Contusion

by Ofelia Martinez

  Who knew that little package of loud would be this good an artist? I’ve always pictured artists as tortured souls suffering for their art. In my head, it was the Hollywood depiction of alcoholics and drug addicts starving for their art, only gaining recognition long after their death.

  Mandy couldn’t be further from what I envisioned an artist to be. Her life is chaotic, but she is fulfilled. She holds a regular job to support herself and has friends who support her.

  “Take me over to the landscapes?”

  Rory obliges, and we get in line behind a few people to start the procession in front of the significantly larger landscape paintings. The gallery is nearly full now, and I’m relieved for Mandy.

  Her landscapes are crafted in a similar style to the portraits but on a grander scale. I can tell this is the playground where she experiments with light. The landscapes exude a feeling the portraits lack, and I know, just know, this is where her true talent lies.

  We reach the end of the room to find a single painting larger than all the other landscapes. It’s technically a landscape because I see land below, but clouds engulf the vast majority of the canvas, more like a skyscape.

  I squeeze Rory’s wrist, asking him to let me admire it a little bit longer. I haven’t seen much art in my life, but I understand now why people seek it, travel for it, suffer for it. It moves something inside you. It makes you feel alive. It gives you a reason to live.

  My eyes sting with tears as I take in the painting. I haven’t seen enough. I haven’t seen enough art. I’ve never seen clouds like these, sunrises like these—places like this. I’ve spent all my life in a big city surrounded by high-rises—a concrete jungle encasing me. While I love my city, there is so much more I haven’t seen; not enough natural wonders, foreign countries, or art. I’ve never seen so much as a waterfall in real life.

  I take a deep breath and swallow back my tears before they spill. Craning my neck to read the small card next to the canvas, I read: “Untitled, Not for Sale.”

  “That one is my favorite,” Mandy says as she reaches Rory and me.

  “Mine too,” I agree, eyes still glued to the painting. I’m relieved the conversation distracts me from my fatalistic thoughts. “I was thinking about buying it, but it’s the only one not for sale. Why?” I ask her.

  We walk back to the food table as we keep chatting.

  “I don’t know,” Mandy shrugs. “There are some paintings that you’re just full of some sort of emotion while you work. You know? And then when you’re done, it’s like you can’t believe you made that—that you have something like that inside you.”

  “No,” I shake my head. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “It would just be too hard to part with it, that’s all. Though, I do think eventually I’ll end up selling it.”

  Debra walks over to our spot and clutches Mandy’s forearm. She speaks in small conspiratorial whispers, but Rory and I are close enough to hear too.

  “You are not going to believe this, but we have someone wanting to buy the landscape that’s not for sale.”

  “I do believe it,” Mandy says. “ It’s my best work, but it’s not for sale.”

  “He really wants it and is ready to prove it. He said to name your price.”

  “Who is it?” Mandy asks, scanning the gallery past Debra.

  Debra points to a giant man almost as tall as Chema, though not quite as beefy. He is stunning, but in more of an Enrique Iglesias kind of way. My jaw drops, and I look over at Mandy, but her face is all scrunched up. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

  Her jaw twitches, and I can tell she’s grinding her teeth. “That’s Dr. Bel.”

  “Wait, you know him?” Rory asks.

  “Yeah. He’s a surgeon at Heartland Metro.”

  “Why do you look like you are about to kick him in the shin?” Rory asks.

  “He’s a complete jerk. I’ve seen him every day for years, and he never remembers having seen me before if I say hello. Not that he’d say hello first. He basically fits every arrogant, god-complex, surgeon stereotype.” Mandy’s nostrils flare at the end of her rather picturesque description of Dr. Bel. “No way in hell I’m selling him my favorite painting.”

  “Hold on just one minute,” Debra hisses. “Think about it. He asked for you to name your price for that landscape. You can make as much as you want here.”

  Mandy’s resolve wavers, but in the end, she shakes her head. “No. I’d burn the painting before he could have it—”

  “Mandy, hold on.” I try to reason with her. “Why don’t you set a ridiculous price no one in their right mind would agree to? That way, he’ll probably say no and no harm done. And if he agrees, then you can make a small fortune at his expense.”

  “But he’ll have the painting,” Mandy says.

  “But you’ll have his money at a premium,” I smile wickedly at her.

  Most of the landscapes are priced at around fifteen-hundred dollars, depending on their size. I’m sure the gallery takes half of the sales price. She has the opportunity to make a killing on one painting alone.

  Mandy bites her cheek as she thinks, then looks at Debra. “Fine. Valentina makes a great point. Tell him twenty thousand dollars—firm. I’m not going to haggle with him, Deb. I meant it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Deb hisses but plasters on a fake smile. “That’s ridiculous. He’ll never agree to that. You’re not that established yet. One day maybe, but not—”

  “I’m not trying to sell the painting, Deb. You agreed to this. We only included it because it’s part of the narrative we were going for.”

  “Okay. Okay, but you’re killing me here.”

  “Unless he agrees,” Mandy smiles. “In which case, I just made you a shit ton of money.”

  Debra glares at Mandy, and I know she doesn’t think Dr. Bel will buy it.

  Rory, Mandy, and I all stare at Debra walking toward Dr. Bel. We can’t hear anything they are saying from the other side of the room, but we see Dr. Bel nod. His head snaps up to look in our direction, and the three of us break our formation to pretend we were talking the entire time.

  Debra walk-runs to us in the most comical way, a huge smile spread on her face. “He said yes!” she squeals.

  Mandy’s jaw drops. “What?”

  “He said yes! He’s buying it.”

  “We didn’t set the price high enough?” Mandy asks, her brows creased.

  “I honestly think he would have bought it no matter the price. He really wants it.”

  “See, that just makes me angrier. I just validated that he can get anything he wants,” Mandy hisses. “And he gets to keep the one painting I didn’t want to part with. It feels a lot like losing.”

  I nudge Mandy’s arm. “Hey, you just made a shit ton of money. You can certainly be happy about that. And he paid a ridiculous amount for it. You have the upper hand here. Twenty thousand dollars, Mandy.”

  She smiles. “You’re right. I can do a lot with that money.”

  Witnessing my friend’s success shifts the mood of the evening, and I feel lighter now. I’m dreading the end of the night when Rory takes me home, but the rest of the time in the gallery is lighthearted. The gallery announces the sale of the untitled landscape and toasts Mandy with champagne. Within the hour of the announcement, the landscapes sell out, as well as a good portion of the portraits. Mandy’s face must be in so much pain from all the grinning as she walks from patron to patron, explaining her artistic choices and thanking them for their support. I couldn’t be prouder of her.

  “Are you getting tired?” Rory asks, and I’m not too fond of the concern on his face.

  “A little. Do you mind if we go home?”

  “Don’t ask me stupid questions, Valentina.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes. Please, take me home.”

  “Would you like to say goodbye to your friends?”

  I shake my head. “Mandy’s busy, and I don’t want to dis
tract from her happiness. Let’s just go.”

  The drive to my apartment is short, and we don’t say much. This is the moment of truth. I have to tell him. I sneak a text to Chema so he’ll help me up to my apartment when we arrive. I don’t want Rory to go into my building once I leave this car. I can’t see him anymore. My pride can’t take it, for one, and I can’t part this world knowing I’ve broken his heart. I’ve let this go on far too long. I never considered myself a selfish person, but what I’m doing here with Rory—it takes the cake for selfishness.

  Chapter 18

  “We need to talk,” I say as Rory parks. I glance over at my building, where Chema is sitting on the stoop. I signal for him to wait.

  Rory takes off his seatbelt and faces me. The city’s night lights render him more handsome than ever, and I know this will be harder than I thought. “Okay,” he says with a wide smile.

  “I want to thank you for being there for me and forcing me to accept help when I really needed it.”

  “Okay.” Rory runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up in the sexiest bedhead way. “You’ve already thanked me for that. Valentina, I was happy to do it.”

  “You’re amazing, and I really did need . . . someone, even if I wouldn’t admit it.”

  “I know. What’s really going on?” he asks.

  I suck in a deep breath to strengthen my spine. “Now that Chema’s here, and treatment’s almost over, at least for a while, I’m set. You don’t need to check in on me anymore.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing here. I’m not checking up on you. I want to spend time with you—”

  “Rory—”

  “Don’t you like spending time with me?”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “That’s exactly the point because that’s all I’m doing.”

  His piercing gaze lingers on me, but I don’t cower under those angry eyes. He knows what’s coming. He has to.

  “Rory, I don’t want to keep spending time with you.”

  “Bullshit. You do, and I know you do.”

  I shake my head, though I know I’m trying to persuade myself as much as him. “I don’t. Chema has agreed to stay through the end of my treatment. I’ll also have Mandy and the girls around, so I won’t be alone.”

  “You being alone is not what I’m worried about.”

  “You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s just it. I’m taken care of.”

  “Dammit, Valentina. I’m not trying to take care of you. I’m not your fucking nurse, and I’m not your fucking doctor. I’m just a man who has feelings for you, I—” he runs his hand through his hair more angrily now, then his eyes narrow. “Valentina, I’m in—”

  “No. Don’t say it. I can’t handle it if you say it.”

  Rory’s eyes remain narrow slits, but he stays quiet. I knew it almost the minute he started looking at me differently. It was a shift in his eyes when he would drift off, and I knew he was making plans for us—for our future together. He’s taken steps, meeting my parents, bringing his parents to meet me—all of it to show me how deeply he cares about me. I should have stopped it sooner, but I couldn’t.

  I love him.

  I love the man who didn’t bat an eye to stay in bed with me and just sleep because I was too tired. The man who fed me watermelon cubes when I was nearly delirious with fever and hadn’t eaten in days. The man who stood proud as he pushed me around in my wheelchair, never once giving off any indication that he was embarrassed by the sick woman with him during our date tonight.

  But I can’t tell him. He can’t know I’m in love with him because I won’t saddle him with a dying woman. My eyes prickle with tears, and for once, I don’t draw them back in. I’m giving up perhaps the most perfect man in the world.

  That small excursion to the art gallery, as brief as it was, took all the energy I had for the day. I’m a prisoner in my own body—the very body I once commanded with pride—and there isn’t so much as the briefest hope of escape from this prison. I mourn for the loss of my health, the loss of what my body once was—what Rory got to enjoy so briefly so many weeks ago and that I will never be able to gift him again.

  “Hey, hey, what’s this?” Rory coos, all the hardness in his face gone. He adjusts in his seat to be as close to me as he can and wipes away the tear rolling down my cheek.

  “I don’t want to keep spending time with you. Before, you were just a meaningless one-night stand.”

  Rory shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

  “And then I let you hang out because I didn’t know anyone here, and I was bored. You were a distraction, Rory.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No. I am grateful, I am, to you for helping me when you did. I know that if you hadn’t been there when the infection set in, I’d probably be dead. I’ll always be grateful for that. But Chema’s here now. I won’t be alone, so you don’t have to worry.”

  Rory’s jaw sets, and he drops his hand from my face. He glances out the window past me and his nostrils flare. I know he sees Chema behind me. Then he focuses his gaze back on me.

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have to. Valentina Almonte, I am so fucking in love with you.”

  My mouth dries up. I knew he wanted to start a serious relationship with me, and I know I love him, but I never imagined this outcome—that he already loved me back.

  “Do you think maybe, your compassionate and caretaking nature as a doctor is bleeding over and clouding your feelings?”

  “No. I love you, Valentina. Not sick Valentina. Not the athlete Valentina. None of that fucking matters. I love you. The person inside.”

  “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t . . .”

  “You don’t what?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just the truth. Do you have feelings for me? I know the answer, but you’ll need to convince me otherwise if you’re really breaking this between us off.”

  I clear my throat and sit up as straight as I can manage in the car. “I don’t have feelings for you.” I look him dead in the eye when I say it.

  Rory chuckles, but it’s bitter. “That’s such bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry I let you think there was more here, but there isn’t.”

  “Just stop, Valentina. We both know you are lying. Now I just want to know why? Is it because you feel bad for me, being with someone as sick as you, or is there another reason?” When he is done speaking, Rory glances past me again at Chema.

  “What?”

  “Do you have feelings for more than one person?”

  I blink, trying to make sense of his words. “What are you talking about?”

  “The way I see it, either you think you are self-sacrificing on my behalf and saving me for some reason, or you have feelings for someone else also. I say ‘also’ because I very damn well know you have feelings for me too.”

  “Stop telling me what I feel. I don’t have feelings for you, Rory. Not like that. I’m grateful like I said, and I’ll happily consider you a good friend and a good memory from my time in KC, but stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Then answer the question. Is there someone else you care about?”

  I turn and look at Chema, who stands and puts his hands in his pockets. His eyebrows are drawn together with concern and a questioning look in his eyes. I signal at him again to wait. I see now what Rory sees. He thinks I’m in love with Chema. This is my out. I swallow hard. I know if I take this step, if I dare utter this awful lie, I’ll be putting the nail on the coffin of Rory’s brief chapter in my life.

  But for Rory, I do it. Because I love him, I can’t tell him the truth. “You’re right,” I say finally. “I have feelings for someone else.”

  “Chema . . .” He says with a voice that cracks.

  I turn to Rory again, and his eyes are glassy. I find no anger in his features, only hurt. I did that. I hurt him. But this hurt is less than the pain I would have caused by my death or by saddling him to a
sick woman who would do nothing but take and take.

  “Yes,” I lie. “Chema. He will take good care of me, so you don’t have to worry.”

  Rory takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Well, that changes things.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I should have said sooner.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m glad we had the time we did,” he says. “Does he love you?”

  I don’t lie because Chema does love me, even if I know it’s not the same type of love Rory is asking about. “Yes. He loves me. And I love him.”

  Rory’s eyes draw shut, and he drifts his head to the headrest. When his eyes open again, he smiles weakly.

  “Does he love you more than I do?”

  “That would be impossible to know, wouldn’t it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t—” Rory takes me by surprise, holding my head in place so he can kiss me. His lips are tender at first, pressed against mine gently, until his tongue coaxes my lips open. He conquers my mouth hungrily for a few seconds, and I push him away, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

  “I’m sorry,” says Rory. “I believe that you love him. But I don’t believe you don’t have feelings for me too. If you weren’t sick, and it wouldn’t put you through hell, I’d fight for you. I’d do everything to make you see that my love is greater. But I don’t want to put you through yet another emotional wringer.”

  “Thank you for respecting my wishes.”

  “I will. For now. But Valentina, once you beat this thing, all bets are off.”

  My eyes widen with panic. “What?”

  “Go ahead and be with him now. Let him be your emotional support and caretaker until you get better—because you will get better, whether you believe it or not—and when it’s all said and done, I’ll be here. I’ll be loving you. No amount of time will change that.”

  I turn from him, not able to look him in the eye after all those lies. I open the car door and call Chema over. Chema is at my side in an instant, and he ducks to get me out of the car. I’m only on my feet for a moment before he takes me in his arms like a child. I rest my head on his chest, as tired as I’ve ever felt.