Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Travis
PRESENT DAY
Like every day of my life, I find myself on this multicolored and hardened stool. The mark of my career and the place where I’ve achieved to pour out my entire being. I do the same today, holding a blue-whetted brush in my right hand, hovering over a bare canvas. For the first time, I don’t know what to bring to life on this white surface.
I’ve always known.
To be fair, most of what I paint is from every single emotion I’ve ever felt in my days, from the happy to the sad, all of them. Which is why it’s strange not knowing how I’m feeling at the moment. It’s all void. And in that void, I’m fighting to find something so I can paint it down.
My mind roams off to memories of Simon and his early milestones, such as his first steps, his first words, and his first successful school play in the last two years. Typically, in these moments, I find inspiration and quickly sketch a vision that could potentially become a valuable painting worth hundreds or even millions. I don’t do this for the money, but I’d be lying if I say it’s not an amazing plus and a pleasant drive. I turn to the side and land on some of the quick art those memories have gotten me, leaning on the table leg and rubbing it in my face that I once was good.
It’s not working anymore. My muse is not working anymore.
I slam the brush on the palette, and my body warms up, and my hands are tingling. I feel uncomfortable sitting here with nothing but empty thoughts. What’s wrong with me? I haven’t stroked a line in a week. A week. Am I really over this or is this just a fluke?
I rush up, scraping off these thoughts. It’s not the time for me to be wondering what’s wrong with me. I must do something about it. But what exactly?
I could finish that last big painting I’ve been dreading telling my mother about, but I don’t feel like it, and starting another isn’t going well either. So, I’m stuck.
I walk towards my collection of paintings at the far right, where hangs the eloquent fox. Every time I see it, a ginger head comes to mind, and on normal days, I brush it off, knowing she’s just a memory I’ve been holding onto, but I can’t do that anymore. Her face remains engraved in my mind, her smile constantly replaying and her voice continuing to send shivers down my spine. All because she’s no longer a memory. She’s here. Real, and a few houses away from me and I can’t even bring myself to stop thinking about her.
I hate to admit it, but I want to see her again. Since that night at the lake, the fear of losing her has surged up like a fireball and it isn’t good. I was moving on from her—so close, at least—but she had to come back and rail me back in.
Eye to eye, the fox and I share a look. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. The night I had painted this, I was out of my mind, devastated by the thought of never seeing Isabella again. I had gotten the news she was off town and probably never coming back. It was such bullshit, I couldn’t even stumble down and cry. She ran away. Away from me, our relationship, our bond, and it did nothing but fuel the anger in me. Then this fox came to be. Its eyes resonate with pure dusk. Just like how my mind is right now, it shows no emotion, only blankly staring at the other staring back at it. Me , at this moment.
That was all I saw the night she broke things off. Nothing. Her eyes were dark and empty as if she had prepped for all the things she wanted to say, all to get it over quickly. Now that I think about it, she did a number on me. Her big one, to be honest. And for me to still want her around me says a lot about myself. I’m weak for her.
But it’s hard to shake off what I went through. This fox painting was the beginning of years of longing, alongside hundreds of other paintings that showed aspects of Isabella I had wished to see and experience that night. And some others are for her to see how much she had destroyed the shell covering my heart. Like the Blue Wagon, for instance. A little boy feeling up the sea with his tears. That was me. The consequences of her words. Me.
I guess that’s it. That’s my problem.
I only find inspiration through her mess. And now that she’s back, I can’t seem to think back to that time when she wasn’t here and paint them down. She’s my muse, and she always has been. It’s her.
Down on the floor, I find another one of her masterpieces. All these canvases aren’t mine, really. Every stroke I’ve ever let flow on them was never from me, nor were they meant for a million eyes to yearn for. They are from her for her. Her art piece was nineteen-year-old Travis, and everything he did after that was an extension of her.
“Oh, wow,” I murmur after setting my eyes on a different painting of a hand accessorized with a diamond ring. This feels like I’m walking through memory lane but with every piece I’ve kept hidden from the public. Damn, was I smitten. I can’t believe I was ready to submit myself to a girl at that age while all she was thinking about was a way to stab me. Figuratively speaking, of course.
God, was I na?ve.
“Who’s hand is that?” a voice sneaks up on me and I jump up, knocking on a few canvases.
I turn to see a person I had wished not to see for another week. Olivia Hawksley. She stands there with a deviant smile on her face. Her short, dark hair sits on her shoulder, covering her leather jacket collar. And she wraps her hands around a blue journal on her chest, instantly catching my eye. She looks so innocent with her legs in a parallel straight line and it almost makes me burst out laughing. Olivia is not an innocent woman, and her trying to look like one only calms the storm, not the hurricane.
“What are you doing here?” I say out loud, still taken aback by her sudden appearance.
After shutting down her advances a few days ago, I haven’t seen her around. Initially, I assumed she was ignoring me because she was upset or something—which was reasonable—but now that she’s here, perhaps I was the one ignoring her.
“I wanted to show you something.”
“Not another drawing, I hope. I get it, you’re good, but you’ll never get me to admit you’re better than me.” I pick up the canvases I had knocked down and arrange them. She chuckles, staring down at me.
One thing Olivia and I have in common is our love for pictures on paper. She loves to draw, maybe even more than I do, and it’s something I admire. It’s what brought us together and to this day, it’s the only thing we share. She’s more of a portrait kind of girl, while I’m stuck on landscape and my ex-girlfriend.
At first, I was ecstatic about the idea of sharing a passion with another who took it as seriously as I did. The boys and I do a lot together, but painting isn’t one of them. The only thing Tyrone loves more than his sister, Skyla, is basketball. Dan’s entire personality is Raina and Billy… I can’t even imagine a world where we have something in common. Recently, he got into music and has been doing pretty well with his new band and touring with them, but for the sake of our friendship, I’ll say the only thing we have in common is us being public figures.
So, of course, when Tyrone introduced Olivia to me, I was more than happy to spend time with her and share our pieces for constructive criticism or pure admiration. I just didn’t think those times meant more to her than they did to me.
She firmly puts her lips together, sucking them inwards in a devious smile. “You know you love my drawings, Travis,” she says.
“I do, but?—”
“Do you have anything better to do?” she asks. I look behind her and the blank canvas still sits on the easel, pushing me away.
I deeply exhale. “Show away.”
Her shoulders wiggle as she closes the gap between us and walks towards me. The journal in her hands opens and the papers rustle as she passes through them to a specific page. I’ve seen her sketches enough to know that whatever she’s about to show me is going to be good and, as always, I’ll have to tell her that.
She holds the journal and shows it to me. Ohhh.
“Olivia,” I say her name as if I’m scared someone might walk in and question what’s going on in here. I grab the journal from her hand and bring it closer so I can confirm I’m not imagining things.
“What do you think? Do you like it?”
“When did you?—”
I can’t look away. My eyes search for every detail this drawing contains, and it’s baffling. It’s a drawing of me in my car, looking sharp and sophisticated. Both things I’m not. It is creepy as much as it is admiring because she did it so well.
“I was walking back home from the cafe and saw you drive by. Obviously, you didn’t see me, but I saw you.” Her last words sound flirtatious, but I ignore them.
I’ve already made myself clear to her about where we stand, and now that I’m seeing this drawing, it complicates things. I don’t have any feelings for her whatsoever, but I do value our friendship.
“It looks good. You definitely captured my facial structure and expression. Kudos to you.” I resume to a review. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, and I paint moments I’ve shared with my ex-girl. “But why did you draw this?” I ask, but I’m not expecting an answer from her. “I thought I had made myself clear nothing was going to happen between you and me.” I continue, closing the journal and looking back up at her.
“You did.” She slowly comes closer to me. “But I think you misinterpreted my words last time.” I can feel her breath at how close she is to me. “Of course, not the liking part. I really do like you and find you admirable. But I’m not looking to put a ring on my finger anytime soon.” Her eyes open wide as she looks up at me, and her head tilts to the side.
Olivia isn’t incredibly short, but I still have to bend my head a bit to keep the eye contact going. “What do you say?” she murmurs.
I blink at least ten times before clearing my throat. Suddenly, it’s hot in here. “It’s still a no, Olivia. I didn’t think you were looking for something serious, either. It’s just that I’m not ready to be out there yet.”
“But we’re inside right now, so what’s stopping you?” She takes another step closer and her hands brush mine as I hold the journal. It’s barely clipped by my fingers, and I feel it sliding down from them. I look down, and it’s now in her hands. “You can’t possibly think I’m stupid enough to not notice the glances you’ve been stealing from me?”
I lift my eyebrows, curious about which glances she’s talking about. “At basically every dinner party at Dan’s. Every event of Dweller Keys.” Dweller Keys being Billy’s four-member band name. “At the fair last month. Hell, even right now,” she continues.
I immediately look away, stepping back.
“I don’t think I ever did, Olivia. Respectfully, I don’t think of you like that. As a friend, for sure, but nothing more,” I clarify.
I’m not sure if I actually glanced at her at said moments, but one thing I know is that if I did, they were fondly and not romantic in any form. I remember last month’s fair, though. That one, I’m sure of where my mind was, and it wasn’t on her.
“How would you know if you don’t—” She invades my space once more, but this time, she’s extremely close to my lips, and I nuzzle her away.
“Olivia!” I say out loud. Louder than intended.
“Just this once. Kiss me,” she murmurs, her eyes as bubbly as a cat. “If you feel nothing after one kiss, I’ll back off.” Her free hand plays with my fingers and she wraps my index finger with hers, gently caressing my skin with her thumb.
I don’t move. Our eyes lock and I feel myself wavering to her touch. “One kiss, Travis,” she whispers, her eyes falling on my lips and her body yearning for mine as she closes the slight gap between us. I feel her lips brush on mine and it feels like I’m stuck on the ground.
Move, move, move. I scream inside, but her hot breath wafts on me, and I chase the thought away. And by her grip on my hand, I think she can feel my lack of restraint. She attempts to kiss me, but a squeak stops her in her tracks. The door. I quickly look over her shoulder and she turns around to face it as well.
I’ve never been terrified to a point where I feel my guts twirl until this very moment. The same girl with hair equivalent to a sun kiss and a visible beauty mark I haven’t had the chance to look up close for a while, stands by the door, motionless. I close my eyes, wishing for her to disappear and for this to just be a nightmare.
“Sorry, I should’ve knocked.” Her voice staggers as she speaks, and I wish even harder. I’ll offer my life’s savings for a chance to go back to thirty seconds ago and save myself from this throbbing feeling in my chest.
The door slams shut, and I open my eyes. Olivia looks at me, a fraction in the same state as I am. “Please tell me that wasn’t who I think it was,” I say, hoping for her to reassure me.
“I don’t know, did you see Isabella?” she asks and my shoulders drop. Fuck me.
I rush past Olivia toward the door. I don’t know what I plan on saying once I catch up to Isabella, but I have to go after her. My body is driving me to her, and I don’t have the strength to stop it from doing so.
As I take my steps, I feel a pull. “What do you think you’re doing?” Olivia’s hand grips my wrist, putting me to a halt.
“Going after her.”
She pulls me closer to her. “Travis,” she says as if that is enough to put sense into me. I know what she’s trying to say. I don’t owe Isabella anything. Even less, an explanation for whatever was about to happen before she walked in. But I can’t help but feel the need to.
“Sorry,” I whisper before sprinting out of my workspace. I won’t allow Isabella to walk out of here thinking… I don’t know what she‘s even thinking.
“Isabella!” I scream after her. Her heels loudly thud down the street, making it easy to find and follow her.
“I’m sorry I walked in on you. It’s my fault.” She competes with my voice as she says even louder, still walking further away from me.
“It’s not what you think.”
She stops and I slow down.
I let out a frustrated breath before I say, “Nothing happened back there. We didn’t do anything.” She turns around and faces me, her eyes slightly squinted and a subtle frown on her face.
“But if I hadn’t walked in…”
“We still wouldn’t have done anything,” I lie. All I know is, I wasn’t moving and our lips had grazed on each other. If she hadn’t walked in when she did, something would’ve happened. Not that I would have liked it, but it would’ve happened, nonetheless.
“You know what? It doesn’t even matter. You’re your own person, you’re free to date whoever you like. Besides, we’re not together, so you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She swings her hands around as she expresses herself. Those little gestures scream more than her words. It’s fun to watch.
“Isabella.” I try to get closer.
“I’m fine. Really. Go back. She’s probably waiting for you.” And she steps back.
“I’m here with you, right now,” I say. “I don’t want you to think something is going on between Olivia and me.”
Isabella looks at me, her lips shut and her bun loosening from her body shakes. She’s never looked as beautiful as she is at this moment. I don’t know why, but I want this conversation to continue. It’s the closest we’ve had to a confrontation, and though I hate the circumstances in which it’s happening, I’m here for it.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because…”
“Travis, you seriously don’t have to do this.”
“I want to. I feel like if I don’t make things clear, I’ll regret it. So, let me.”
She exhales, and I take it as an agreement.
I finally get to her and she’s standing straight without a single muscle in her body shifting. I look down and her fingers are in a fist, so tight that if I could touch them, they’d be solid rock.
“I saw you kissing a girl, so what? Big deal. We’re friends, aren’t we? So you don’t have to feel guilty about anything. Besides, it’s been years. I’m sure you’ve kissed other women after me. I just happen to walk in on this one.” She speaks as fast as lightning, but with chuckles lessening it up. “It’s no big deal.” She shrugs.
“It is a big deal, Isabella. Because instead of staying there as you so wish for me to, I’m here. With you.”
“Travis,” she exhales.
“There hasn’t been anyone after you, just so you know. And even if there were, you know no one compares to you.”
Her lips part as she prepares to speak, and I close it up as quickly as I say, “I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“I’ll work with Maurney and showcase my paintings for the auction. Just this once.”
Her jaw drops. Literally . I place my forefinger underneath her chin and slowly lift her head, closing her mouth. “But on one condition,” I say.
I finally get to see that beauty mark I’ve been craving to see since the day I saw her in the outbuilding. It’s the same as the first time I saw it at the fair. Dark, complimenting, adorable, and hypnotizing, all at once. Her eyes bubble up at me, staring deep into my soul, and I keep my hand where it is. God, I have missed this. Her skin, her lips, her eyes—her heart. I knew that when the moment was to present itself where I was to see her again, I would fold like a fucking pretzel. So, I held it in for as long as I could. But then she told me she was going to leave again, and it shut me down in an instant.
We’re friends. I said that. So, I should act like one. Friends help each other out, and to be honest, her offer is one I couldn’t resist even if she was my worst enemy. It’s been six years. That’s long enough for me to be comfortable around her again, right? So, let that be.
“Anything,” she rushes to say.
“You handle my pieces and only you. If I’m going to do this, I want you.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I shift back. “Oh, so you don’t want to work with me?” I turn to walk back to my house. “Fine. Whatever you say.” I fold my arms to my chest, and slowly put one foot ahead of the other, eyeing if she’s going to follow me.
Her heels thud even louder this time and a smile draws on my face. “Don’t be silly. Of course, it’ll be my pleasure to work with the grand and exceptional mystery boy.” She flutters as she grabs my arm. I don’t think she’s even realized it yet as she swings forward to look at me, a wide smile on her face, and hands tight on my arm.
“Mystery boy?”
“You don’t have to know.” Her teeth align in front of me as she smiles wide, cramping my chest. Gorgeous.
“It’s good to have you back,” I whisper, eye to eye. This feels good. It feels right. Looking at her just makes me feel at ease, no matter what’s flooding my mind, and I hate she does that to me.
The moment quickly shifts from peals of laughter to both of us questioning what my words mean. I don’t know what they mean, but I am glad she’s here, even if it’s for a short while.
Who am I even kidding? I hate that she has to leave again. But I won’t sit back and take this time for granted anymore. I am entitled to the reason she did what she did on that night on the fourth of July. And I’ll get it. She will tell me the truth, regardless of whether she likes it.
“It’s good to be back.” She beams.