by Staci Hart
I climbed down the wall, pushed the window open, and slipped out, navigating my way up to the roof. Relief washed over me when I found it empty, and I hauled ass toward The Kyle Building, looking back once I hit the next building to admire Morgan’s handiwork.
Hot pink words stretched up as tall as she was, which was tall enough, lit up by the spotlights of the perimeter lamps.
Stolen art inside.
I smiled as I took off, hoping it would work. But there was one final task. Only one more thing that was in my control.
It was time to come clean.
I found the girls on the roof of The Kyle Building, waiting for me. They rushed me.
“You guys okay?” I huffed with my hands hanging on my hips, trying to catch my breath.
“We’re fine,” Erin answered. “But are you okay? We heard the gunshots as we were leaving. What the hell happened?”
“I outran them.” I said with a smile.
They smiled back, and relief slipped over us.
“Of course you did.” Cher laughed and hugged me.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Are you ready for this?” Erin asked, reaching for my hand.
“I have to be.” I squeezed her fingers and turned to the group. “I don’t know if anyone answered the alarm. If they didn’t—”
“I’m sure they did,” Erin interrupted. “We’re going to run by there and make sure.”
I nodded. “Don’t get caught.”
“Don’t worry about us. We won’t get caught.” Erin handed the painting to me.
I took it with shaking hands, and each of my friends passed by, giving me their silent blessings before they ran off into the night, Erin last of all.
“You can do this.”
“I’m going to do this.”
She smiled once more and pulled me into a hug, wrapping her arms around my neck as mine wound around her waist. She squeezed tight before letting me go and taking off after everyone.
I took a breath as sat on a vent and pulled out my laptop, searching the IP for the cameras again. The insurance company and cops would investigate once the painting showed back up, which meant the security footage would be checked for sure. I couldn’t afford to make any more stupid decisions.
Goosebumps trailed up my arms and neck, even though I was so hot I could barely breathe. I put my gear away, slung on the painting and punched in the code. Walked down the stairs. Down his hall. Knelt in front of his door, a sinner in confession, picking his lock with my heart full of fear and hope, humbled and repentant.
His apartment was dark and quiet, and I wondered where he was. Maybe he was out with someone. Maybe he’d written me off for good. Part of me hoped he had. The rest of me couldn’t stomach the thought.
I walked over to the space where the painting was meant to be and took off the case, setting it down in front of me. I unzipped it carefully and lifted the painting out, held it at arm’s length for a moment, just looking it over. And then I stepped to the wall, lifted it up, and hung it where it belonged.
It was just like Van said. As I stood in the stillness, I could feel what Rothko felt when he’d painted it, but it was more than that. It was a reflection of myself. The cold blues. The heavy red, pooled like blood at the bottom. Hot and cold. Good and bad. Love and pain. And when I couldn’t see it anymore for my tears, I turned my back to the painting and sank into his armchair to wait for my fate.
A CLOCK TICKED SOMEWHERE in Van’s apartment, marking the silence second by agonizing second. Funny that something I’d never noticed before could be so imposing. It was all I could hear as I sat in his dark living room with my eyes on the door. The only lights in the apartment shone down on the wall behind me where I’d hung the Rothko back in its place.
An hour had passed, but it could have been an eon as I waited for him. Waited for my reckoning.
Adrenaline from stealing the painting back still pumped through me, kept steady by the anticipation of what was to come. My thoughts skittered through my head, circling over what would happen tonight, tomorrow, with my life, with Jade. It all hung in the air, waiting for the moment when gravity took hold and set it in motion. Starting with Van.
His key slipped in the door, marring the silence with the scrape and click of the lock. I couldn’t breathe, my heart frozen in my chest, fingers aching as I gripped the arms of the chair.
The door swung open, and Van’s silhouette filled the frame, shoulders sloped and head heavy. The sight of him kicked my heart back into gear.
He didn’t see me, not at first. I watched him close the door and toss his keys on the table in the entryway, unable to move, unable to look away, willing him to see me, dreading the moment he did.
He ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the room, eyes on the ground for a moment before he looked up. Our eyes locked, and he came to a dead stop in the center of the room.
I watched his expression shift — his eyes sparked with confusion, lips tugging into a ghost of a smile before falling into a frown.
“Cory?” The uncertainty in his voice twisted the knife in my chest. His eyes skated over me like he couldn’t believe what he saw, and he took a few steps toward me.
And then he saw the painting.
His lips parted, eyes wide as he shifted, turning all of his attention on it. “What the fuck?” The words were nearly a whisper.
I didn’t answer.
He blinked at the painting for a second as his brow inched lower, shoulders stretched wider as realization began to pass through him. He might have grown a foot taller in that moment, hard as stone when he finally spoke. “How did you get in here, Cory? And where the fuck did you get that?” He nodded toward the painting.
“I broke in to give it back to you,” I answered simply, not knowing what else to say.
He watched me for a beat, his body composed of sharp angles. “Explain this to me.”
I realized then that resolution and preparedness weren’t the same thing. Every word I’d intended to say was all of a sudden not enough. It would never be enough. I lifted my chin and started at the beginning.
“I’m not who you think I am, Van. For the last five years, I’ve made my living as a thief.”
I watched him for a reaction, though he didn’t move other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
I kept going. “When my partners found out you had a Rothko, I was told to steal it.”
A chill rolled off of him and over me. “And how did they find out I had a Rothko?
“I told them.”
He shook his head, and a sardonic laugh passed his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Cory. This has to be a joke.”
“I wish it was.” I found the will to stand, but he took a step back to keep the distance between us. “I want you to know that I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t have a choice. I—”
“You stole it? After everything, you stole from me?”
I nodded.
His voice was low. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me.”
I took a shaky breath. “I stole it from you.”
Van looked away. “Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath.
“I didn’t expect what happened between us. I didn’t expect you to be so … you.”
When he met my eyes again, his were sharp with anger and pain. “So if I hadn’t been so me, would you have just conned me and let that be that? Would you have just fucked me and ripped me off and never looked back?” His neck was red, his chest heaving. “Who the fuck are you?”
I’m not even sure anymore. I pressed my sweaty palms against my thighs. “I’m a liar and a thief. I told you that you wouldn’t want me if you knew me. But I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to know I did this.”
“I’ve heard enough.” His words quaked, whether with anger or sadness, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
I watched the door close on redemption. “Van, I—”
His face twisted. “NO. I said, enough. You were right. I don’t kn
ow you at all. You aren’t the girl I thought you were. That girl wouldn’t do something this fucked up, and I can’t be with anyone who would. You were right to leave me.” He shook his head in disgust. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
Hot pain ripped through me at every word. I knew each one before he’d spoken, even though I’d held out hope that I was wrong.
I held my chin up against my hurt and locked eyes with him one final time. “You deserved to know the truth about why I left you and what happened to your painting. I brought it back because what I did was wrong. You deserve the right thing. The right girl. And that’s not me.”
His jaw flexed, lips flat. “No, it’s not. Now get the fuck out of my apartment. Stay the fuck out of my life and my head, and don’t ever come back.”
My body was numb as his words echoed in my ears. I swallowed my tears, nodding once before I looked away and forced my feet to move me toward the door. Rage radiated off of him as I passed, and I willed him to reach out, to stop me, to speak. Anything. But he didn’t move.
I took a breath as I approached the door, the air like sandpaper in my throat. The moment I closed my hand around the doorknob, a knock reverberated up my arm.
I let it go like it was on fire and looked over my shoulder at Van.
The knock came again. “Mr. Collins? This is NYPD.”
Shock shot through me, cold and fast. I took a shaky step back as Van brushed past and pulled the door open.
The officer smiled at Van and glanced at me. “Sorry to bother you so late, but we got a call from the management that the security cameras in the building went down. After everything that happened with your break in, we wanted to check it out and make sure everything is all right.”
Van’s voice was flat. “The painting’s been returned.”
The officer’s brow quirked. “Excuse me?”
Van nodded. “You heard right. Come on in.”
The cops stepped in and walked past me, and I took a step back with my heart beating so hard it hurt. This was it. This was the moment when I would pay for what I’d done in full. When I would own what I’d done. I was frozen in place as I played out my confession in my mind. I thought about Jill. About Erin and Jade. About Van, who I’d betrayed more than anyone. But I couldn’t meet his eyes, only watched the police as they came to a stop in front of the painting.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” one of them said and hung his hands on his hips. “Where the hell did it come from?”
The question hung in the air, stretching the moment out forever. I heard the ticking of the clock again, felt the weight of my decision as it pressed on me. I looked at Van, and he looked at me. Understanding passed between us. It was time. I wouldn’t let him say the words. I couldn’t hear them from his lips.
I turned to the police and took a step forward, drawing in a deep breath as I opened my mouth. “I—”
Van moved to my side and grabbed my hand, twisted his fingers in mine, pulled me to a stop. “My girlfriend and I got home a few minutes ago, and it was hanging there. I was just about to call it in.”
The cop shook his head. “Lucky break, kid.” He grabbed his radio and called the dispatcher, relaying details while his partner inspected the painting edges and wall.
I could barely hear over my pulse pounding in my ears. Van’s hand was warm and comforting around mine, but when I looked up at him, his eyes were stone. In that moment, I knew I would never get him back.
So I put on a bullshit smile as we went through the motions. We gave our statements, first Van so I could hear his version of the story, then I parroted back details as the cops nodded and jotted in their notebooks. In less than twenty minutes, Van was walking me to his door with the officers behind him, waiting for forensics and the case detective.
He opened the door, and I stepped into the hallway. His face shifted the moment he was out of view of the police, carved with lines of pain and defeat. His eyes met mine.
“I don’t ever want to see you again.”
And there it was. I opened my mouth to speak, but he looked away, closing the door before I had a chance.
I stood in the quiet hallway for a long moment, stock still, staring at his door. And then, I turned and walked away. My feet carried me faster with every step until I was charging up the stairs. I burst through the door, ran across the roof for the edge, stepped on the concrete and took the leap to the next building. The jolt shot up my body as I rolled on the gravel, and when I made it to my feet, I ran as hard as my body could go.
But my heart couldn’t take it anymore.
MY LIDS AND LIMBS were heavy, my bed soft and warm as I woke the next morning. I’d slept like I was dead, that sleep where the time between when you drift away and slip back into life could be minutes or years. Everything seemed new in that moment, as if nothing had existed before the second when I woke.
Shame it was only temporary.
The day before seeped into my mind. Then the night. And then my heart ripped wide open again. I closed my eyes against the pain.
Van.
It was over in a way that was irreparable and final. His words circled around my mind, and I didn’t blame him for a single one, no matter how bad it hurt. He was right. I shouldn’t have gone back. Maybe he didn’t need the truth. Maybe I only did it for myself.
I drew in a ragged breath. I was stupid to believe he could ever forgive me and selfish to take it back, even though it was the right thing to do. I only hurt him worse. I put him in a position where he felt he had to lie to the police to cover for me. I put my friends in danger. I put everyone at risk for what I wanted.
Erin burst into my room, wound-up and wild-eyed, and I shot out of bed, heart skittering in my chest.
“Fuck.” She sighed and closed the door. “Thank God you’re okay. What the fuck, man?” She climbed into bed with me. “What happened? You didn’t come talk to me last night, and I just woke up freaking out.”
The sheets hung around my waist, and I ran a hand over my face and through my hair. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re not in jail.”
“I should be. The cops showed up.”
Her brain exploded all over her face. “What?”
“Yeah. The cameras were being monitored, and when I killed them, someone called the cops. They knocked on the door just as I was leaving.”
“Jesus Christ. So he didn’t call them?”
“No, there wasn’t time. We were standing there with the cops asking where the painting came from, and I almost told them the truth. I actually tried to, but he stopped me. I thought … for a minute I thought maybe he’d …” I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head. “He’s done with me. He told me to leave and never come back, just like I thought he would.” There was no consolation in being right.
“Are you okay?”
I tried to smile. “I will be. I have an answer, and now I can move on.” Didn’t matter that I didn’t want to. “It’s fine. What happened here? Did Jade come back?”
Erin’s face tightened at the mention of Jade. “No, but when she does, I have a feeling it’s going to be ugly. We’re getting out of here. Today.”
I nodded, figuring as much. “Did Cher find us a place?”
“Yeah. It’s just a couple of blocks away, another loft. She left early this morning to put down our deposit and first month and to pick up the keys. We started packing last night, and the truck will be here at noon.”
I flipped the covers back and got out of bed as Erin stood and made her way to the door, pausing in the threshold.
“I know you’re not all right. Let’s talk, for real. Okay?”
I twisted my hair up and looked around my room. “Right after we get the fuck out of here.”
Erin smiled. “First thing’s first.”
Hours later, I trotted down the steps, my Chucks thumping on the cement as I carried another box to the moving truck. I handed it to Morgan, who stood in
the back, organizing the chaos of our lives stacked squarely in the metal box on wheels.
We were all in a rush to be gone before Jade got home, so I spun around, took the stairs two at a time, and made my way into my room to pick up the last box.
My quiet room had been transformed by its emptiness into something I barely recognized, much like the rest of me. Sunlight through that window had woken me every morning. The crack in the concrete floor had been paced a hundred times. I looked up at the ceiling for what would be the last time, tracing the lines of the pipes as I had so many times before. And then, I walked out forever.
I made my way through the living room, scanning to see if we’d forgotten anything. The building door slammed downstairs, followed by a screech and the boom of footsteps bounding up the stairs. My eyes swung to the door.
Jade.
I sped up, dropping the box on the table just as she burst through the door, body tight, lip curled. Ready to fight. I watched her try to maintain some level of control as she stood in the doorway, blond hair loose around her face, cheeks pink.
“So, it’s like this, is it?” Her voice trembled. “You’re just going to leave and take everyone with you without saying goodbye? I thought you were so much more noble than that these days, Cory.”
My eyes narrowed, assessing her as I wondered if she knew about the painting. “I’m not taking anyone, Jade. They’re not toys that you can pick up and take home with you because you’re pissed. They’re over you, but I had nothing to do with it. You fucked that up all on your own.”
“Bullshit. You had everything to do with it.”
And then I knew she didn’t know. This was about us leaving, and I relaxed by the smallest degree. “I don’t know why you have to blame everything on me. What the fuck did I ever do to you?”
She stepped around the table with her hands on her hips. “You really don’t get it, do you? Pretty Cory, so easy-going. Everybody just loves you, don’t they?” she mocked.