“Quite a generous birthday gift your boyfriend gave you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snapped my mouth shut as soon as the words left my tongue, but it hadn’t been soon enough. My heart hurt at the mere notion it felt important to clarify that point. I didn’t owe Drake any explanation and there would have been no harm allowing him to believe Devon and I were dating. It sure as hell beat the alternative of him knowing I had spent the past few weeks obsessing over him, wondering what I had done wrong.
“He’s not? I just assumed...”
There was a slight tone of relief in his voice. I wished I hadn’t noticed because my heart tripped at the thought it might matter to him and that pissed me off. I sipped my drink, allowing the silence to overtake us again. I knew I should have been walking away and trying to ignore his very existence, but I couldn’t. That tiny hint of yearning hiding behind his words had torn me in two. Now, the need to flee was just as strong as the desire to be near him.
Drake sighed. “In any case, I’m glad he bought it for you. I feel better knowing it’s where it belongs.”
I should have just let it go, but I couldn’t help myself. “Be more cryptic, why don’t you? What do you mean by ‘where it belongs’?”
“What I meant was... it’s only right for it to be yours, considering you inspired me to paint it.”
“Come again?” I was taken completely off-guard and he didn’t respond right away. I felt it horribly unfair to throw something like that out there and then clam up, so I asked again, “Seriously, what?”
“After we were together, I came home and went straight into my studio to begin working on it.” His eyes met mine, holding me in a beautiful trance, before something horrible occurred to me. It was only then the magic spell was broken.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed. “Mourning Inamorata... or the mourning lover?” He nodded and I felt like I was going to be sick. “So, let me get this straight. The morning after we slept together, instead of, oh I don’t know... say, sticking around, you rushed home to paint? How very fucking Picasso of you!”
Before he could respond, Devon and Katarina walked out onto the veranda to join us. As soon as I saw her, the other shoe dropped and I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me all night. Katarina was Drake’s girlfriend. The girlfriend he cheated on. The girlfriend he cheated on, with me. Holy shit, if I thought she hated me before, certainly that information wasn’t going to endear me to her at all. I needed to get out of there, fast.
Devon put his hand on my back. “You all right? You don’t look so good”
I shook my head. “Can we get out of here please?”
“Of course.”
I thanked Katarina for a “lovely” evening, shoved my empty glass into Drake’s hand, and gave him one last nasty glare before rushing to the elevator.
I repeatedly hit the button because the elevator doors were taking too long to close. I didn’t want to look at Drake, but our eyes met anyway. Becoming a muse for an artist’s work should be flattering, but instead, it hurt like hell and made me incredibly angry. His eyes were still trying to tell me something, but I refused to acknowledge it. Instead, I looked away. My eyes drifted to Katarina and that was a huge mistake.
Her posture was very stiff and she had a firm grip on the glass in her hand. Her chin ticked up and, if I hadn’t known better, I would have said she was sniffing the air. Her motions were very predatory in nature, giving me a serious case of the willies. Something dark passed over her face and, when the elevator doors finally began to shut, I heard her gasp and turn a hateful gaze in Drake’s direction.
The cab ride back to my apartment was awful. Devon continued to ask me if I was all right or if I was going to vomit. Well yes, I was going to vomit, but not for the reason he thought. I tried to pass off the whole thing as consumption of too much alcohol, thanks to nerves, and he seemed to buy it. I felt terrible lying to him, but what else was I supposed to say? Well, you know actually, Devon, your friend Katarina there, yeah, well I slept with her boyfriend, who, in the process of cheating on his girlfriend, absolutely broke my heart. No thanks, I would much rather Devon believe me a lush than a slut.
When we pulled up in front of my building, he wanted to see me to the door, which was sweet but, given the true circumstances, completely unnecessary. I reassured him I’d call in the morning and bid him goodnight.
Tore was slouched on the coach with a beer in his hand when I walked through the front door. “You’re back early. How was the dinner party?”
“Fine,” I replied. Without breaking stride, I continued towards my room. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
I heard him call goodnight as I closed my door. Changing into my pajamas, I kept my back to the room. I was delaying having to see that painting hanging on the wall but, once I was ready for bed, there wasn’t much choice.
I took a few steps across the room until I stood directly in front of it. There was a whole new, underlying dimension of sadness to the thing. I’m sure I was probably just projecting, but I thought about everything I felt the first time I saw it and the feelings it conveyed: happiness, longing, wanting, and sadness. It was hauntingly beautiful. How could I have been so wrong? I doubted Drake felt any of those things.
“I hate you,” I whispered to the painting, dropping my head as my eyes became blurry with tears. I shook them off as I looked at the painting again. “That’s not true. I want to hate you. I want to hate you so much, so why can’t I?”
I sat down on the edge of my bed, wondering how in the hell this had happened. Of all the paintings in the entire world, why had I been so inexplicably drawn to the one painted by a man who completely broke my heart, yet I couldn’t get out of my head? I couldn’t come up with an answer and I guess, in the grand scheme of things, maybe it really didn’t matter, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
I crawled across the bed, pulled down the sheets, and tucked myself in for the night. Stealing another glance at the painting before I shut off the light, I whispered, “Fuck you, universe. Fuck you.”
Chapter 13
The following weekend was Portia’s big birthday bash and I wanted to find an excuse to get out of going. It just seemed as if, lately, I had been dragged to one social event after another by her or Devon. After the whole dinner party fiasco, I was beginning to resent them for it. All I wanted to do was hide in my apartment, wallowing in self-pity. However, I put on my big girl panties, fancy, blood-red dress, plastered a smile on my face, and tried not to be such a sourpuss, for my friend’s sake.
Tore waited in the living room for me. It was a rare occasion he’d get dressed up for anything, so I was surprised to see him wearing a black button down paired with a skinny black tie and sport coat, but in true Tore “buck the system” fashion, he was wearing jeans with Vans sneakers.
“Hey, would you look at us? We clean up pretty well. Lovin’ the kicks, by the way.”
He took a quick look down at his feet. “Gotta stay true to myself.”
“Yes, you do,” I agreed through puckered lips, pinching his cheek. “Don’t you go changin’. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Love ya.” I released the pinch and gave his cheek a little smack.
“Thanks, Nana. Are you ready to go?”
I ignored the “grandma” dig. “Yeah, but we have to take a cab.”
“Are you serious? Isaac lives all the way across town. Do you realize how expensive that will be?”
“I know, Tore, but I don’t want to get dirty on the train and I can’t walk in these damn shoooes.”
Portia talked me into getting a super-cute pair of heels that matched my outfit perfectly. They were black with satin laces, crisscrossing over my feet. I deemed them the “stilettos of death” because anyone who was still alive would have surely killed themselves trying to walk in them.
Twenty minutes and a very expensive cab ride later, we arrived at Isaac’s midtown abode. He was a Reaper, and good friend of Portia’s, who ha
d offered his large loft apartment for the party. Portia seemed reluctant to take the offer because, I assume, she felt it would be taking advantage. I talked her into it by explaining that it’s not taking advantage if something is freely offered.
There had been a time, in the not-so-distant past, when Isaac was actively auditioning for the open role of my boyfriend. We got along well enough and always flirted with each other. He was extremely handsome in the conventional sense, but nothing ever really came of it. Portia wanted us to hook up and lobbied for his cause, but it always felt forced.
I had been to his apartment before, but when I walked through the door, it seemed smaller. I realized that I was unintentionally comparing it to Drake’s apartment. The little voice in my head spoke up saying only assholes, who cheat on their girlfriends and skip out on women they sleep with, had apartments as nice as Drake’s. Well-mannered guys who actually showed a genuine interest had nice, modest-sized apartments and I would do well to remember that in the future.
Even though we were some of the first people to arrive, true to her always-on-time nature, Portia was already there. I silently chuckled as Tore turned into a drooling moron yet again. I thought she had been out of her mind when she purchased a weird, off-the-shoulder, white satin toga-style dress on our shopping spree. It would have looked like an ill-fitting potato sack on most women, but she looked like a goddess, leaving very little doubt as to whose night it was.
Within the hour, the party was well underway. Everyone was drinking and having a good time. The gift table was filled to overflowing with shiny boxes and bags for the birthday girl. From the moment I arrived, Isaac centered all of his attention on me. But, oddly enough, Portia became very annoyed by it. Not in a jealous sort of way, but more as if she felt my attention was needed elsewhere. Isaac and I would be right in the middle of a discussion and she’d pull me away for some random, menial task or question. The first couple of times, I let it go, but after the third, I brought attention to it.
She apologized, claiming she hadn’t meant anything by it and hadn’t realized she’d been doing it. I resumed my conversation with Isaac, and she left us alone.
Isaac owned a really nice pool table and challenged me to a game of nine-ball. I was only mediocre at pool on my best day but, in my party dress, I downright sucked. The bodice left little room for breathing, let alone bending over. The upside was it made for a lot of laughs, which I had been in desperate need of for weeks.
I sank the cue ball for the tenth time and was getting ready to give Isaac a high five, when my attention was drawn to the door. My hand dropped, before making contact with his. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched my worst nightmare breeze into the room.
“Everything all right?” Isaac asked, stealing a glance over his shoulder. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Through the anger, I could barely see straight but tried to conceal it as best I could. “Yes, I’m fine. Could you excuse me for a moment?” I didn’t wait for his answer, handing him my cue stick and marched off to find the birthday girl.
She was in the middle of a conversation, which I rudely interrupted by dragging her away. We didn’t make it far before I lost it. “Drake is here.”
She looked shocked. “He is? Where?” She popped up on her tiptoes and peered around the room.
“Over by the front door; he just walked in with Zane.”
“Oh shit!” She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Zane asked if he could bring a friend. I told him it was all right. I didn’t think Drake was the friend he meant.”
“Yeah, well...” I didn’t have time to finish before the men walked over. Zane greeted us, leaning over to give Portia a kiss.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I will not make a scene at Portia’s party. I will not make a scene. I will not make a scene.
“Zane, it’s nice to see you again,” I tried to say without gritting my teeth.
After all, this mess wasn’t really his fault. I wasn’t going to take it out on him. He probably just wasn’t aware that he was friends with the biggest asshole in the western hemisphere. Drake’s eyes were on me, waiting for some acknowledgement. That was so not going to happen. As far as I was concerned, this party was my turf and I’d been having a really good time until he showed up. I was not going to let him take that away from me, so I refused to even look at him.
“If you all would excuse me please.” I set off in the direction I left Isaac, cursing the stupid shoes I was wearing the whole way. But when I found him, he was already chatting up some other girl. Apparently, like another Reaper I knew intimately, he had a very short attention span. I glanced around the party, hoping to find some safety from one of my other friends, but quickly realized I didn’t know most of the people.
I spotted Tore, but he was macking on some girl. I knew better than to bother him because, judging by her giggles, he was in the “zone”. Devon was my only hope for salvation, my life raft in the sea of strangers. All I had to do was find him and pray he wasn’t on the verge of scoring, too.
I skirted the edge of the crowd, making my way around the room, carefully avoiding the area where I had last seen Drake. Luckily, I found Devon in record time. He was immersed in conversation with a group of people, giving me the opportunity to slide up next to him and fade into the crowd. Unfortunately, as parties go, the group broke up quickly. People peeled off to talk to other friends or refresh their drinks, leaving Devon and I exposed.
“What’s up, dork-face? Where have you been hiding?”
“I’ve been playing pool with Isaac.” I found his choice of words rather fitting, given hiding was exactly what I was trying to do.
I was fidgeting a lot, but couldn’t help it. Just being in the same room with Drake was making me crazy. The dinner party had been bad enough, but this was pure torture. I wished he hadn’t told me about the painting. What right did he have to say something like that? There were a million questions swirling through the vortex, but one nagged me the most. Why was there a small part of me happy at the hint that, maybe, fate intervened to bring us together again? Goddamn it, that part of me needed to be squashed, along with any pleasant, lingering feelings about him. Hadn’t he hurt me enough? Why did I still feel willing to risk it? I was so wrapped up in my own head I failed to notice Devon waving someone over. Regrettably, by the time I did, it was already too late.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Covington.”
I shot Devon a nasty look. Too bad he wasn’t paying any attention. He was too busy giving away my super-secret hiding spot. Drake made his way through the crowd and, as he did, I had to contain a small, schoolgirl sigh. He looked goddamn beautiful as always. I didn’t allow my eyes to linger long, instead scanned the crowd with disinterest in my situation. My attempted ruse was a mistake to my own detriment because, even if I wasn’t allowing my eyes to linger on him, I was plausibly the only woman in the room attempting such a feat.
There was one group of women, in particular, eyeing him lustfully. It took everything I had not to march over and knock their eyes out of their slutty heads. I had to remind myself that he wasn’t mine, never was. They could look all they wanted.
Sure ladies, make the same mistake I did. Discover for yourselves what a jackass he is, and how amazing he is in bed. No! You hoochies are never to be privy to the last part and, if you try, I will scratch your eyes out with your own dollar-store, press-on nails! Yep, I was seriously losing it. Not to mention, I hadn’t been listening to a single word Devon and Drake had been exchanging.
“Hey, earth to Liv. You in there, dork-face?”
“Huh... what? I’m sorry.”
“I was just saying, you should tell Drake where you hung the painting.”
“Yeah. No, that’s okay. I don’t think he really cares.” I shifted my body, facing away from Drake.
“Oh, stop being shy. She’s just being weird.” I clenched my fists at my sides, trying not to hit Devon. If for no other reason than to release some
of the crazy I was feeling. I didn’t want “Mr. Covington” to know where I’d hung his masterpiece, but that really didn’t matter because Devon told him anyway. “We hung it on the wall across from her bed. She said she wanted it to be the last thing she’d see at night, before she fell asleep, and the first thing she’d see when she woke up.”
I put my hand on Devon’s shoulder and whispered softly in his ear, “It’s a good thing you’re already dead. Otherwise, it would be too tempting to murder you right about now.”
He laughed me off, probably assuming I was embarrassed and maybe a little starstruck by the artist whose painting I loved so much. God, if only my life were that simple and uncomplicated. It used to be and how I longed for those boring, uneventful days again. However, everything he’d said was true, but we’d hung the painting before the dinner party, before I knew who the artist was. He failed to mention that little tidbit, so I came off looking like some lovesick idiot... Maybe that wasn’t as far from the truth as I wanted to pretend it was.
I still had my back to Drake but, for the first time that evening, he addressed me directly, “I’m going to grab a drink. Can I get you something?” I pretended as if I hadn’t heard and didn’t respond. But he was noticeably in the mood to be persistent, as much as I was to be obstinate. He pressed on, his tone a little more demanding. “Olivia, can I get you something?”
I turned, looking him in the eye. “Absolutely not.”
My tone was super bitchy and I gave a smile to match. Devon looked mortified and, undoubtedly, shocked by my incredibly rude behavior. Rightfully so, it was completely out of character. But just hearing Drake say my name again was making me come unhinged and my heart hammer in my chest. I hated how the smallest amount of attention from him caused such a reaction within me. I had reached my breaking point. I needed to get the hell out of there and away from him. Additionally, I was seeing red again, thanks to the hoochies calling over a few friends to admire his backside. I was going to flip out. There needed to be some space between us. Half a city didn’t seem adequate, but it was the best I could do on short notice.
Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Page 10