The doors swoosh open, and I walk inside, resting against the interior wall. I stare at the ceiling and let the tears come. Shit. The numbers move slowly up to Kingsley’s penthouse. Sighing, I swipe at the tears. I can’t even manage to find a place to live. My thumbs dig into my eye sockets, stemming more tears from leaking out. I wish I could stem the feelings of failure the same way, but they barrel through me, making my stomach clench. Maybe I should have just stayed in medical school. Maybe my father wouldn’t hate me as much, and I wouldn’t feel so lost. I’d hate it, but at least it wouldn’t be a mark against me.
Once I get inside Kingsley’s apartment, I head to my guest room and slam the door, growling out my frustration, hating that Jace and I argued. Hating that a part of me feels like he’sright. What the fuck am I doing going after Stone? The man doesn’t want me. Reed didn’t. My father doesn’t.
As soon as I open the door, I head to my bedroom, stopping short when I see a huge box resting in the middle of my bed. It’s all black, with a gorgeous blood-red ribbon cascading down the sides like a waterfall. I move closer and reach out to touch the ribbon. It’s a luscious velvet that feels deliciously soft against my fingers. The box itself has no markings. I check around it and see a simple black tag that says my name written in a slashing handwriting. That’s it. Just my name. I flop down on the bed and open my phone quickly, texting King.
Me: You got me a gift?
I see that her notifications are silenced, and then I remember that she’s at a brunch event for her father’s campaign and is probably smiling pretty for the cameras in a swanky hotel, hating every minute of it.
Slowly, I pull the red ribbon apart and lift the top off the box. Leaning over, I look inside and see two more boxes inside, also tied with a red velvet ribbon. I reach inside and lift out the longest one, placing it on my lap, smiling when I think about what King could have bought me. The last time she got me a gift, it was a huge collection of glow-in-the-dark condoms. It was a gag gift, and now I wonder if today’s gift will be equally ridiculous, but I’m shocked when I open the top, and inside are five irregularly shaped charcoal sticks, beautifully tucked into a red velvet lining. I pick one up, holding it between my fingers. It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, oddly shaped with a thinner shaft and two bulbous areas at the top and bottom. They are also smaller than I’ve seen or used before. I set them aside and pick the other box, unwrapping the same style of ribbon. I open it up and see three handmade paintbrushes. I roll the bone coloredhand between my fingers, I trace my fingers up to the metal, and then the smooth brown bristles. Horsehair? The handle must be ivory. “Wow,” I whisper to myself, stroking the smooth, polished surface. There are small carvings on every section. I lift one, squinting, inspecting the intricate details. Flowers are etched into the ivory, as well as tiny birds. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must have taken the artist a considerable amount of time to create. They could be vintage and touch my chest in awe of the gift. Kingsley has been with me on my journey to become an artist from the beginning, and tears come to my eyes thinking about her thoughtfulness.
Carefully placing them back in the box, I take out the last box and suck in a breath at the sight of a collection of varying shades of black paint. The gradient ranges from the darkest blacks to brown blacks and gray blacks. The range is incredible. With it, there is a wooden paint palette, the wood grain sanded down until it’s as smooth as silk.
I hold it to my nose and breathe in the fresh pine smell that I can still detect even though it’s been sealed with some sort of wax. Who the hell made these? They are works of art. I search the long flat box looking for the maker, but just like the others, I can’t find who makes them. Knowing Kingsley, she probably had them custom-made. This must have cost her an arm and a leg. I replace everything inside the box, promising myself that I will use them for a portrait soon. I wipe the tears and text her again, but my text goes unanswered.
My phone beeps, and I look down, thinking that it must be Kingsley, but I sniff when I see the text from Jace.
Jace: I’m an asshole. I don’t want you hurt, whether you believe it or not. Love you.
I stare at his text. Damn him. I’m already emotional. Frankly, I’m not sure what to say. Do I forgive him? Of course I do, but I hate that he held up a mirror to my face and revealed something I wasn’t ready to face. Another text comes in, and a reluctant laugh comes out.
Sophia: You wanna talk? Jace told me you two got into it. I’ll deny him sex if you want.
Me: Jesus, Sophia. TMI. No. I’m okay. Rub the belly for me.
As much as I love her, I don’t want to talk about it with her either. I flop on the bed and curl into a ball. After the stony silences my father gave me at brunch, I feel like I just got off a rollercoaster, sick to my stomach and regretting my choices.
Chapter 16
February
“Eat it, you crazy animal!”
Moving up a horned worm with the tweezers, I smile, teasing Jagger a bit. I’m not surprised at his side-eye. He watches me, not taking the bait. The new man in my life definitely has an attitude and is very particular about what he eats.
I hadn’t meant to walk into the pet shop while I was listless at a huge indoor mall, using the time to sketch and distract myself from the shit going on in my life and my perpetual horniness around one particular man.
I walked, just intending to look around and kill a few hours before I went to visit my father, which always caused anxiety to burrow deep in my chest. Still, I was captivated by the way the dark brown and tan reptile, covered in black markings and large spikes, tilted its head at me in the pet shop. Truthfully, he reminded me of Stone. The watchful way he assessed me, and his standoffish energy. So I caved and impulsively bought a huge 40-gallon tank, food, heat lamps, and every known accessory,including a harness to ‘walk’ my new pet. When I texted Kingsley a picture, she sent me back a confused emoji.
King: What the fuck is that?
Me: My new pet.
King: Whatever happened to getting a cat or a dog?
Me: More work. Isn’t he cute?
King: If you say so, You can’t even cuddle with it. Is it the one that squirts blood out of its eyes?
Me: What? No! No blood squirting. Calling him Jagger. I’m a beardie mom now!
King: And he had better stay in your room. I’ll pass out if I come home and see him crawling around.
Me: He’s not a fan of me touching him. Half the time, he ignores me.
King: Welp. Sounds familiar. Figures you’d go for a moody guy who has a complex.
Kingsley isn’t far off. Moody asshole is definitely my catnip these days. It figures I’d go for another male with spikes and a snarky attitude who most likely wouldn’t be into cuddling.
