Page 124 of For the Fans

You can’t make a career out of that.

Art will never pay the bills.

These are great doodles, but what do you plan to do with your life??

Even here in school, it’s all about graphic design, because that’s something you can actually make money doing. And graphic design is all well and good… I mean, I’m decent at it.

But I don’tcareabout it. It doesn’t make me feel anything… And it definitely doesn’t bring me joy.

The anxiety I feel at constantly being told I won’t be able to support myself with my art is almost crippling, sucking the satisfaction out of the thing I love. Hence the nonstop weed smoking. At this point, I can’t tell if I’m leaning on the weed for support, as a medication… Or if I’m using it as a crutch, to kill any and all feelings rather than dealing with the harsh reality that maybe I’ll never amount toanything.

I thought coming here to BC would ground me, and help me be more responsible. Help me to finally stop drifting and figure out who the fuck I am; who Iwantto be. But so far, all it’s done is magnify my insecurities.

Yes, college is where I uncovered my bisexuality. But I don’t think college wasresponsiblefor that revelation. It just so happens to be the place where I figured it out.

The only thing attending BC has actually given me is a reason to become a pornstar.

Yea, I know… Pornstaris sort of glorying it. The realistic term, I suppose, would besex worker… In that people pay me in exchange for performing sex acts. Sexismy work. And despite how it started, I really enjoy doing it.

I like being on OnlyFans. I like the attention, I sure as shit like the money… And I like how it’s broken down some of the sky-high wall between me and Kyran.

That part is still very messy, though. Because while I’m enjoying our time together for more than just the orgasms, I can tell that we’re not exactly on the same page. Kyran is the epitome of hot and cold. One second, we’re melting together, so close it’s like we’re one goddamn person, and the next, he’s the same elusive and detached grump he’s been since the moment I met him.

And that’s the most complicated part of all this… I can’t tell where my stepbrother who thoroughly dislikes me ends, and my business partner who kisses me like my lips are holding him to the earth begins.

It’s all become so convoluted. I know Kyran’s body enjoys what we do together… But his mind is still stuck on seeing this as a means to make money. Which makes the confusing attachment I’ve been forming to him incredibly worrying.

So I suppose I am able to care about things… They’re just not things that will help me in any real way. In fact, it seems like the things I care about are things that will ultimately fuck me over.

It’s a great spot to be in.

Glancing at the picture I’ve been working on, I trace the body on the page with my fingertip, wishing it was real. And no matter how loudly I play the music in my ears, I can’t seem to drown out the sounds of his voice, rasped and panting how badly he wants me.

It’s just physical,I keep reminding myself over and over while I smoke the joint down to my fingertips.You just like how it feels to touch him and kiss him and fuck him, that’s all.

It can’t be more than that, and it won’t be. Because he’s your stepbrother, and he’s doing this for the money.

You both are.

It’s all just an act… for the fans.

An alarm starts pinging in my ear, cutting off the quixotic sounds of lyrics that all seem to remind me of him. Lifting up myphone, I swipe away the alert for the team dinner happening at the stadium in a half-hour.

Two days ago, Coach Matthews sent an email to every member of the Eagles team, which apparently includesallof us—the players, the coaches, cheerleaders, and even the mascot—asking us to show up for a catered buffet dinner in the stadium conference room. I’m not sure exactly what this meeting is about, or why my presence in required, but I’m guessing it probably has something to do with the remaining playoff games and preparing for the Rose Bowl.

I don’t really want to go to this thing, knowing Kyran will be there, and I haven’t spoken to him since our night of hot video phone sex while he was in Arizona. Being the naïve moron I am, I kind of expected him to show up right when he got home. But that was stupid, because he didn’t. I haven’t gotten so much as a text message in the two days since he’s been back, and Irefuseto be the one to text him first.

I just don’t want it to feel like I’m chasing after him, because I’m not. I can’t do this to myself… thinking things are happening when they really aren’t. Concocting feelings in my head… it will only lead to more confusion for me, and I have enough of that as it is.

I’m supposed to be figuring myself out, not drumming up more questions.

Slipping into some fresh black jeans and a flannel, I lace up my boots, shrug into my coat, and head out into the nip of December. It hasn’t snowed yet, but they’re predicting it for the holidays next week. We’re supposed to be going home for the break, and to say I’m anxious about it would be putting it mildly.

Attempting to be festive with my mother, Tom,andKyran just sounds like something that will make me want to fa-la-la-la-light myself on fire.

The walk to the stadium is short, but still my hands are ice cold by the time I get inside. There are people everywhere, varying members of the team meandering the halls toward the conference room, following the smell of food.

As soon as I’m inside, I immediately regret the decision to come here. The room is filled with football players, the coaching staff, and cheerleaders… None of whom even notice me as I slink inside, past the buffet tables lined with warming trays of food.