by Monroe, Max
Broody artist.
I think about Indy, and I think about the very first time she said those words to me.
We were on the subway, playing music for each other, and fuck, she took my breath away. Her smile. The way her blue eyes lit up when she was amused. The way those eyes slow-danced with emotion when the music in her ears was affecting her.
What’s her name’s voice fills my ears, and I outright ignore her and just let myself fall headfirst into thoughts of Indy.
Fuck, I miss her.
I miss her smile and her laugh and the way she bites on her bottom lip when she’s nervous. I miss her kiss and her touch and the way it felt to make love to her.
I feel like she’s mine, like she belongs with me, but I also feel like she was never mine to begin with.
She can’t even fucking look at me anymore.
When she looks at me, when she looks into my eyes, all she sees is him.
Adam. My donor. His eyes are my eyes, and because of that, because Indy knows that, she will never be able to look at me without pain. Without heartache.
When I went blind, I thought painting gave me life. I thought it was my life.
But I was wrong.
Painting gave me purpose. Indy gave me life.
Fuck, I just want to hold her again. Touch her again. Kiss her again. Show her how much I love her.
Because I do. I love Indy.
Indy
“Can we just go?” I ask on a huff, and Lily looks down at me, makeup brush in her hand and glares.
“Just chill out,” she mutters. “And close your eyes. Just a few more finishing touches to your eye makeup and we’ll be all set.”
I groan. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”
“Because you love me, and you know I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
“That you need to get out of this fucking apartment.”
I’m tempted to back out, to tell her I’m not going to this stupid club for Shawn Messi’s big birthday bash, but I know she won’t let me off the hook that easy.
Especially after she showed up to my apartment with a little black dress, stilettos, and enough makeup to fill one of the Kardashians’ glam rooms. All for me.
“There.” She grins at me. “All set, buttercup.”
I look at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the rare occurrence of sparkle and shine and stiletto heels, and I can’t deny my sister worked some magic. Somehow, she turned a disheveled hermit into a girl who looks like she has her shit together.
“You like?”
“Yeah.” Hesitantly, I nod. “You did good, Lil.”
Her responding smile is victorious. “Let’s go have some fun tonight!”
Fun? Fuck. I don’t know about fun.
Tonight, in this sexy dress and far-too-high heels, I will try not to fall on my face.
I will try not to think about Ansel.
I will try not to cry if I do think about Ansel.
I will simply try to make it through.
Before I know it, we’re flashing our IDs to the bouncer manning the entrance at Ultra.
He glances between my photo and my face, and with a curt nod, he unclicks the velvet rope and lets me inside behind my sister.
One foot through the tinted glass doors and my senses are assaulted by pounding music and people. So many people. And they’re dancing and laughing and drinking, and everyone around us looks like they’re having the time of their lives.
Celebrating.
Partying.
Living.
Everyone but me.
I shut my eyes for a brief moment and breathe through the pressure that settles itself on my chest, pushing down on my lungs like a vise.
What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here.
“Come on!” Lily calls over the music and grabs my hand. “Let’s go get a drink!”
God, I wish I wouldn’t have agreed to this.
I swallow past the building anxiety inside my chest, and we shuffle through the crowd until we reach the bar.
But before we even get a chance to order, Lily gets sidetracked when she spots Shawn Messi near the DJ booth.
“Happy birthday!” she shouts toward him.
“Lily! Get your ass over here!” He yells back, and immediately, her excited gaze darts to mine.
“Go say hi,” I encourage and offer a friendly wave to Shawn. “I’ll stay here and get a drink.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I say. “Tell him I said happy birthday.”
I don’t have to tell her twice. A minute later, I spot her standing in the DJ booth with Shawn, smiling and laughing and just being my outgoing, extrovert sister that I know and love so much.
One of the bartenders makes eye contact with me, and his eyes offer up his assistance with a little grin. Yes. Alcohol. The club is too loud to shout my order across the bar, so instead, I point toward the bottle of tequila on the back wall and the container of limes near his hip.
He nods his understanding and holds up one finger. “One shot?” he asks, and I shake my head.
I’m not much of a drinker, but fuck, one shot of tequila isn’t going to be enough to quell this earthquake of emotion threatening to shake itself out of my body.
I hold up two fingers, and his lips pop wide with a smile and what I can assume is an amused laugh.
He makes quick work of my order, and before I know it, he’s sliding two shot glasses of tequila, limes, and salt in front of me.
“Trying to catch up?” he asks and I shrug.
I feel like I’ve been playing catch up ever since I met Ansel Bray.
“Something like that.”
The alcohol floods my bloodstream, and the weight of my unease lifts from my chest and my shoulders. And for the first time since I stepped into this club, my knees aren’t shaking and my palms aren’t sweating.
I look toward the DJ booth to find my sister, but she’s not there anymore.
I search the crowd for her, but the damn place is too packed.
Fuck it.
I order another shot of tequila from the friendly bartender, and it goes down even smoother than the first two.
When Camila Cabello’s voice starts to bounce off the walls of the club, I can’t stop myself from sliding into the center of the room and letting the music wash over me.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.
Maybe it’s the song.
I don’t know.
But I dance. By myself. In the middle of the club.
Camila sings about never being the same, and the lyrics glide over my skin and leave goose bumps in their wake.
I’m not the same. Haven’t been the same.
Not since Ansel Bray barreled into my life.
I raise my hands in the air and I look up at the ceiling, and I let my head fall back and my eyes close as my body moves to the music.
It feels good.
I feel good. Despite all the shit that’s going down inside my head and inside my heart, I just feel good for once. A smile crests my lips and I open my eyes, but in an instant, a mere second, the room stops.
Just…stops.
The music.
The people dancing around me.
My heart.
Ansel is here. In a roped-off VIP section, and he’s not alone.
A blond woman is sitting right beside him, and she’s laughing and lifting a glass to her lips and taking a drink. He leans his head back against the couch, and the blonde takes it upon herself to get more comfortable. In his lap.
I should look away, but I can’t.
Ansel is in the corner of the room, with another woman in his lap, and all I can do is stand here and watch like some sort of brokenhearted voyeur.
I am bumped from behind, and like someone pushed play, the room comes to life again. I hear the music and the crowd and I feel the throng of dancers around me, but I’m frozen. My eyes still locked on Ansel and the blonde.
“I
almost couldn’t find you!” Lily’s voice fills my ears, and I look to my left to find her holding two glasses of champagne in her hands. “Don’t be mad, but Shawn happened to mention that New Rules is here. And Ansel is here too. I think you should go talk to him.”
“I know,” I say, but I can barely get the words out of my mouth.
“How do you know?”
Instead of answering, I move my gaze toward the VIP section.
But this time, instead of the woman just sitting in his lap, I have to witness her lean forward and press her mouth to his.
“What the fuck?” Lily questions, but I can barely hear her over the erratic, pounding rhythm of my heart.
I know I shouldn’t feel angry or jealous or sad.
He has a right to try to move on. And for the entire duration of the time we’d spent together, I had a boyfriend.
I know the nausea that fills my gut is unwarranted, and I know there shouldn’t be tears in my eyes.
But just because I know it doesn’t make it not real.
This moment is so real, so palpable, so in-my-fucking-face, that it’s choking me.
I need to leave.
I need to get out of this club.
Just as I turn on my heels, my eyes lock with brown.
He sees me, and I don’t miss the instant recognition that covers his face.
Shit.
“Excuse me,” I mutter as I push through the crowd. “Please, I need to leave!”
“Indy! Wait!” Lily yells toward me, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop. And before she can reach me, I’m out of the club and I’m hailing a cab, and I’m gone.
Away from the club. Away from the pain. Away from the man who still holds my heart in his hands.
Ansel
The lips touching my mouth are foreign and unwelcome, and I open my eyes to find that stupid fucking woman in my lap and her plastic lips pressed to mine.
What the fuck?
I yank my face away, but when my eyes glance to the dance floor, to the sea of people in the center of the club, a potent, familiar, breathtaking pair of blue eyes locks with mine.
Indy. Her face is broken, and her eyes look so sad. So fucking sad that I feel my heart break all over again.
In an instant, she goes from standing in the center of the dance floor to pushing through the crowd.
“Indy!” I call out toward her and jump to standing.
The blonde tumbles off of my lap and onto the floor. She gasps and yells profanities at me, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m on my feet and running out of the VIP area and following Indy.
But the club is so packed, and there’re too many fucking people.
“Move! Fucking move!”
I push my way through the dancing fools and the drunken idiots, and it feels like it takes me years just to get to the front of the club. Once I reach the entrance doors, I shove them open and nearly knock the bouncers over, but I don’t even stop to apologize.
My feet pound on the pavement, and I’m frantic. Looking left and right and just anywhere and everywhere to try to find her.
“Indy!” I shout, and the line of people waiting to get inside the club looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind. “Indy!”
But the second time I shout her name, someone else’s voice joins mine.
I glance over my shoulder to find her sister walking out onto the sidewalk, and when she meets my eyes, she strides toward me and shoves two hands into my chest.
“What were you thinking?” Lily screams. “Why are you doing this to her?”
“Doing this to her?” I ask, but my question goes on deaf ears, and Lily’s gaze turns to fire.
“You’re just out here kissing other women! What the fucking fuck!”
Her insinuation pisses me off.
“Kissing other women?” I spit back. “That’s the exact opposite of what I’m doing! That woman in the club wasn’t anything but an annoyance. I mean, fuck, my goddamn eyes were closed when she moved in and pushed her plastic lips to mine!”
Seething anger vibrates the space between us.
“You are—” Lily starts to say something, but I cut her off.
“Other women might as well not fucking exist because these days, all I do is think of Indy. Dream of her. Lose my mind over her. I’m fucking miserable over here!”
“What the hell?” Lily screeches and shoves at my chest again. “She broke up with her boyfriend because of you. She’s in love with you, you idiot!”
She broke up with her boyfriend?
“What?” My jaw goes slack. “She doesn’t love me. She can’t even look at me. All I do is cause her pain.”
“She doesn’t hate you, you dumbfuck! She’s in love with you! She’s been a goddamn mess over you! She can’t sleep. She can’t eat. She can’t even go to work. She’s devastated!”
In that moment, I feel what’s left of my pathetic heart break and crumble into dust and ashes.
I don’t even know how to respond.
“I didn’t know,” I say, but my voice is a whisper. “I didn’t know. I thought she was done with me. I thought it was too much for her. I thought whenever she looked at me now, I just reminded her of Adam.”
“No.” Lily shakes her head. “Whenever she looks at you now, she sees what she lost, Ansel. She sees you.”
I’m crushed. Confounded. And if I could go fetal on the sidewalk without someone calling the cops, I probably would.
“God, Lily,” I mutter and swallow hard against the emotion that threatens to creep up my throat. “I didn’t know. Fuck, I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” She’s still pissed, and I don’t blame her.
I’m pissed too.
Pissed at myself.
Pissed at that stupid blonde.
Pissed at the universe for fucking with me so hard.
I scramble to pull my phone out of my pocket. “Where do you think she went?”
“I don’t know.”
I try to call Indy, but it goes straight to voice mail.
And I call her again and again and again, only to be left with the same result.
“Call her, Lily!” I demand. “Call her from your phone!”
Her eyes go wide, and she searches my face. I don’t know what she finds, but whatever it is, it has her reaching into her purse to call her sister.
“Is she answering?” I ask, my voice panicked.
Lily shakes her head. “It’s just going straight to voice mail.”
“Fuck! Try again,” I urge, but I can’t even wait for her to do it. Instead, I yank the phone from her hands and try to call Indy myself.
Lily startles but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just stares at me with wide eyes, watching me fall apart outside of this goddamn club.
It rings and rings and fucking rings until Indy’s sweet angel voice is in my ears and telling me to leave a message.
“Fuck!”
“It’s okay,” Lily whispers and gently places her hand on my arm. “Just calm down, okay?”
Calm down. How can I stay calm when I’ve just watched my whole fucking world run in the opposite direction from me?
How can I calm down when I feel like I’ve lost her for a second time?
Lost her for good.
Indy
Even though I tossed and turned all night, I don’t find the strength to push myself out of bed until ten. The sun is well on its way to being the center of the sky, and I’m running on fumes.
There’s a kind of a tired that simply needs a good night’s sleep, and another that needs so much more. A kind that is a bone-deep wearing of emotions that leaves you restless and fatigued and the equivalent of a five percent battery life on an iPhone.
After last night at the club, I’m the other.
I left in a rush of devastation and hopelessness and a desperate need for self-preservation.
Although I don’t feel like I preserved anything. If anything, the thin shell I’ve been pretending
is me has been left cracked and corroded.
And I’ve been ignoring the outside world ever since.
Ansel.
Even my sister.
She called me no less than fifteen times last night, and I sent her a text message, telling her I made it home safely and I didn’t want to be bothered and I would call her when I was ready to talk.
And then I turned off my phone.
Am I being a coward? Probably.
But it’s all I can manage right now.
When I shuffle my way into the kitchen to brew up some coffee, pounding knocks to my front door stop my path.
“Delivery!” a female voice shouts from the other side.
“Just a minute,” I mutter and drag myself to the front of my apartment.
The instant I open the door, a pretty woman with full lips, an ample amount of cleavage, and wearing sky-high stilettos greets me on the other side.
She doesn’t look like someone who delivers packages for a living…
“This is for you,” she says, and I scrunch up my nose.
“What is it?”
She looks down at the wrapped package in her hands and back at me, and her eyes seem to be questioning my intelligence. “Pretty sure it’s obvious.”
I blink and she sighs.
“It’s a painting.”
“A painting?”
I blink again.
“You know, like a painting. It’s something artists create.” She huffs an annoyed breath. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t that hard to understand.”
“Who are you again?”
“I’m Lucy. Ansel’s assistant,” she answers like I’m the biggest moron on the planet, and before I can even wrap my brain around that revelation, she adds, “So…are you going to take it or not?”
Holy shit. Why is Ansel’s assistant here?
She blows a pink bubble from her lips, and I try to regain my ability for speech.
“Oh…uh…” I mutter and reach out to take the package from her hand. “Of course. Sorry.”
But she doesn’t leave right away.
Instead, she stands there, scrutinizing my face.
“He’s a mess, you know,” she says matter-of-factly.