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I try again to pull her into my arms. If I can just kiss her, reassure her, explain to her she will understand.
Her fists pummel against my chest. I don’t try to stop her.
“You bastard. You prick. You no good, lying scoundrel. I trusted you and this is how you betray me.”
I let her take it out on me. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make her stop.
When her fists do drop to her side again I take a step back.
“Dale came to my place and told me how you’ve been going around town bragging about putting on the biggest art show yet. How you’ve painted this amazing piece and how it will be on display for the world to see.”
I don’t interrupt her. I let her talk. She’s in such a state by now I think it’s best I keep quiet. Inwardly, I’m seething.
Who could have thought Dale would be the bearer of the news? If I had stopped and thought about it, I should have guessed. The guy owns a gallery, after all.
Mental note to Mateo, never ever invite that prick to another one of my shows, and don’t send the usual Christmas card and hamper either.
Katherine is sobbing.
Before I realize what is happening, she’s throwing something at me. It lands with a metallic clang on the floor near my feet.
“Here’s your fucking key and key ring. Give it to the next model you pick up and fuck.”
And without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out.
I’m too numb to follow her. When the door slams shut, I slowly bend down to pick up the key ring.
That’s that then, I think and put the painful memory into the bottom kitchen drawer. It is the drawer with all kinds of useless things in it, the sort one finds in kitchens or laundries. It is the drawer least used in my apartment.
I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been seconds, a few minutes or an hour.
In my mind, I replay what has just taken place. A hysterical Katherine barged in and accused me of something I’m not guilty of. The reason behind all of it: Dale. Dickhead Dale.
Eventually, I walk back into my studio. I don’t turn the music back on. My day has been ruined.
I walk over to my paintings, my babies. I stare at the one of Katherine. Then I find a cover and throw it over the artwork.
I will decide the fate of the nude tomorrow, tomorrow is another day after all.
I make myself a cup of coffee and convince myself what has just happened is for the better. Who needs an unstable emotional woman in their life? Not me, no thank you. I have been managing just fine by myself, and I will do so again. It was fun while it lasted and now it’s time to move on.
My coffee goes cold. I don’t feel like drinking it. I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel liked doing much of anything.
I slump onto my couch and sigh. Why had she not even wanted to hear my side of the story? Surely, she of all people must understand there are two sides to every story. I never expected Katherine to be the person to jump to conclusions and act before asking some pertinent questions.
I put my head back against the couch. Such a pity, she is a real gem.
But who needs women? With sudden bout of energy I get off my butt and make my way into the studio. Time to brush into the canvass, time to show her I don’t need her in my life. I painted just fine before I met her and I will be just fine now that she has left my life so abruptly.
Chapter 31
Blake
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
How could you have been so stupid, my reflection screams at me. And I shake my head.
My spoon swirls aimlessly in my bowl. Not even my favorite breakfast cereal tastes any good any more.
