Overlooked(133)

"I can't do it."

"Do what?" My throat is so tight I struggle to get the words out.

"This. Us. We're too different. I'm not from your world. I don't belong in it any more than you belong in mine."

"For fuck's sake, Skye, enough with the different-worlds bullshit." I'm struggling to contain myself now. I always control myself. Always. Part of me knows I should get out of here now, go and calm down and then come back. But Skye's so upset, I can't bear the thought of leaving her like this.

"It's not bullshit! You have no idea how important that job at Kelso's was to me. And now I've lost it, all because you didn't take it seriously."

"Hey, I didn't make you take your clothes off yesterday. If I remember right, you didn't object to the idea for one second. And you sure as hell weren't complaining by the end."

Her cheeks turn the color of her puffy eyes. For a moment a coy smile almost graces her face, but not quite.

Skye swallows, and says, "It was a momentary lapse in judgement."

"I don't think it was a lapse at all. I think it was the best way I've ever spent a morning."

"It cost me my first commission and my dream."

I smirk. "You were painting a pussy, is that really your dream?"

"It was only one painting of ten! Plus he was funding a gallery showing. Now I've lost the commission and the show, because of you."

"I would love to fund a show for you. Not because you're sleeping with me, but because you're talented."

She shakes her head. "No. It's best if I don't wrap myself up in your life anymore than I already have."

"Listen to me. The reality is, I'm going to crush Kelso in the courts. When I get through with him, he won't have money left over to pay for gallery shows."

"That sounds an awful lot like a pissing contest to me."

I close my eyes. My heart is racing and my throat feels like I'm being strangled. I'm not even sure what's going on.

"My issues with Kelso are nothing to do with you. Why can't you see that?"

"Stop."

"No, I will not stop. Why can't you see how much you mean to me?"

"I'm just another poor person you think you can order around and use."

"You know what I think it is? I think you don't want to see it. Fuck, twenty-four hours ago your toes were curled from my touch, and now all of a sudden you want me to leave?"

"Go. Leave. Now." She pushes me toward the door. She's using all her strength and I don't want to physically resist her.

"What's wrong with you, Skye? Why do you keep making up shit in your head?"

I cross the threshold and she slams the door shut, and the bolt snaps a second later. My entire body is numb.

"Let me back in, let me talk to you," I say, pounding on the door.

There's nothing, only silence.

Defeated, I drag my feet to my car and sit in it. In my daze, I can't even turn the engine on. The only place I want to go is back inside with Skye.

I send a text.

Talk to me.

Leave me alone, I have to get on with my life.

I need you in my life.

I don't belong in your life.

The door doesn't open again, even after twenty minutes. Reluctantly, I switch my car on. In the slowest speed any Maserati has ever gone, I back out of the driveway.





Becoming Taylor Swift

(Skye)



Tears flow from my eyes as I bury my face in my pillow. After I sent the last text to Lawson, I turn off my phone. I don't want to read his messages. And I certainly don't want to speak to him on the phone.

My heart is crushing in my chest, enough that I worry I might actually die. If this is what it feels like to break up with someone, then I'm glad I didn't date in high school or college. This pain is unbearable.

I'm so angry at myself for allowing myself to date someone like Lawson. I should've known from the start that it was a bad idea. What is someone like me, a poor artist, ever going to offer a billionaire? It could only ever end in nothing but heartache for me.   





 

How could I let myself get in the middle of Lawson and Kelso? To be a stupid little pawn in their billionaire game?

Lesson learned. From now on, I will stay far away from anyone who isn't like me. If I can't find a poor, starving artist I can identify with, then I'd rather be alone.

But that doesn't make the pain that I'm feeling right now hurt any less.

Lying on my bed is only making things worse. There's nothing to distract me, and right now I need to be distracted.

I drag my feet down the hall into my studio. The earrings on the tree painting is still waiting to be finished. Gordon is pressuring me for more paintings to sell, and I can easily get this finished by the end of the day for him.

After preparing all my paints and putting on my smock, I stand in front of the painting.

Nothing.

I try sitting down in front of the painting.

Still nothing.

This isn't something I've experienced before. It's a complete absence of any feeling other than hurt and pain. I can't bring myself to touch the painting like this, I'd ruin it.

I sit for a few moments, staring at the painting and looking around the room. Tears are about to start flowing again but I bite them back.

Without thinking, I spring from my seat and set aside the mostly finished painting in the next room. I put three fresh, blank canvases on the three easels and pick up my brush.

If ever I had a need for an outlet, this is it.

Fuelled with hurt, anger and pain, I fling paint at the canvases. I scrape blacks and browns and blues over them, each color a representation of my emotion.

My arms work furiously, not caring if the paint lands on the canvas, floor or wall. Even the windows become flecked with paint.

I'm busy chucking reds at the canvases when Ava opens the door.

"What's happening? I'd think you were taking your painting in a new direction, but the look on your face tells a different story."

My tears had drained ages ago, but I'm sure their streaks still stain my face.

"I broke up with Lawson." My voice is flat, monotonous, as if the three new paintings sucked up anything that was left of my soul.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry."

Ava moves across the room and stands at my side. She puts her arms up to hug me before taking them away again. I look down at myself, there's as much paint on me as there is on the canvases.

"I lost my commission, and Lawson doesn't even care," I say, my voice descending until I'm blubbering by the time I finish. I wipe my eyes on the backs of my hands, smearing fresh paint on my cheeks.

"That's terrible. You lost the commission at the mansion?"

"Yes. Kelso and Lawson knew each other. They're rivals, and Lawson used me to get at Kelso." I'm not sure how much of that she understands, given how difficult it must be to make out the words between my sobs.

"How awful of him. You poor thing. Don't worry, dear, the thing about men is it hurts when things go bad, but there's always another one around the corner."

I sob even harder. I don't want another one. I want Lawson. At least I did. I can't imagine how another man could ever make me laugh as much as him. Or make me feel the way he made me feel.

"Your emotions are apparent in these paintings. They're actually quite powerful. I know abstract isn't normally your thing, but I bet you can sell these."

"Great, I'm like Taylor Swift."

"Who?"

"She's a singer who makes a fortune writing about all her breakups."

"Well, there you go. You can be the art world's Taylor Swift." The comment makes me laugh, and lightens my mood.

"What do I do?"

"You keep painting. I know you're heartbroken about losing that commission, but I don't think you have to worry too much. I just got back from seeing Gordon, and he said he gets at least a phone call a day asking about you. Now the Texas couple and a man from Ohio are demanding the right to outbid whoever offers to buy your next work. With a bidding war going on, who knows how much they'll go for."

My mouth drops open. I can't believe that my art really, truly, finally seems to be getting noticed. I would love to concentrate on the work I want to do instead of what Kelso wants me to do. Especially his stupid pussy painting.

In bed that night, I once again drench my pillows with tears. I can no longer resist, and turn my phone back on. It immediately dings with several missed phone calls and texts, all from Lawson.

Phone me.

You don't need Kelso with your talent.

Why do you believe Kelso over me?

I would never hurt you.

The last text is from noon. Eleven hours ago. I can't bring myself to read all the earlier texts and switch the phone back off.

Would he hurt me? I sigh through my sobs. There's no way to know.

It doesn't matter anyway. Like Ava and my college professors and so many of my art friends insisted on a million times - the rich don't belong in our worlds, and we sure as hell don't belong in theirs.

Until I met Lawson, I'd always believed their arguments.

The connection I'd felt with Lawson made me stupid enough to believe that they were wrong; that I could be in his world, and he in mine.

I laugh through my tears, remembering our first date, and how I made him take me to the cheapest restaurant I could think of, just so I could judge how out of place he was in it. I told him it was because I wanted to go somewhere fast as an excuse to get him to go. Did he realize what my real reason was?

Lawson did okay in it, at least it seemed that way at the time. Probably my head was too clouded from the overwhelming desire to kiss him to notice any different.