by Anne Whitney
“Fitz,” I start, taking a deep breath. “I love what we have, as odd as it can be. I want it to have the chance to really grow. I like you a lot, I really do. But I don’t...” I bite my lip. This shouldn’t be as hard to say as it is, but Fitz’s doting smile makes it almost impossible. “Fitz, I don’t...”
“You don’t love me,” he finishes, his smile dropping.
With my eyes tightly closed, I nod my head, and feel like the worst person in the world. But I can’t deny the truth. I can’t build this relationship on lies, especially one as life changing as that one.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes still shut. I don’t want to look at him right now. I’m not sure I can bear the sight. Maybe I really do ruin everything. Maybe I’m not capable of loving someone. “It’s not you, it’s me. And I know that’s some cliché statement from movies, but it’s true. It’s so fucking true that I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
I push myself to my feet while he stumbles backward in disbelief. He slips to the ground and sits down on the floor, pulling his legs to him as he struggles to find the words necessary for this unpredicted moment. Fitz stares at me. His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape while I prowl around the wide expanse of the stark, white room.
“And how long have you known this?” Fitz asks.
“Known what?”
“That you aren’t in love with me.”
I throw my hands up in disgust. “We’ve known each other like a month, Fitz. You’re the first guy I’ve ever had a relationship with, period, and you expect me to think I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you after a month?”
He looks too stunned to do anything. Fitz freezes like a marble statue, staring at me with sadness pouring from his blue eyes. I want to take it all back and make the world go round once more, but I can’t lie to him, even as it crushes me.
Stepping away from him, I say, “Fitz, I can’t lie to you. I can’t lie to myself.”
“Then what is this between us?” he demands, indicating the air between us. “What in the hell have we been doing for the past month? Acting? Lying? Fucking each other over for someone’s amusement? If that’s what you think, then you’re wrong. I care about you, Marina, more than you’ll ever know.”
I stop and close my eyes shut once more. My blood is beginning to boil inside me. Not out of anger, but out of fear, worry.
“Maybe one day it could be love,” I say. “But not today, not like this. We can’t live in a pretend fantasy land where everything is peachy, because that’s not the truth.”
Fitz leaps to his feet and stomps toward me. He stops a bit short, staring down at me, the confusion quickly being replaced by anger. “What pretend fantasy land? I’m the same person inside as you see on the outside.”
The air grows hot. “We both know you’re full of it,” I tell him. I point my finger at him accusingly. “Derek and Viridian told me everything about your past and your life. I know all about you, Fitzroy, and I know you’re not the pretentious artist you pretend to be.”
“And you think Derek and Viridian can see into my thoughts?”
“Your brother and your best friend? I can say with confidence that they probably know a great deal about the inner workings of your mind.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away. “What the hell did Viridian say to turn you into some disbelieving maniac?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes and walk the opposite direction. “Nothing you didn’t tell me yourself, remember? Besides, V said what I needed to hear about me, because as I said, Fitz, this is about me. Maybe we could fall in love one day, despite our massive canyon of differences, but not if you keep acting like some stuck up asshole who thinks of me as some lost little lamb and not a woman.”
Fitz realizes my plan to leave. He spins and catches up with me, grabbing my wrist before I can duck out of the gallery and flee to the exit.
“Then tell me who you are,” Fitz says. “Tell me who you really are and then I’ll tell you why we should be together.”
I rip my hand free and keep walking. “I’m not going to play these games with you if you’re going to keep acting like some clingy, possessive bastard,” I say over my shoulder. “Because, no offense, but I escaped one and I’m not falling for that crap again anytime soon.”
I slam through the front door onto the busy street, the Thursday evening rush packed with businessmen, tourists, and people looking for a good time. The air hangs thick with anticipation, voices muttering about parties and openings, plays and mergers. New York is alive with passion, fury, fear, and life, and I’m happy to be caught in the chaos while the chaos inside me spirals further and further out of control.
With no place in mind, no goals, no ideas, I begin to wander, curving around for hours, aimlessly. By the time I cool off and wander back to Fitz’s apartment via the subway, it’s well after midnight and my eyes are beginning to droop.
The key still works as I push inside. I want to apologize, but there is no sign of life besides a note on the countertop.
Please move out tomorrow.
And then I sob silently, meandering back to my comfy couch to cry myself to sleep while rain pours over the city, washing away the day’s sins, leaving me in a puddle of discontent.
CHAPTER 29.
Unsurprisingly, my night is restless and I barely sleep. The thought of sleeping in and waking up to Fitz’s disappointment, coupled with an exhausting amount of crying, is enough to keep me tossing and turning on the couch all night. I repeatedly curse my pathetic messed up mind, a tempest of emotions, for its inability to do anything right. Time and time again, it feels as if I’m beginning to make progress, but all it takes is one bump in the road to send me flying back to square one, where I’m a total coward and weakling. I can’t do anything right, and now the glimmers of hope I had have been extinguished before my eyes.
But it’s true. As much as I wish it weren’t the case, I don’t love Fitz. I’m an emotionally damaged and sheltered twenty-one-year-old with major issues; I don’t even know if I’m capable of love. I thought he understood that. After all, I’d talked about it with him often enough.
Were there mixed signals? Did he think I loved him? How on earth could he completely love and adore me when he barely knows me? I can’t work out how much of my confusion over this has to do with myself or Fitz. He may be a stranger to me in many ways, but I’m still a stranger to myself, as well. Right now I’m a work in progress with multiple choices of Marinas available. Which version does Fitz adore?
Which version of Fitz do I like? He’s a little more in denial about his own identity than I am, even after his confessional dinner. I’m exhausted with my charade after a month, so I have no idea how he’s kept things up for so many years. All of my earlier lustful angsting suddenly seems downright ridiculous and easy to understand in comparison. I may technically be an adult, but I’m dealing with things far beyond my maturity level.
The gentle shuffling of bare feet against wooden floors alerts me to Fitz’s presence and I shake myself awake, surprised that I actually managed to sleep for a brief amount of time. I had planned to leave by the time he woke up, but clearly that window of opportunity has passed me by. Now we are together, but not speaking and completely avoiding any form of contact. I grab some random clothes from my bag, not caring which ones I pick out, and scuttle into the bathroom to change. My eagerness to get out of the apartment and as far away from the painful awkwardness as possible overrides the more sensible part of my brain telling me that my random outfit - a backless dress with intricate yellow embroidery covering random sections of translucent nude colored fabric - is probably not entirely appropriate. However, I really don’t feel like going back out to pick a second outfit.
When I step out of the bathroom in my totally inappropriate outfit, Fitz stops and stares for the shortest of moments. I briefly feel as if things are back to the way they were, but he quickly turns away and goes back to his business. The coldness between us has returne
d and I can’t help but shiver. I keep my head down as I slip on the first pair of shoes I can find, some peculiar beige colored curved heels made of leather. As I walk around, packing my faithful rucksack with my scant possessions, I barely pay attention to the fact that I’m now walking in high heels with ease. Derek would be proud of me.
I look around to make sure I haven’t missed anything and catch a glimpse of myself in the vague reflection of the window. She’s still there staring back at me, that woman who’s faintly familiar but still a stranger. Her face is striking, framed with that daring haircut. The sun has tanned her skin and the beautifully chic outfit, undoubtedly designer, fits her slim frame perfectly. She looks like the woman I’d hoped to be growing up. She looks like art.
I wish that was really me.
With everything shoved into my bag, there’s no more reason for me to hang around. Fitz is in the kitchen, his head down as he is seemingly engrossed in whatever newspaper he’s reading. I should just leave now, but suddenly I’m stuck to the spot, staring at the achingly beautiful and painfully sad man who was, for a few sweet days, my boyfriend. He’s done nothing but confuse, excite, infuriate and intrigue me since the moment our eyes met, and yet I wouldn’t change any of that for the world. I just wish he could understand.
“I’m...” I stammer. “I’m going to go now.”
Fitz remains silent. It hurts more than anything he could say.
“I’m sorry, Fitz. I wish things could have worked out better for us. I really do. Thank you so much for everything. I’ll... Well, I’ll see you.”
It’s best for me to leave, I try to convince myself. If Fitz’s father is the man who alerted my own dad as to my whereabouts, then this is the most unsafe place in the city for me. Now that I have enough money to rent my own place, I can begin the life I had hoped for when I jumped on that train. That’s what I want, isn’t it?
I head toward the door, staring at the floor to avoid looking at Fitz anymore. I may not love him, but my heart is still aching.
“Marina,” he says quietly, and I freeze before my hand can reach the door handle. I slowly turn toward him, still too hurt to look him in the eye.
“Fitz?” I reply.
“Will you come to my show today?”
I’d completely forgotten the museum show was starting today. This was Fitz’s big moment, the peak of the mountain he had spent his career scaling to prove his talent. He’d wanted this more than anything, and after all that had happened between us, he still wanted me there. That realization gave me a pinch of hope.
“Do you want me there?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
I see a window of opportunity for a proper heart to heart or at least a real goodbye. I can’t have it all end so quickly and formally.
“Fitz, I think we need to talk about this. Properly, I mean. We can’t have it end like this, not after everything we’ve been through. Can we talk after your show? Please?”
My voice quickly goes from confident to pleading, but I don’t care. I’ve spent too long shying away from anything remotely unsafe and I’m sick of it. I would be a complete and utter idiot if I just accepted the end of this all and walked out the door, so if Fitz isn’t going to step up, then I will.
We look up slowly and our gazes meet. I won’t let him roll over and give up.
“Okay,” he eventually replies. “I’ll meet you after the show and we can talk.”
“Thank you, Fitz. I’d better go now. You have a lot to prepare today. I’ll see you later.”
With my backpack slung casually over my shoulder, I open the door and step out.
“Marina, I love you.”
Fitz’s final confession stops me in my place again. It’s the first time he’s ever said those three little words to me. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say those words to me in an extremely long time. Love has not been part of my life. I spent countless nights fantasizing about someone saying they loved me and meaning it. True, indisputable, hopeless, euphoric love.
And now Fitz has said it and I can’t say it back. I want to be in love with him and I still think it could happen one day, because I truly like him and love our time together.
But I can’t lie.
Then again, the truth can still be beautiful, can’t it?
I turn back toward Fitz, my head held high.
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in my entire life. And that’s the truth.”
Fitz smiles. It’s the smallest of smiles and it only lasts for a few seconds, but it’s enough to placate my strongest fears and make me smile back. It’s enough to fill me with hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be an “us.”
“See you at the show later?” He asks hopefully.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mr. Artist. See you soon, Fitz.”
CHAPTER 30.
The American Modern Art Museum is packed to the gunnels for the opening day of its latest exhibit, dedicated to the most promising artists in the country. A steady stream of bodies moves through the labyrinth of rooms and hallways where every possible kind of art sits on display, waiting to be adored. It’s hard to really find the time to appreciate everything. The moment one person stops moving, the traffic of visitors builds up and jams the corridor. With Viridian holding one hand and Derek the other, the three of us weave through the crowd as quickly as we can, heading straight toward Fitz’s small performance space. Thanks to my surprisingly comfortable heels, I’m now almost level with the pair of them in terms of height.
“And you managed it all on your own without our help,” Derek says, beaming with pride. “Next stop, platform heels!”
“I think I’ll pass for now,” I laugh.
“What do you think about thigh high boots?” He asks wistfully.
“I don’t think about them at all, to be honest.”
The three of us stop in a cramped room where a crowd is watching a gentile elder woman sitting at a desk silently rolling a steel ball back and forth across the surface. I’m reasonably sure this isn’t so much art as it is an office worker’s attempt at procrastination, but the crowd seems entranced by it all.
“You look really hot, by the way,” Derek whispers in my ear. “And to think a few weeks ago you wouldn’t have had the guts to wear that dress.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Viridian interjects. “You’re a regular fairy godmother, Hayes.”
“With a little assistance from my sartorial Cuban goddess, of course. I’m sure Fitz greatly appreciates it. Speaking of the naked exhibitionist I share some genes with, is everything okay between you guys?”
I smile gently, watching the performance continue. The ball rolls back and forth, no interruptions, and the woman’s face never changes. I don’t get it at all, but it’s still strangely relaxing.
“I think we may pull through just yet,” I reply.
“Really?” Viridian asks. “You sure?”
“Sort of sure. I’m more sure about this than I am about anything else going on in my life right now. We’re going to talk things over tonight after his performance.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Viridian asks cautiously.
“Yeah. I really want to give this a shot and I know he does, too.”
“Go for it, girl!” Derek whispers excitedly. “However, if Fitz starts being all Fitz-ish, then give us a call and we’ll gladly kick his ass. Brother or no brother, he can still be a monumental asshole sometimes.”
“Understatement,” Viridian adds under her breath.
“But he’s good people, I swear. Just a little lost and clueless. And nowhere near as awesome as I am. It’s the curse he must live with every day.”
“Oh god, can we please switch rooms now?” Viridian groans. “This is coma inducing stuff. It makes Fitz’s work look like the Olympics.”
We turn back into the hallway to find something new and unusual to explore, set
tling on a room full of broken urns on top of marble pedestals. I’m sure we’re close to Fitz’s room, but with this building it’s a little hard to tell. The maze of rooms is seemingly never ending.
“Stop right there!” Derek says, waving his hand toward a handsome man pensively admiring one of the shattered pots. “Now that is what I came here to see.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend”? Viridian asks.
“I have a sort-of boyfriend. It’s a totally different thing. Sorry to ditch you, girls, but duty calls.”
Derek pats down his already immaculately styled hair and moves in for the kill.
“I think we should leave Casanova to it, my friend,” Viridian says, and I agree. My own love life is odd enough without having to witness the great mating ritual of Derek Hayes, who has already managed to run his hand down the unsuspecting gentleman’s arm in an entirely non-platonic manner. He certainly doesn’t waste any time.
The next room is Fitz’s. As expected, the crowd is huge, and we can’t even get through the door. Inside that small white box, Fitz is lying on the floor completely naked and wrapped around Tracy, listening to each other’s heartbeats and tapping out the rhythms while packs of spectators circle them like predators waiting for the right moment to strike. I wonder if they’ll love it, hate it or just be baffled by the entire experience.
I’m strangely apprehensive about seeing Fitz perform. I haven’t actually seen any of his art except for our first meeting, and I was in too much of a state of shock to really appreciate the moment. I may find what he does completely absurd at the best of times, but this is still his life’s work, and he’s made massive changes in his life to get this far. This is important to him, so as his possible girlfriend (I’m still unsure of our current state), it should be important to me.
It’s ridiculous, but it’s important.
“Yeah, I’m not waiting in line for Fitz’s dick,” Viridian says. “Want to get some lunch or something?”