Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)

by Devon Hartford

  I chuckled to myself.

  My laptop was open next to me, playing iTunes. Wonderwall by Oasis wafted from the speakers on warm, loving waves while I drew in my sketchbook.

  I was busy putting the finishing touches on a hot guy in a tuxedo who looked alarmingly like Christos. I hadn’t even realized I was drawing him. I sat back from my sketchbook and realized the tux guy stood next to a girl in a wedding dress.

  How had that happened?

  I swear, I hadn’t done it on purpose.

  Maybe next I would draw babies in bodysuits.

  I blushed to myself. What was I thinking?

  I shook my head and stood up to stretch my legs and take a break. I started Wonderwall over from the beginning and danced alone, swaying to the groove, thinking about Christos, hugging my arms around myself.

  I was so in love with Christos.

  He had saved me from the horrid future my parents had planned for me. My life had opened up to possibilities I’d never dreamed would ever come true when I was a girl. Now I had hope like I’d never known hope before.

  I was truly blessed.

  My cell phone rang abruptly, cutting like a strident scream through the comforting music emanating from my laptop.

  I jumped.

  My phone was also on vibrate, and it danced maniacally in the tray of pencils attached to my drawing table where I’d left it, making the pencils rattle and clack together horribly.

  Dread.

  I grabbed for my phone, but it danced from my fingers.

  Christos.

  Something was wrong. On the third ring I got a hold of it. Oh no, Christos. My gut was churning.

  Not again.

  Falling, falling, falling.

  I looked at the screen on my phone. It read:

  “Mom & Dad”

  What the hell? My heart was jumping in my chest. Images of Christos in a drunken car crash flashed through my head. So why were my parents calling me? They wouldn’t be the first to know if he got hurt. Would they? No, that didn’t make any sense.

  So why were they calling?

  I frowned. I could hazard a guess.

  Did I even want to answer their call? They were probably going to bitch me out again. I sighed dramatically and answered my phone on the fourth ring, sounding irritated. “Hello?”

  “Sam?”

  “Dad?”

  My dad cleared his throat.

  I winced.

  “Sam, I’m calling to inform you that your mother has moved out.”

  “What?” I was totally confused.

  “She’s taken an apartment in Friendship Heights. And she has taken a lover.”

  “What? Dad! What are you talking about? You aren’t making any sense.” My stomach, which had imploded, said otherwise. Every organ in my body had been sucked into the black hole forming in my abdomen.

  “Your mother is seeing someone,” he said flatly. “Another man.”

  “What do you mean seeing? Like for a meeting or class or something? I know she’s always talking about taking tennis lessons at the country club.”

  “Sam, your mother is having an affair. With another man.”

  Silence punched me in the stomach. That black hole wasn’t the only thing hammering away at me. Every atom in the universe was rushing at me in a super nova of impending disaster.

  Some detached corner of my brain shouted inside my head, “Who cares! Mom is lame! You’re lame!” But that voice was thin and tinny, drowned out by the cosmic thunderstorm that was unwinding inside me.

  After more silence, I finally spoke in a mumble, “Mom is having an affair?” Tears dripped down my cheeks against my approval.

  “Yes.”

  “With another man?”

  “Yes. Someone she knew in college. He rides a motorcycle,” Dad said with no hint of irony.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I stammered.

  “Yes, it does,” he said softly.

  I sat down in my desk chair. I should say, I fell down where I was standing and was lucky that my chair happened to be behind me, because I didn’t stop to think what I was doing. I just collapsed when the strength left my legs.

  Then dozens of disjointed memories all crashed together in my head. My mom had made it clear months ago that she thought Christos was not the kind of guy who stuck around. And she’d made it sound like she’d had experience with guys like him. Was the guy my dad was talking about some guy from Mom’s past who’d jilted her and made her so bitter about bad boys? But now she had gotten back together with him?

  I could only wonder.

  I wasn’t about to ask my dad for details. I’m sure the guy my mom was sleeping with wasn’t Dad’s favorite topic of conversation at the moment.

  And then a memory of my mother’s words from February crashed through my brain:

  “Not yet you aren’t. But you will be! Give it six months, maybe a year, and he’ll knock you up! Then he’ll be gone! Just like that! Make sure you have enough saved up for the abortion!”

  She’d said it like she was speaking from experience. Was that possible?

  Of course it was.

  I suddenly remembered that growing up, people were always saying how much I looked like my mom. Nobody ever said I looked like my dad. And, my dad had always seemed so different and weird to me, I had a hard time believing we were related.

  What if my mom had never gotten that abortion and had married dependable Bill Smith instead?

  Was it possible that my dad wasn’t my biological dad?

  Was I some other guy’s daughter?

  Holy shit.

  It was entirely possible.

  No, that was crazy.

  But it was all adding up.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Oh, gosh, it all sounded so desperately stupid. But why did it make so much sense?

  I shook my head. Did it even matter? My mom was cheating on my dad and had already moved into an apartment. That much was fact.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t need three guesses to figure out where that went.

  Just when my life had been expanding with good vibes like a colorful birthday balloon, BAM! My parents popped a needle in me and took it all away. More precisely, my mom.

  My damn mom.

  Every single damn time.

  ===

  “I’m so sorry, agápi mou,” Christos said as he hugged me where we sat on the couch in the living room. “I know how hard it is when your parents split.”

  I’d waited two hours for Christos to come home, crying my eyes out the entire time on the couch in the dark. I was somewhat surprised I was so sad my mom had left, but I wasn’t at all surprised by my anger at her. That was normal and familiar. But this sense of loss and I guess betrayal was new and made me uncomfortable. A part of me said the only feeling I should have for my mom right now was hatred.

  But, no matter how much of a bitch she was, she was still my mom.

  Fuck! I hated feeling this way.

  “What are you going to do?” Christos asked softly. Although he’d been out with Jake for hours, I could tell he hadn’t had much to drink. He wasn’t even buzzed. I had that much to be grateful for.

  “What can I do?” I asked rhetorically. “My mom left my dad. Period.”

  “Do you need to fly home to see your parents? I’ll totally understand if you do. I can come with you if you want.”

  I looked at him, tears dripping down my cheeks. I blotted them with a tissue from the box Christos had brought me. “I don’t know if that’ll make any difference. Besides, finals are coming up in a few weeks. I feel like if I went home, it would screw up all my classes and I’d have to withdraw and retake everything.” Agony and indecision swept over me. “Oh, Christos. I don’t know what to do!” I leaned into his chest and sobbed against him.

  He caressed the top of my head and murmured, “Whatever you want to do, you let me know, and I’m there for you, agápi mou.”

  I twisted my fingers into the ma
terial of his T shirt. I looked up at him desperately, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, agápi mou.”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “You’re never going to have to find out. I’ll always be here for you.”

  I couldn’t begin to fathom the kind of crazy person I’d become if Christos were to do what my mom had done to my dad. My gosh, what was my dad going through right now? I couldn’t even imagine. Was he mad? Sad? Did he hate my mom? Was he desperately wishing she’d come to her senses and come back to him? Probably all of those things.

  I gazed up at Christos, my eyes pleading for comfort and reassurance. I asked him meekly, in a vulnerable voice that was on the edge of shattering into fragile shards, “Are you sure?”

  Christos cupped my cheek and caressed the side of my face. “Yes. I’m not going anywhere, agápi mou. Ever.”

  Looking into his loving blue eyes, I believed him with all my heart. The wave of energy that passed from my heart to his was confirmation.

  He smoothed a lock of my hair behind my ear. That simple gesture of affection was so powerful, I broke into fresh sobs and collapsed into his muscled chest. In his arms, I felt safe. Protected. I never wanted to leave them.

  I wept quietly for awhile, letting it out.

  Eventually, I sniffed and said, “I think the guy my mom is seeing might be my father.”

  “What?” Christos gasped.

  I cringed now that I’d said it out loud. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy. But my mom said all these things about you like she’d had experience with her own bad boy when she was young, and it got me thinking. Maybe this guy she’s seeing got her pregnant twenty years ago. With me. My dad said this guy is from her college days and he is a bad boy. Maybe it’s the same guy from when she was young and she wants to get back together with him now that I’m out of the house? Because she doesn’t need my dad anymore?”

  “Wow, that’s insane,” Christos said.

  “You’re right. I’m crazy.” I shook my head. “I’m making it sound like a soap opera storyline. It’s too crazy to be true. Right?” Desperate thoughts pulsed in my head, Please tell me I’m crazy, please tell me my reasoning is idiotic. Please please please…

  Christos sighed, “Who knows. People do crazy shit. Anything is possible.”

  I clutched his T shirt and heaved a painful sob, “You don’t think it’s true, do you?”

  “I have no idea, agápi mou,” he said softly. “But whatever the truth turns out to be, I’ll be by your side through all of it.”

  I burrowed further into his arms and sobbed.

  At the moment, I was desperately afraid, half insane, but above all things, grateful I had Christos.

  Chapter 22

  SAMANTHA

  Denial quickly became my best friend. It was the only way I could function and stay sane. I did my best to block out any thoughts of my parents’ crumbling marriage and focused on school and my new job.

  Kamiko and I were eating lunch at the Adams College Cafeteria.

  “What’s the Samantos status?” Kamiko asked before popping a french fry into her mouth.

  “The what?”

  “You and Christos? Duh.”

  “Samantos?” I scoffed. “That sounds like a breath mint.”

  “The fresh maker!” Kamiko quipped.

  I chuckled, “We’re good.”

  “How are his paintings coming along? Does he still have a parade of models coming in and out of the studio every day?”

  “No. He’s, uh, changed directions.” I wasn’t quite comfortable telling Kamiko that Christos was painting me nude.

  I wondered if I could keep Christos’ upcoming solo show a secret so I could avoid having my friends gawk at a nude picture of me. Who was I kidding? Kamiko followed the upcoming gallery shows like a hawk. She’d find out and she’d be there. At least I could appreciate her desire to show up and support.

  Changing subjects, I said, “Have you done any new paintings to submit to Brandumb for his upcoming Contemporary Artists Show?”

  “A bunch,” she smiled.

  “How are they coming along?”

  Kamiko had been crushed when Brandon had rejected her first batch of submissions.

  “Awesome,” she said. “You wanna see them after lunch?”

  “Sure,” I smiled.

  When we finished eating, we walked our trays over to the trash cans and emptied them into the bin then walked out the front doors.

  There was a newspaper rack right outside.

  Kamiko stopped and squealed, “Oh my God!” She grabbed a fresh copy of The Wombat off the rack. “Sam! It’s your wombat!” She handed me the paper. “It looks so good!”

  Wow, my art was on the cover, next to Tammy Lemons’ illustration.

  “You should totally save like ten copies!”

  “But I haven’t won,” I said.

  “So what?” Kamiko said, excited. “You’re in print! That’s YOUR art!”

  “I guess you’re right,” I smiled. “But maybe I’ll only take five copies.” I grabbed a handful off the rack.

  “Will you sign mine for me?” Kamiko asked, digging frantically through her book bag for a pen.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Kamiko,” I dismissed.

  “What, did you forget how to spell your name?” she asked sarcastically and thrust her pen at me.

  I frowned, “No.”

  “Then sign it, bitch! I’m so proud of you!” She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. When she was done, she pushed her pen at me again. “But seriously, sign it. I’m going to hold onto this until it’s worth a thousand bucks. I’ll sell it at San Diego Comic Con in twenty years when you’re a world famous cartoonist.”

  I scoffed, “I think you’re getting a bit carried away, Kamiko.”

  “Shut up and sign it. If I’m going to be a doctor for the rest of my life, I’m going to tell people I went to school with Samantha Smith, the awesome artist.”

  I arched a doubtful eyebrow.

  “Quit being fake humble and sign it!” she growled.

  I wasn’t being fake humble. It just seemed weird she was asking me to sign the paper for her. I hadn’t even won yet. For all I knew, the students who read the paper and bothered to vote would pick Tammy’s art.

  Some random guy with glasses and wavy long hair walked up to the rack and picked up a copy of The Wombat. He chuckled when he looked at the cover.

  “My home girl drew that wombat,” Kamiko said to him. “She can autograph your paper if you’re nice.”

  “Kamiko!” I hissed.

  The guy looked at the pictures thoughtfully. “You drew this?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said sheepishly, “the one on the toilet. I didn’t draw the one with the baseball bat.”

  “Oh,” he nodded, examining the drawings. He chuckled, “I love that he’s stoned while he’s taking a shit. That’s awesome.”

  Kamiko nudged me, “Sign it!”

  “Yeah,” the guy said, “will you sign it for me? I’m hanging this in our bathroom in the dorms.”

  I couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or an insult.

  He smiled, admiring my art, “The guys are going to love this.”

  So I signed it. I mean, a lot of people read when they were on the toilet. Sure, a bathroom stall in the dorms wasn’t exactly Charboneau Gallery, but it was the next best thing, right?

  ===

  Kamiko and I went to her dorm room in Paiute Hall.

  “I’m trying something totally different,” she said, sliding a big black portfolio out from under her bed. She unzipped it and handed me a stack of paintings on 1/8” thick illustration board. “These are all done with pen and ink, and acrylics.”

  They were drawings with washes of transparent color over the ink lines, and touches of opaque acrylic here and there on some, and more thickly applied acrylics on others.

  “What happened to all your oils?”

  “They’re in the closet,” she nodded toward t
he wheeled wardrobe next to her bed. “Since Brandumb didn’t want them for the show, I put them all away. Maybe I’ll try to sell them later. But for now, I’m doing this,” she pointed her chin toward the stacks of paintings in my lap.

  I sat down on the bed and flipped through them. There was a half dozen of them, all in totally different styles. One showed a dolphin jumping out of waves made of blue human hands and arms. Another showed a beautiful woman in a giant Victorian gown with hands that snaked out in looping coils that ended in bouquets of roses. Another showed three identical young girls with black pigtails and kimonos standing on a Japanese garden bridge over a pond filled with koi that had human faces. “Are these kimono triplets supposed to be you?” I asked.

  Kamiko nodded. “And those faces on the koi are supposed to be Brandumb, but I don’t think he’ll notice. I had to work from memory.”

  “What is it supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Kamiko grinned, “that I’m three times more awesome than Brandumb, who is so un-evolved he hasn’t yet crawled out of the ocean with the other fishes that turned into humans a billion years ago?”

  “You’re not still angry at him, are you?”

  “I was when I did that one,” she smiled. “Now? Not so much.”

  The rest of her paintings were equally bizarre and amazing. “Did you do all of these? It looks like six different artists painted them.”

  She smiled and nodded, her eyes beaming with excitement. “I did my homework. I went through that catalog from the last show that you gave me until I had some direction, then I dove in.”

  I could still remember how Kamiko’s confidence had been shattered by Brandon when he’d rejected her art, and hit on me right in front of her. For two weeks afterward, I had been afraid she’d never climb out of her funk. But her confidence was now back in full force.

  “Well, they’re all awesome, Kamiko.” I handed the stack back to her. “I’m blown away.”

  She took them and slid them back into the big black portfolio. “Are you going to submit anything, Sam?”

  “What, to Brandon’s show?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I’ve been too busy.”