my emotions onto you when you were just taking me back home. You didn’t need to stay and comfort me.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all…but I was referring to something you said at the bar.”

“Oh…my bad then.” I felt my cheeks heat up. “What did I say exactly?”

“You said something about not going through with it to the Fairy Godfather. I was concerned you were talking about…”

It took a moment for the cogs in my head to turn, and I quickly said, “Oh, that!”

Barrett nodded.

“You thought… Oh, God no. I was just telling him that I might not go through with submitting a piece to an art show the bar will host in a week.”

Barrett looked relieved as he chuckled and said, “That’s what you meant. Got it.”

“Sorry I made you think I was considering suicide.”

“You don’t need to be sorry at all, Todd… And hey. If you ever need someone to talk to, about anything, I’m here.”

“Wow, uh, I appreciate that. But you don’t have to worry. That’ll be the last time I fall apart like that.”

Barrett looked doubtful. “Regardless, the offer still stands.”

“Thanks, Barrett. You really are a nice guy. I shouldn’t have–”

“Miller. Back to work.”

I looked behind me to see Damien eyeing me with crossed arms.

“The feminine hygiene aisle needs restocking.”

Asshole.

“I have to get back to work,” I informed Barrett.

“Before you go, can I have your number?”

“Sure!”

I told Barrett my number, which he placed in his phone, all the while Damien tapped his foot with impatience at me for daring to make idle conversation with a customer.

“Got it. Hope to chat with you again soon, Todd,” Barrett said with a grin.

“Definitely.”

I moved the shopping cart and resumed my journey to the stockroom, looking back at Barrett one more time who gazed back at me. I felt blush creeping up my neck, which he thankfully couldn’t see.

Pushing through the double doors, I entered the stockroom and moved the cart to a coworker named Tony. I told him about the damaged cans, and he sighed before telling another stockroom employee to bring a large cardboard box.

“Where are you taking these cans if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just to the local soup kitchen. That’s where all the damaged and expiring food products go. Been a policy of Martinez’s since this store opened.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of him.”

“Good to know that we think alike. Damien, on the other hand, thinks we’re wasting time and resources by sending these products to places to help the poor and homeless. God help me if he ever takes over for his grandfather.”

“Ugh. The feeling’s mutual.”

Just another reason for why Damien was bad news for Marty’s.

The employee soon returned with the large box as requested, and I helped them fill the box with about three dozen canned beans. After that, Tony taped the box closed.

As he performed the simple task, I noticed the tape being used had rainbow stripes. An idea suddenly occurred to me, an idea for an art piece to be specific. This idea involved the rainbow, specifically the pride flag, and other ideas soon followed.

“You must love helping the homeless, huh?”

I looked at the other employee, Virginia I believed, and realized I was smiling like an idiot again.

“Sorry. Just thought of something. Uh, have a nice rest of your shift, you guys.”

I quickly exited the stockroom and placed the shopping cart back at the front of the store, doing so while I developed the ideas forming in my head. I planned on attending the art show at Bottoms Up, themed around the LGBTQ+ community. I still had to work for several more hours, but my tasks were simple enough and allowed me to mentally sketch an art piece that involved each of the six stripes of the pride flag. I was giddy about completing my shift and going home to actually sketch down my ideas.

The second my shift ended, I left the store and drove several miles above the speed limit back to my place. Back home, I spent the entire evening in the living room drawing everything I visualized in my mind, only taking a couple breaks to take a piss and to make a sandwich. Dillon was at work, so I had no one to bother me during my creative process.

By ten o’clock at night, I had a very decent draft for my art piece. It still needed more work such as adjusting the hues so they were bright enough. Despite not being fully finished, I was very optimistic and believed this piece could blow everyone away. I rarely had moments when I thought my art was worthy of praise. But what I drew on my tablet could be one I was proud to tell people about.

I then got a text on my phone, and my chest filled with my butterflies from seeing a message that had Barrett Jones’ name and a smiling emoji. I thought about texting him about my new idea, but opted to send another smiling emoji instead.

I pressed the phone to my chest and laid back on the couch, feeling very content and more happy than I have been for a while. This art show wasn’t going to make me visible in the eyes of the art world, but it did provide me with the much needed motivation I craved to create my art. I believed the tides were finally shifting in my favor, especially after the shitshow that was yesterday. I soon returned to my sketches with Barrett reappearing in my thoughts then and there, this time fully welcomed.