"That's a wrap, everyone! Great job today,"
A mix of tired but content smiles filled the studio, and the class teacher, Isaac, seemed to brighten up his eyes, beaming with satisfaction.
It's a level 5 Improv class, so most people there have known each other for a while. Improv is naturally fun, and it's always an exciting challenge, a group of different people working together and listening to each other to make an entertaining story. It has a weird habit of bringing most people together.
"And I hope to see you all next week, especially you, Jordan. You might need some more practice," Isacc said with a lively voice.
Most people laughed and jeered at him playfully.
"Hey, come on," Jordan cried, "I said the wrong word, I didn't kill the scene."
It was the weekend, and the setting sun cast a comforting purple and red glow through the studio's windows. Most people were packing up and leaving the studio to go to a bar and drink or home to rest. Feeling utterly exhausted, Conner sat in the corner with his head down. He couldn't help but think about why he felt so worn out.
He might have been trying too hard lately, and his insomnia seemed to not care for his strict schedule. The weariness was becoming all too familiar.
'god, I'm tired.'
He got up and slowly moved to the corner where he had put his stuff. Suddenly, a classmate he wasn't close to started talking to him.
It took him a second to remember his name— 'Zion, or was it Zyphyr? I know it was something weird.'
He had curly, dyed blond hair and a face made for comedy—not ugly, just funny-looking. Maybe it's the mischievous look on his face that gave that impression.
"Hey man, it's Conner, right? I just wanted to talk to you." he started.
"Our improv group has a show in like two days, and one of our friends left town, so, obviously, he isn't going to make it. Not a big deal. Nobody's gonna miss him." he chuckled.
"Ha, no, I'm just messing around. But seriously, there's no problem with Jackson bailing, but I just wanted to fill up our stools. So I came to ask if you wanted to. Fill up one of the stools, I mean. No pressure." Zephyr rambled on a bunch, looking uncomfortable.
'Zion, cipher? Forget it.'
" Let me think about it. I'm way too tired to think straight. " Conner grunted out.
"Yeah, man, just let me know," he seemed eager—or maybe he was always hyper.
Conner, nodding his head in response, grabbed his stuff and left.
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"Hey, Zane, why'd you ask him to join? He's good in class, but the main reason why our audience likes us is because we're close friends. I don't dislike him, but the dynamics might be ruined if we're uncomfortable together." A deep voice resounded through the primarily empty studio.
"Yeah, Zay, plus you didn't warn us. That kind of thing has to be decided within the group, " someone else said.
"If we're voting, then I'm fine with it. Conners kinda cute, and he's hilarious on stage." A softer voice added on
"Funny? My heart felt like it was going to stop from that death stare he gave me," Zane breathed out. Sitting on a nearby stool, looking worn out.
"Anyway, I'm sorry about that. I should have spoken to you guys. But we're trying to make it right. Well, I figured this was the best way," he explained.
"Asking a random friend from improv class to join was the best way. Maybe you should stop coming up with ideas." the female voice teased.
"No, you ugh. Conner's brother is Colt Whitlock!" Zane explained
"What THE Colt Whitlock!?" The woman exclaimed
"Seriously!? Well then, that may not be the worst idea." The other person nodded while replying
"Right Right!" Zane pointed and gestured excitedly
"SO?" The man with the deep voice rumbled.
"How is his brother being famous going to help us get our name out there" he intoned
"Well, maybe someone records the show, or a journalist finds out, or we can just tell someone else who'll start a rumor, but- " He was cut off
"Excuse me," Conner spoke calmly.
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Zane got so pale that it looked like he might pass out, and the girl looked mortified, but all Conner thought about was how unexpected it was to see so many faces change color so visibly.
" I left my keys somewhere. Ah, there. I think you're sitting on it." He pointed towards the stool Zane was sitting on, and Zane got up quickly.
"Yep, there it is alright. Thanks, see you guys." He waved off while leaving, and there were some awkward waves back. Right before leaving, he turned to look at Zane, who ducked his head down to avoid eye contact.
"Oh yeah, I'm not going to that show you have. I decided I'd rather go on some more auditions, you know, get my name out there." He tiredly drawled out.
Someone there flinched, but he wasn't really scrutinizing them. He just walked away, trying to get home.
'god, I'm tired.'
Leaving the building and opening the car door, Conner grabbed everything important and put it in his bag, carefully locking it. He knew for a fact that he was in no condition to drive. Quietly leaving the parking lot, he decided to ride the bus home.
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'I should've said no when he first asked. I wasn't going to do it anyway. my schedule is so full right now that I barely have time to relax.' He thought.
'I was being polite for no reason, huh? It's good I overheard them talking about using my little brother's fame. I don't have to pretend to be polite to them anymore.'
Walking to the bus stop and sitting on the bench to wait, conflicted emotions suddenly swirled within him. Should he be angrier? Surprisingly, he wasn't as mad or hurt as he thought he should be. They weren't that close to each other, so he already didn't expect much.
'But maybe, even if I wasn't planning on going, a part of me was happy someone was excited for me to join them.' He quietly questioned himself. He assumed being around his little brother caused him to get used to disappointment.
'Colt's a genius. He's great at a ton of different sports, he's good at singing and playing instruments, he's great at acting, he's charming and funny, and charismatic, and good looking, and cool, and.'
He sighed out loud. Despite his resentment and envy, Conner could never hate him for being gifted. He didn't choose to be talented; he just was. It didn't help Colt was never smug about what came naturally to him, nor was he cruel about the fact that he was better at things. So Conner couldn't hate him.
Maybe that's why he is no longer angry at his parents for loving Colt more than him. Now that Conner was older, he could be content with what they gave him: a roof over his head, food in his belly, and clothes to wear. Not only that, but they cared for him, and he was sure they liked him too. But in a house with two other kids, just being "liked" wasn't enough for Young Conner.
It's not like they weren't there for him, but it was obvious he wasn't as important to them. They didn't show obvious displays of favoritism, but it's the little things they didn't do on purpose that don't seem important, that they didn't think about, but a kid notices. He understood young, he didn't have any fantasy that his parents were perfect.
He understood that when one kid goes to nationals, it's hard to pretend to care about your other kid's team who got knocked out of the tournament relatively early. And when your older son does a boring kiddie play at his talent show with his friends, it's hard to pretend to be as excited for that kid's crappy play as when your younger son starts playing Beethoven or Mozart.
They may have thought they hid it well, but he could see the difference. Their eyes would shine, and their smiles would get brighter. When looking at Colt, it was like they thought he was the gift. When they looked at him, he was just their other son. Sitting next to them, seeing their faces, and knowing they hadn't ever looked at him like that, Conner was more desperate for their attention as a kid.
People started walking forward, and he realized the bus was there. He was so lost in his thoughts that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings. Conner hopped on, paid without saying a word, and found a seat.
'I'm tired.'
He just sat down and stared out the window, thinking of nothing in particular until he reached his stop.
He walked all the way home and opened his door to a mess of scripts and notes. He left his camera out, too, and some certificates or receipts from charities he forgot to put up. He's been donating the enormous allowance his family continues giving him, even after they stopped talking, to multiple charities.
Not out of the kindness of his own heart; he just didn't want their handouts. He thought if he kept it in his account, he might use it when he got desperate. He didn't want it, and they would use it better than him anyway, so it was a win-win. He started to pick his stuff up quickly before bed but gave up just as fast.
"You know what, nope, not doing it. I'll do it tomorrow. I'm just going to go to sleep. " Conner said out loud to no one in particular. Living alone gave him the weird habit of talking to himself.
He walked into his bedroom and collapsed into his bed, with all his clothes on, as soon as he saw it and started what his bedtime routine had been lately. Taking his phone out of his pocket, setting up his alarms, and throwing it onto his nightstand, he moved around in bed until he found a comfortable position.
He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, until he fell asleep when his phone rang. Groaning, he rolled over to see who it was. He checked the caller and saw it was Isabelle. He answered half out of habit. She was one of his closest friends, after all, even with all the weirdness between them.
"Huh," a delicate and surprised voice came from his phone. "You answered."
"And you called. What's up, you OK? You don't usually call me in the middle of the night." Conner responded, half asleep.
"I—yeah, I'm OK. I called to check on you we haven't talked in a week." She sounded like she didn't know how to start the conversation. " I—You know, Conner, I... "
"If this is some kind of wellness check, I'm fine. It's late, and I don't want to have this conversation right when I'm about to go to sleep." He interrupted her. This seemed like it was going to become a long and uncomfortable talk, and he had plans in the morning.
"Right. Um, can we talk in person soon? I know you aren't home right now, but the holidays are coming. If it's OK with you, can we meet up during break?" she sounded hopeful.
Conner wanted to say no, but he knew he was too tired to think straight, and he didn't want to say or do something rash that he would regret in the morning. Conner had always been cautious, even as a child. He tries not to make choices when he is emotional or isn't thinking clearly. Even as a kid, something about not making decisions with a clear head made Conner anxious.
'It had nothing to do with how miserable she sounded,' he thought. 'nothing at all.'
"Haa, Text me in the morning or call me when I'm free. We can talk about it then." He rubbed his face and sighed, trying to wake himself up and get his voice to sound coherent so he could sound like he actually cared about what they were talking about. Talking half-asleep when they were talking about something important made him feel like a prick.
"OK then! It's a promise!" Isabelle exclaimed happily. Bye, tomorrow, alright? You promised!" She hung up quickly after that as if trying to ensure he didn't back out.
He snickered and smirked a little. 'Like she wasn't going to force me to talk to her even if I didn't want to.' He thought to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed out to prepare himself for bed.
'god'
He put his phone back down, lay back in bed, and stared at the ceiling again. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, so nowadays, he just clears his head and waits until things get blurry. In the stillness, staring at darkness, he sighed and, for the first time, spoke the words he had in his head all day for the past two weeks.
"I'm so tired… God, I'm tired." He whispered it as if he didn't want anyone to hear it.
That's when he blacked out.