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“Good. And while you’re at it, stay the fuck out of my head.” Dani whirls, heading back toward the house just as her security guard rounds the corner.
But her final comment strikes deep in my heart, telling me so much more than I think she intended to say. I’m what’s haunting her dreams at night. I’m what’s waking her at three in the morning. And I wonder just what I’ve become in those nightmares.
“Dani,” I rasp, striding out from beneath the protection of the trees in my desperation to capture her attention.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the security guard pick up his pace as he goes for the radio nestled in his ear. Calling for backup, most likely.
To my relief, Dani stops, turning in the middle of the street to face me. This time, I keep my distance, knowing I only have a few moments to say what I need to say.
“Believe what you will of me, but know that I would never hurt you. I’m glad you have guards to watch over you, but I will always be here if you need me. And you will never need protection from me,” I murmur, willing her to believe me. If nothing else, I hope that might bring her a modicum of peace and allow her a night’s sleep.
And yet Dani’s expression only twists with pain. “But I do, Efrem. You took everything from me. You broke my trust. You broke my heart. And still, you keep coming back for more. I have nothing left to give you. So just, please, let me mourn in peace.”
My breath catches in my throat, choking me as her words hit me in the gut. Then her security guard is stepping between us, his hand on the firearm at his hip as he pulls Dani protectively behind him.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now,” he commands, keeping his eyes locked on me as he urges Dani back toward the house.
She does so willingly, casting one last glance in my direction before she races up the steps and inside.
Raising my hands to show I’m unarmed, I back away slowly. From the corner of my eye, I spot two more guards approaching from either side of the block—likely men stationed at the back of the house who are coming to serve as reinforcements.
“I will go,” I state, continuing to put space between us. And when I reach the far side of the street, I turn and make my way purposefully down the sidewalk.
It’s not the first time I’ve faced armed hostility, and it certainly won’t be the last. But Dani’s final words to me echo through my hollow chest, leaving me with the sickening feeling of loss that I’ve refused to accept until now.
22
DANI
“This week, I want your art to focus on emotion. I don’t care what you paint. I want it to have meaning to you. Good. Bad. Ugly. Paint your favorite childhood memory or the thing that scares you most in the world. Whatever it is, I want you to apply what we’ve learned about color theory over the last several weeks,” Professor Edwards, my Oil and Acrylic Painting instructor, explains as my fellow students and I sit on stools in front of our fresh white canvases.
Creative vision has always been where Silvia thrives. Though she works with charcoal more often than acrylic, like we are today, she’s the one who insisted I take this class—sure that I would love it even if my first passion is photography.
And overall, she’s been right. But today, as I think of her and think of the assignment I’m supposed to complete, all I feel is heavy darkness. It doesn’t help that I’m functioning off of such little sleep.
But I couldn’t manage to turn my mind off after confronting Efrem last night. It kills me to have to keep seeing him. Every time I do, I miss him terribly. It leaves a hollow ache in my chest that just won’t quite go away. But I can’t forgive him for my brother’s death. I can’t forgive any of them.
I’m so full of grief and loss that it haunts me, consuming me every waking moment of the day—and often into my dreams as well. The torture of it feels as though it’s slowly going to drive me insane.
Taking a deep breath, I glance toward the girl’s canvas to my right. She’s already started, her blank slate transforming into something colorful and sunny in appearance. However, I can’t quite make out what her vision will be just yet.
I need to get started.
Still unsure of what I might possibly want to create, I instead focus on the color of my thoughts, applying what Professor Edwards has taught us as I go for the deep purple paint and collect some on my brush.
Brows furrowed in concentration, I work silently as the professor makes her way around the room, offering gentle suggestions and encouraging remarks to the students that sit closer to the front of the room.
Earlier in the semester, I would have been one of those students, but now, I find the back of the class to be a haven of sorts, somewhere I can get away with losing attention as my fragmented thoughts so often lead to these days.
Slowly, the colors in my painting start to take shape, and within the curving strokes and sharp angles, a face begins to form. At first, I wonder if it might not be Ben, coming to check in on me—a figment of my imagination, I know.
But even as I add the blue irises staring out from beneath the strong brow, I can’t quite find him in the painting. I go to work on the nose next, allowing my hand to guide my vision, focusing only on the intense emotion of my color, the love, the loss, the anger.
Each color is vivid but not like the vibrant spring colors I lean toward in my outfits. No, these find no harmony together. They clash in a violent array of reds and greens and eggplant purples that bleed into an ugly shade of brown. The blue offers the only reprieve aside from the white of the canvas. And the sky color, while typically optimistic, looks lost in the sea of tumultuous paint.
“Wow, Dani,” Professor Edwards says from behind me, drawing me out of deep concentration.
I start, realizing I’ve been so lost in my efforts that I hadn’t realized she was close by. Turning to look at her smooth complexion and cinnamon-colored eyes, I bite my lip as I think I might have taken the project too far.
