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Tristan
Curled in my bed,I cry for so long, I worry that my eyes will still be puffy and red for my modeling jobs on Monday. I can’t seem to pull myself together. I told Remi I loved him to help ease his pain and brought a world of suffering down on myself.
“It’s for the best that the truth is out,” I murmur into my pillow. I’d have continued to fall more and more in love with him as I waited for words of love and commitment. Words he never intended to say. The last thing I need in my life is another person who can’t commit—like Mom.
If I could summon anger, maybe the pain would ease. I’m not mad at Remi, though—he did nothing wrong. The reality of love isn’t always pretty. I know this; I watched my sister lose two men to other women and alcohol and the need to feel free. I watched my mother leave Tara and me repeatedly—first for a few nights at a time and then for a few weeks. Now, I can’t remember the last time I saw her.
Sometimes things work out in love, but more often they don’t. Falling in love is risky business.
I rub my eyes more fiercely than is necessary to dry them. Maybe a bit of pain will distract me from shedding more tears that won’t change anything.
Tomorrow is Sunday, the day I was going to model for Remi in his loft one final time. It was to be a bonus—beyond the three hours I owed him for the kids’ Halloween costumes—so he could complete his sketch and be ready to begin painting. That’s clearly not going to happen, but at least my debt is paid. I hope he’s captured enough detail of me in his mind to complete the portrait. I can’t be near Remi now unless I want to crumble at his feet.
At first, Remi talked about giving me the completed portrait for my portfolio, but he has spoken of doing that less and less in the past weeks. I don’t want it anyway. Too many intimate memories are attached to it—we ended up making love every time I posed.
But it wasn’t making love.What we did in his bed was have sex, plain and simple.
I pull myself up so I’m sitting on the edge of my creaky twin bed; sleep isn’t coming to my rescue tonight. A long, empty Sunday stretches before me—I need to make a new plan, so I don’t spend it in tears. I’ve always been one to pick myself up off the ground rather than wait to get run over by the next truck to come down the road.
On wobbly feet, I step to my tiny desk beneath the window. I open my laptop and type in Garner City Community College, Department of Education.
