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The fourth day ends.
The sun rises on the fifth and I’m running on three hours of rest.
My face is heavy.
My hands feel like muck.
The painting is nearly done.
I’m in the final stretch, performing tiny adjustments, scouring the entire thing to make sure there’s not a single microscopic mistake. My face is so close to the canvas that I think I’m getting high on paint fumes. Maybe that’s just exhaustion.
It doesn’t matter—all I want to do in this entire world is finish the damn painting.
“You need to eat something.”
I jump, turn around expecting Marina, and find Erick waiting at the doorway instead.
I rub my eyes, thinking it’s a mirage. I haven’t seen him in five days, not since this nightmare started, and I was beginning to wonder if my sick, overworked mind made him up.
Which is stupid, since he’s the whole reason I’m doing this, and then I wonder if maybe I’m not doing anything at all and I’m actually at home in my apartment, and that’s about the time I realize Ireallyneed to sleep.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I blurt out, unable to help myself.
Seems that reaching rock bottom also means losing all my inhibitions. Good to know.
“What are you talking about?” He looks confused as he walks toward me with a tray of food. Saltines, a big bowl of soup, some tea.
Precious tea. I snatch it away and chug it down, despite the heat, which makes me start doing that gasping fish thing where I’m sucking down air and blowing it out to cool my scalded mouth. He gets me water, which helps, and when I’m finally able to speak, I pin him with a sharp glare.
“I mean, I haven’t seen you in days. Where the hell have you been?”
He still looks confused. “I’ve been here.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Hellie, who do you think’s been bringing you food and dragging you off to bed? Who’s been shoving you into the shower so you don’t smell like a rotten pumpkin? Who’s been making sure you’re drinking water? Who’s been encouraging you?”
I frown at him. Those are great questions. “Uh, Marina.”
“I don’t pay her enough to wash your back. My god, you’re an absolute wreck. You really don’t remember any of that?”
“I’ve been busy,” I mumble, feeling stupid, because now that he mentions it, I actually do remember someone scrubbing me down and washing behind my ears, which is admirably thorough, but very humiliating. “That was all you?”
“Yes, Hellie. I haven’t abandoned you at all. I’ve been right here, day and night, keeping you from killing yourself.” He kneels down and stares into my eyes. “You’re done, aren’t you? Is that why you’re with me again?”
“I mean—” I bite my lip, staring at the painting, and for the first time in maybe a few days, I can actually see it.
The whole thing. Not the tiny details, not the pieces I’ve been obsessed over for the last few hours, but the entire picture.
It’s gorgeous.
And flawless.
He’s right—it’s like I’ve surfaced from somewhere dark and comfortable, like forcing my way out from a womb.
“You’re finished,” he says, squeezing my knees. “That’s why you’re coming back out.”
“Back out of what? What the hell happened to me?”
