Geez, even my mom is getting more action than me. Fucking COVID.
When I got home from Mom’s, I spent the night on my couch, scrolling TikTok before I checked my temperature, like I’ve done every night for the past eighteen months, and went to bed.
I hate TikTok. One minute, you’re watching a man mowing people’s lawns for free. Next thing you know, you're three hours deep into videos of a guy feeding his snakes.
I used to have a life before all of this.
I used to go to bars, festivals—Seth even convinced me to hit the clubs a few times after he turned twenty-one.
I trained in kickboxing.
I was in a band with my old friends from high school.
Now I’m like that sad washed-up fucker who sits at home, strumming the guitar in an empty apartment, wailing “Wonderwall.”
I don’t do that—I hate that song.
When they started talking about lockdown, me and some neighbors threw together some equipment and made a gym in our shared basement. That was a life-saver. I think that’s basically the only thing that’s kept me sane this past year. Whenever I feel like I’m losing my mind, I go down there and hit the punching bag for a round.
Even now, when everything’s open again, I still go down there instead of hitting a real gym. I’ve tried, but there were too many people not wearing face masks for me to feel comfortable.
Swear it, this pandemic has fucked me up real good.
During the curfew, I thought I was going insane. I felt like there were germs everywhere. I cleaned my apartment to the point where I could’ve licked the bathroom floor.
And that’s another thing that COVID took from me. I used to like the smell of disinfectant combined with ink and rubber gloves. It used to make me feel at home, like I was at the studio.
Now, every time I wipe down my station after a customer, all I think about is fucking deadly viruses and how many minutes I’ve washed my hands for, and if it’s really enough or if I should wash them again, just to be sure, before I drown them in hand sanitizer.
If it wasn’t for Seth, I probably wouldn’t have seen another soul for all those months. He even did some of my grocery shopping for me, claiming he was going there anyway—which is bullshit, he knew exactly how paranoid I was.
So, yeah, COVID fucked me up, and wasn’t for the basement gym and Seth, I’d have lost my mind.
3
Seth
Isitcross-leggedonmy couch, a copy ofVoguein my lap when I get a text from Andrew—my old roommate—telling me I need to come pick up the last of my stuff from the storage before the new tenant arrives on Friday.
I sigh. Just the idea of going back to that small house with the plain, white walls and the ugly, greyish wall-to-wall carpet, makes my stomach fall. Some days the carpet got that sour, woolly smell, and no matter how many times I cleaned it, or opened the windows to air out, that awful smell seeped into my nose and my clothes until I felt like I was losing my mind.
Andrew said he never smelt it. That I was being dramatic and maybe it was me who smelled bad, not the carpet. But I had Kaden over a few times, and he said he smelt it, too.
I got this apartment just a few months back and I love it. It’s got an open-floor plan with a roomy kitchen with an island separating it from the living room that has a nice brick wall. And my parents got me this huge couch that my mom filled with enough throw pillows to fill a small warehouse. One bedroom,that Kaden helped me paint dark grey, furnished with a king-size bed and a footboard bench. A big bathroom completes the place.
I don’t remember leaving anything at the old place, but I wanted to get out of there fast as I could, so I must have forgotten to check the storage. I text Andrew back, asking how much stuff we’re talking about, because I don’t have a car, and Kaden sold his to afford rent when COVID closed us down. Diaz only has an old Harley and Iggy doesn’t even have a driver’s license, let alone a car. Which leaves Kit as my only alternative in my small circle of people here.
Andrew texts back saying I should come see for myself, so, Kit it is then.
Great.
4
Kaden
There’sacertaincalmthat washes over me whenever I’m alone in the studio. When I can stream my music without anyone complaining, and the buzzing sound from the tattoo machine helps me zone in on the design I’m doing—I’m thriving.
Mom always said I’m a lone wolf and I guess that’s true—
