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Her motions were quick but focused, which told me this addition had been planned from the start. She didn’t paint with any hesitation, as though she were making it up on the spot. The red went on the bodice, surrounding the hand. She used white and brown to vary the shades of red and added a thick, dripping line down the painting.
Layering in the shadows and highlights would take a long time more, to finish it all, but when she set the paintbrush down after another twenty minutes, the truth of the painting was obvious.
The horror of it, the pain, it bled just like the wound the woman in the painting carried. Kenz had painted, for the first time I’d seen, herself.
This was her on her wedding day, the day when her father had shot her.
Kenz
My hand shook as I stared at the painting before me. I recalled the shock from that day, the pain, the crushing sense of loss as everything I thought I’d known had slipped away.
I’d never painted myself before. If a class required a ‘self-portrait’ I’d always managed to get out of it. Somehow, the moment I considered drawing myself, my mind would blank.
Perhaps I didn’t really see myself, or maybe I just didn’t want to face myself. Even this time, I’d not included my face.
My face didn’t matter. What mattered here was that wound, the scar I still carried that sank deeper than the bullet ever had.
I tried to keep my breathing slow, but my heart had already started to race. A phantom pain in my side reminded me of how I’d felt before I’d ever recognized the sound of the gunshot. It all threatened to collapse in on me, to drown me in the reds that now covered the painting.
And along with those reds? The white of the dress felt just as threatening. It took me back to walking down that aisle, to the way the stylist had yanked on the strings at the back to tighten it, the way it had stolen my breath before she’d done up that line of buttons.
Warmth on my back made me jump, as if it were the muzzle of a gun instead of a hand.
“Sorry,” Grisham said, pulling his hand away at my reaction.
I blinked slowly to try to center myself. Falling apart in front of Vance would be bad enough, but I didn’t want Grisham to see this part of me. He didn’t even have the background to understand why I reacted like that—and I didn’t want him to.
Another hand wrapped around my hip and pulled me away from Grisham, putting distance between us. I found myself against a familiar solid form, and Vance’s scent helped settle my racing mind. He slid his arm around me, keeping me against his side, as though to reassure me that I wasn’t back there, wasn’t in that dress, wasn’t bleeding out.
It let me pull in a shaky breath.
“You did well,” Grisham said, his voice drawing my attention. He stared at me, not seeming bothered or surprised at all about Vance’s actions. Then again, as far as everyone knew, we were dating. “You captured something good here, something powerful. This is an example of what you’re capable of when you dig deep inside yourself, when you use that to pull those things out of others.”
He turned his gaze back to the painting, his lips curling into a smile full of pride. “I knew you had this in you, that you understood the depths of pain and could show it to others. Don’t forget how you feel right now, becausethisis where your power comes from.” He took a step backward. “If you keep this up, the exhibit will be a success, so stay in that same place. I look forward to seeing what you’ve got the next time we meet.”
Grisham took a few steps away, then paused to look at Vance. “And it was nice to meet you, as well. I hope you can continue to support Kenz and help do what’s best for her.” With that, he left.
After he was gone, my knees stopped doing their job. It was like, without him there, I couldn’t keep myself together quite as well.
Maybe I just feel like I can break down with only Vance here to see.
Normally I had to be strong, had to pretend to be okay so I didn’t worry people, so they didn’t see my weakness. Something about Vance made me not feel as though I had to do that.
Vance took my weight easily, and nowhere in my mind did I fear I’d fall. Despite how Vance could frustrate me, I trusted him to hold on to me.
He shifted me, sliding an arm beneath my knees and lifting me against his chest. I didn’t fight it, setting my head against him, following his steady breaths and trying to match mine to his.
He set me down on the bench where he’d sat, then knelt in front of me. He was taller, which meant I barely had to look down to see his familiar blue eyes.
He really is handsome.It was almost annoying how good looking he was. He was talented, rich, popular. Why the hell did he have to be so attractive as well?Fate sure had given him far too many helping hands, hadn’t it?
His lips curled up on one side. “This isn’t the place to stare at me like that, you know?”
His words, calling me out, made me laugh. It loosened that tightness in my chest, the panic attack that had started.
“Better. You feeling okay, now?”
“Yeah, I am. Thanks—and sorry.”
