Page 51 of Break Me Beautifully
With great effort I drag myself from the studio. There's nothing for me in that place anymore. Marshall can have it. His painting belongs to him to do with as he pleases.I wonder if he'll think of me when he looks at it?
I'm a zombie as I shuffle over the sidewalk. I only stop walking when I turn a corner and a small building blocks my path. It has a single, giant window. I stare at my reflection, trying to see if I havesuckerwritten on my pale face. Maybe it's hidden in the dark circles under my eyes. I'd stayed up late and woke early to get my art done.
All for nothing.
Inside the building I notice there are a bunch of children. They're sitting in front of long tables with trays of thick acrylic paint doled out like blobs of ketchup. Most of it is on their hands and clothes.
I see Sarah, but she doesn't see me. She's not wearing her hat or gloves, but her messy brown hair and sunshine smile are impossible to miss. Pressing my nose to the glass, I watch in wonder as she laughs, painting with wide streaks of red and blue.
The art teacher wanders over, praising her, making the little girl wriggle in her seat. Their shared joy makes my heart inflate. It's such a rush of joy ithurts.Like I'm being pulled apart from the inside out.
What's that?I wonder, squinting to get a better look at the paper she's taped to her easel. It's a scribbled drawing on a piece of paper I recognize intimately. My sketchbook is too familiar for me not to.She really kept the drawing she did in the park.Not just that, she was using it as her inspiration.
I back away from the window before anyone notices me. Pushing my shoulder-blades onto the cool brick, I close my eyes and take a stabilizing breath. A rejuvenating one follows after. It's like mana from Heaven is slipping through my mouth to my belly.
When I left the Ramette House, I'd felt so depressed I considered quitting art entirely. Of course that's crazy. Why deprive myself of my passion because of what someone else did? If something deterred the spirit of a girl like Sarah, I'd be crushed to learn it drove her to give up her dreams. How could I think that and also want to abandon my pencils and paints?
Looking at my hands, I curl my fingers with a mild frown.Whatever happens tonight, it doesn't matter. I'll get through it.And when I crossed to the other side of this cruel snapshot of my life, I'd make sure to never create art for people like Bradford Mink again. No amount of money would change my mind.
When my show ends tonight, I'll leave. I'll pack my things.
Then I'll never see the man who said he loved me ever again.
Chapter 15.
There's a crowd millingaround the Ramette House. Everyone is smiling, laughing, drinking, and complimenting the art.My art.It looks exactly how I imagined my first gallery show would. And I hate it.
I can see the strings if I squint. This is a puppet show. No one here cares about the art on the walls. The backslapping, hand shaking, alcohol drinking is so much like the faux politeness I witnessed at my father's social events. I even recognize a few faces; the men who were chatting with Bradford at the gala, for example.
Once I notice the huge men stuffed into their suits, I start searching for more examples of wolves in sheepskin. A scar here, a tattoo there, I even spot the flash of a gun on the inside of someone's jacket. Maybe they're all mobsters. It's possible. I think about asking Marshall just to see his reaction, but I'm busy avoiding him. The room isn't designed for avoiding people, though, it's too wide. I can see him towering over everyone else if I glance anywhere but at my hands or feet.
I check my phone if only for a distraction. I messaged Katy multiple times since this morning, most of those sent after I found out about how I was being used by Bradford and Marshall. I was grateful I hadn't invited any of my family to my show. I couldn't bare dragging them into this mess and seeing them impressed for the first time in my life without knowing the truth of this nightmare.
I hadn't told Katy what was going on because I was worried she'd get involved. I was struggling to figure out how I was going to escape this mess. Bradford wasn't playing around, what if he wanted me to makemoreart for his schemes?
Marshall is coming towards me. I make haste through the parade of bodies. He doesn't stop following me, his presence constant from the corner of my eye. He's a hunter, and I'm his mark.
