Chapter Text
David blinked up at the ceiling with a sigh as he let his right hand and the phone clutched in it fall back to the bed. The television was really just background noise at this point, and he’d long ago lost count with the number of times he’d let Bridget Jones’ Diary play through, occasionally interrupted by one of the other films in the franchise before going right back to the original. He was no longer sure if it was actually providing comfort, or if it was simply noise to keep his anxious mind from going too far down the many, many rabbit holes it had at its disposal.
He’d already been told, not only by his sister but also by his assistant at the gallery, that it was well past time to stop “moping” over Sebastien -- that getting back to work would help. Except what they failed to consider was that Sebastien had completely imploded their relationship and then proceeded to show the entire goddamned world -- or at least a significant portion of the circles they both ran in -- pictures of David, naked and in a rather compromising position. Taken without his consent. While he was very, very high. So that kind of made it difficult to pick up the phone and give any of those people a call to get a show booked. Particularly since he didn’t want to talk about the aforementioned photo, or the aforementioned boyfriend. So that made work pretty much impossible, which was exactly why David had taken the last… however long… to stay ensconced in his carefully curated live/work space, living on delivered soft pretzels while letting his beloved Bridget Jones provide the soundtrack to his misery.
Tonight, though, he was branching out -- ordering a pizza, like the wild, adventurous person he was. Maybe adding tomato sauce and cheese to his carbs would offer at least some nutrition, not that he particularly cared about that most of the time. He did have to admit, though, that his all-pretzel diet could be contributing to how shitty and tired he felt, in addition to feeling betrayed, violated, and just plain lonely. He missed going out, but when going out with any of his friends would almost certainly involve seeing Sebastien or hearing about him at the very least, he knew there was no way he could do that. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.
A loud knock on the door and a growling stomach jarred David back out of his thoughts. He sat up and pulled on his “house Uggs” before heading to the door. He was only halfway there when they knocked again, this time much more forcefully.
“Coming!” he shouted, trying to sound as annoyed as possible because, really, who literally waited by the door for a pizza? And why was the delivery person so impatient? Though maybe that was part of the problem with the world -- everyone was always in a hurry, and most of them were angry about it.
David unlatched his three deadbolts and the two extra chains he’d had installed after a spate of binge-listening to true crime podcasts, then pulled open the door, prepared to scowl at the person on the other side. But instead of a skinny kid with a pizza and an attitude, he was met with six very serious looking people in suits, who flashed badges and identified themselves as “revenue,” and said they were there to “seize assets for repayment in the tax evasion case involving Rose Holdings, LLC.”
The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind, because that was all the time David was given to gather up his personal effects before vacating the premises. Apparently “revenue” now owned his apartment and his gallery, and he had no right to be in either place. He’d wasted the first two minutes trying to argue, demanding to speak to a supervisor, or someone, anyone, who could tell these barbarians that they had the wrong person. But he might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the response he got, so eventually he gave up and started rounding up his luggage, which took far too long, and he was not a big fan of having to make a choice between proper care of his knits and actually getting them in the suitcase so he’d still have them. Drawing in a deep breath to push down the anxiety he could feel rising into his chest, he promised himself that he’d take the time to fold everything properly, hopefully with minimal damage, once he got to wherever he was going. Which he supposed he should also figure out. As much as it pained him to even think it, knit care would have to wait.
He knew he didn’t have enough suitcases for his entire wardrobe, so he grabbed what he could from the more recent collections and hoped he could make them go together, then stuffed them into his bags before moving on to… everything else. Sketchbooks and pencils, a few of his favorite romcoms, his phone charger, pictures, the blanket Adelina had knitted just for him after Alexis was born because she knew he felt left out… there was just so much, and not enough time. He’d also really like to call his father to find out what the fuck was going on, because surely all of this had to be some misunderstanding, but there was no time for that either. He was digging frantically through his nightstand drawer, searching for his bluetooth earbuds, when a pair of rough hands grabbed his shoulders and started pulling him away.
“Time’s up,” the officer said, his voice gruff.
“I just need my--” David began.
“I said, time’s up.”
David exhaled a shaky breath, hating how close he felt to having a panic attack at the exact worst possible time. He was anxious -- and pissed -- but he knew he had to be diplomatic. “Please, officer, can I have another minute? I just need to find my earbuds.”
“We’re not here to negotiate, sir.”
David squeezed his eyes closed, trying to will back the tears he could already feel gathering there as the hands started to guide him forcefully toward the door. “Please,” he tried again, his voice breaking. “I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go.”
“Schitt’s Creek.”
“Excuse me?” David somehow managed to sound indignant, even through his borderline panic. If this guy thought this was the time to make a cute little joke about how David was up Shit Creek without a paddle, then--
“Schitt’s Creek,” the officer repeated, with no trace of a smirk on his face or irony in his voice. “I’m surprised you don’t know the name, at least. After all, you do own it.”
“I… what?” David vaguely remembered his father giving him the deed to a town for his birthday one year. What had he been? 10? 11? But that was a joke… wasn’t it?
“The government is willing to permit you to retain ownership of that particular asset,” a second officer said, yanking the handle on David’s largest suitcase upward and shoving it out the open door, where his other luggage had apparently already been piled up in the hallway.
“I don’t even know where that is,” David said, stumbling backward over the edge of his beloved Jonathan Adler rug as the hands on his shoulders steered him forcefully toward the door.
“Canada,” a third officer said, a fake-helpful smile pasted on her face as she gave David one final shove, then slammed the door in his face.