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“Just take it easy on her.” I must have given him awhat the hell are our you talking aboutlook because he continues on. “I know you’re a spitfire, Sparky. But you have one of the kindest, most generous hearts I’ve ever seen. You just don’t always show it. I think Violet needs that big heart of yours right now.”
I give him a quick peck on the cheek and quickly push off his lap, heading towards the door without turning around. I don’t want him to see the moisture that’s gathered in the corners of my eyes. How can this man see me so clearly? I know I put up a tough as nails, carefree, don’t give a fuck front, but the people I love? I care about them deeply and would do anything for them. I guess Carson can see it because he and Oliver are among those people now.
“Have a good night,” I say softly, closing the door behind me.
Chapter Seventeen
Bianca
“Bianca.”
Margot barks out my name from the stair landing. “In here, please.” She turns and goes back into her office leaving the door open for me. I’m really not in the mood for this today. I’m glad to have everything resolved with Violet and I plan to talk to Dad after work, but I barely got any sleep last night. I guess falling asleep has become difficult without Carson fucking me into exhaustion first.
I quickly climb the stairs and enter Margot’s inner sanctum. “Have a seat,” she says, indicating the chair in front of her desk. God, I hope she’s not firing me or something. “I notice you haven’t brought me any more of your work to look at.”
The tension leaves my body as soon as I realize I’m not about to get a verbal pink slip. “I haven’t come up with anything I thought was good enough yet.” That’s a lie. I’ve done plenty of pieces lately that I thought Margot would like. The problem is my subject matter.
All my paintings, whether they’re portraits, abstracts, or anything in between seem to bleed Carson and Oliver. It doesn’t matter what I set out to make, it always ends up being them. Even if it’s not one of their direct likenesses, it’s something that reminds me of them.
I know it’s emotions I’m not dealing with coming out in my work and that scares the shit out of me. Even if they are some of the best pieces I’ve ever done.
Carson keeps asking to see what I’ve been working on, but I’ve been putting him off. I can’t let him see me open and exposed on the canvas. The second he looks at it I know he’s going to be able to see how I feel about them. About him. I just can’t face it yet.
“Aren’t you painting every day?” She asks, pushing her large red framed glasses back to the bridge of her nose.
“Yes, every chance I get.” I assure her.
“And you haven’t come up with anything you think isgood enoughfor me to look at.” She uses air quotes when she says good enough and it makes me want to snap at her. I don’t need her making fun of me right now.
I just shake my head. I honestly thought she had forgotten about telling me to bring her something else to look at. It’s not like she doesn’t have anything else to do.
“I find that hard to believe, Bianca.”
I open my mouth to say something but just end up snapping it closed again. What is there to say?
“Next week bring me the most recent piece you’ve created whether you think it’sgoodor not.” I really don’t want to butwhat can I do? She’s my boss so I just nod and start to make for her office door. “Bianca, you show a lot of talent. Don’t hide your emotions, let it drip down the canvas for us all to see.”
“Thanks, Margot.” I hope she can’t hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.
***
These stupid fucking shoes.
I’ve gone through more pairs of high heels lately than I care to admit. I love heels, they make me feel sexy and powerful. I wear them every day to work even if I’m running around setting up a show. But today, these shoes can suck it.
Just as I was walking to my car after work my heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk, and I went crashing to the ground, skinning my knee. What was worse was the heel broke off my favorite pair of Betsey Johnsons.
I stopped at Dad’s on the way home to talk to him about Violet and now I’m scanning the street for a parking space. I see Violet’s car parked in the driveway already and realize I’m going to have to hunt down a spot. I can’t believe she and my dad are dating. They seem to truly have feelings for each other. Is it a little weird? Of course. But it’s not like I have any reason to be mad about it.
Sure, I was trying to set my parents up, and maybe for a fleeting moment I thought it would be cool if they were together again, but I just wanted them both to be happy. Especially Dad since he seemed so lonely lately.
Well, it looks like Violet took care of that problem for me. I’m not much of a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have spectacular taste in friends, and if Dad can find happiness with one of them, then more power to him. He honestly couldn’t do better than Violet.
I finally find a spot several houses down and grab my destroyed shoes from where they’ve been sitting in the passenger seat. I carefully navigate the sidewalk barefoot, keeping my eyes down so I can avoid any rocks, twigs, or in one case a line of ants on the way to do whatever it is ants do.
Because I’m so focused on where I’m stepping, I don’t notice the door to the house is wide open until I’ve almost reached it. I call out “Hello,” and stick my head inside, then let out a gasp.
The living room looks like it was hit by the Tasmanian Devil. The chairs and end tables have been knocked over, their contents strewn across the room. But what really draws my eye is the coffee table that’s shattered into pieces and is covered in blood. Now that I’ve spotted it, I also see blood in other places, a small patch against the far wall, a few drops in the entryway, and most terrifying, a long trail in the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
