5. Colette
5
Colette
‘ F air, but you don't look so good. Are you okay?’
His words resound in my head as I walk into the house, pissed. Antonio is still the same prick that I had always known him to be. His guts, though. Did he not think about stuff before opening his mouth to speak?
He was arrogant as always and didn't realize just how offensive he sounded. What a jerk!
“Argh!” I groan in frustration. “What a piece of shit.”
Tossing my bag on the sofa in the living-room, I throw my hands into my hair. Spray paint cans clatter out, their metal bodies clinking against each other. The sound of pressurized paint hisses softly as it escapes from one can, filling the air with a sharp, chemical scent.
“He doesn't look so good himself — I mean, the Antonio Amato I used to know was a lot bigger than the guy I just saw,” I mumble to myself, trying to mask the hurt of his words.
The two of us have never been cool with each other. In fact, we were always at each other's throats, never seeing eye to eye, even though he is my brother's best friend.
It suddenly hit me I wasn't imagining things when I saw that light in the Amato mansion the other day. Obviously, it was Antonio that turned it on.
Last I heard, he was a musician or something, so what the hell is he doing back here?
His words got to me more than I care to admit, and that is the reason for my outburst. My only consolation is that I didn't let him get away with making me feel less of myself.
I had attacked him back with the same energy, but it wasn't enough. I wish I had slapped that silly smirk off his face. I know I am not as attractive as before, thanks to my current predicament, but I don’t need a reminder–much less from him.
With a deep sigh, I try to calm down and not let him get to me anymore. I should be used to his attitude by now, but I can never be used to that man. We are two parallel lines that will never meet. Sometimes, I wonder if he enjoys pissing me off, and so maybe that is why he always gets on my nerves.
The smell of the paints that filled the air catches my attention, and I turn to look at a couple of cans laying carelessly on the floor. These paint cans are my joy, the only things keeping me sane.
Painting is the one thing keeping me going; it expresses all my pain and anxiety. I have been painting on walls across the town—basically anything that I can draw upon. This routine has been of so much help to me. It’s like therapy for my soul.
Never at any point in my life, as an artist, have I even thought about venturing into street art because I didn't think I would have any reason to do so. My brand and street art weren’t a fit for it. However, given the turnout of events, street art has proven so helpful to me now, especially as a coping mechanism.
Whispers of a mysterious street artist have flown far and wide across the entire town, and people are talking. My work is getting more attention than I am. Ironic.
No one knows who the artist is, but they appreciate the work, and that is a big win in my book. Then there is the sheriff's department and their anti-graffiti ordinances. I have been lying low and have been very careful when engaging in my covert activities.
My mind drifts back to Antonio Amato, and I really hope that he hadn't seen the paint cans flopping out of my bag. And even if he had, I hope he wasn't smart enough to make anything out of it. Besides, it could have been a coincidence that I have spray paints in my bag when there is a mysterious street painter at large in town…. right?
Exhaling sharply, I walk over to gather the cans littered across the floor, then neatly stow them back in my bag, securing it with a zip.
Now a lot calmer, I think about how Antonio looked a few minutes ago. Anger at his demeaning words has clouded my eyes, but in fact, he is a lot hotter than I remember him to be.
He's not so bad.
However, I couldn't help but notice that he seemed lonely, and that there was a familiar darkness in his eyes. Behind that arrogance was a broken man battling with his own demons.
I guess what they say is true. It takes one to know one.
Something was definitely up with him and whatever it was, it wasn't good. But I don't have the luxury to worry about him right now.
Just like Antonio, I have my own demons lurked within me. They are the ones keeping me up late at night, plaguing my sleep with nightmares. The battle with them is the reason I look the way I do — the reason he had the effrontery to address me with disregard for my feelings.
It hurt, but he was right. I am not the woman I used to be. I used to be a lot more vibrant than this. However, life happened and here I am, looking like a warrior beaten down by several battles.
Like the name of the town, Shadow's Bend, my spirit is bent, broken, and I am wallowing in the shadows of the darkness that have completely enveloped my life.
No matter how hard I try to mask my pain, it still shows. I am like the walking dead, looking all pale and shabby, which is why I have been avoiding familiar faces. I don't want anyone being nosy about my life.
I let out a sharp exhale and head straight for the bathroom, intending to see what Antonio had seen.
The door opens, and I walk inside, turn on the faucet, and wash my face. With both hands on the concrete sink, I jerk my head to look at my reflection. With a heavy sigh, I wipe a hand over the misted glass and gaze at the clear image of the woman looking back at me.
The harsh fluorescent light casts an unflattering glow, accentuating the dark circles under my eyes. I blink slowly, my eyelids feeling heavy.
Tossing and turning most nights has taken its toll. My reflection is a mere shadow of my former self - the rosy warmth has drained from my cheeks, leaving a sallow paleness behind.
I instinctively hug my arms across my midsection, as if trying to hold myself together against the onslaught of anxious thoughts constantly battering my mind.
My hair, once lively and vibrant, now hangs limply, devoid of its former vitality, a testament to the exhaustion weighing upon my dropped shoulders. My heart skips despite knowing that is my reality. The weight of Antonio’s words is drowning me, and I am tempted to weep for the woman I have become.
In that moment, I miss the person I used to be, the fun one, so full of life — the woman that had big dreams and nothing could shake her. I miss her. I miss her so much.
It hurt knowing I used to be better than I am, and that it seems like I am not making any progress at all. I curse the day I met my ex-husband, and sometimes, I wonder how my life would have turned out if my father hadn't been so controlling. He just didn't care about my happiness. All he thought about was how good the arranged marriage would be for the family.
As I stand there, looking at my reflection, my mind travels back to the very day, a couple of years back — the day my fate was sealed, the day that my journey down this path of horrors and nightmare began.
I was standing before the mirror in my bathroom, all dressed up in one of my favorite red gowns because Dad had said to look my best. He couldn't afford for tonight to not go as he initially planned.
The woman that was looking back at me was so beautiful, so full of life. Her eyes sparkled with vitality, reflecting the light with a luminous glow. She was the embodiment of beauty and grace, a vision of confidence and allure that captivated anyone who beheld her reflection, including me. Her hair cascaded in glossy waves, dancing with life and vitality, framing her face in a halo of beauty. Each feature of her face exuded a youthful energy, from the rosy flush of her cheeks to the captivating brightness of her smile — however faint.
I drew in a deep breath, squeeze out a smile at that goddess in the mirror.
The red gown I was wearing hugged my vibrant skin, revealing my curves and slender figure. Placing my purse on the vanity countertop, I withdrew my red lipstick and carefully applied it. This wasn't because I wanted to impress the man my dad wanted me to meet, but because I was stressed.
I heard a knock on the door and a familiar voice spoke.
“Hey Colette, are you okay in there?”
It was my brother came to check on me because I was taking way too long, and the guests were waiting.
“Can I come in?”
I was quiet after his question, prompting him to repeat himself.
“Colette, I asked if I could come in.” His voice resonated through the door.
My heels clicked against the fine floor as I headed over to the door and opened it.
His hand hung mid-air like he was about to knock before I finally answered.
Without a word, I gestured for him to come in and he did so, clad in a white tux with a black bowtie, a pair of black pants and polished black shoes. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie for a moment.
“You look beautiful.” He turned to me with an encouraging smile.
I sighed. “Thank you.”
Henry looked at me, and I could tell that he was certain that I was having cold feet.
But I wasn't just having cold feet. I hated the fact that this was happening, and there was nothing I could do to put an end to it.
“You know you can't hide in here forever,” he said to me.
“I wish I could, Henry.”
A very subtle grin appeared on a corner of his lips.
“You know.” He stepped forward. “You might be overthinking this.”
“Really?” I raised my brows in disbelief. “That's rich coming from you,” I added under my breath.
He laughed lightly. “You might just like the guy.”
I scoffed at his assumptions and folded my arms across my chest.
Henry held my arms in a consoling way. “Come on, Colette, it might really not be so bad after all.” He sighed. “Look, just keep an open mind and hopefully everything will just play out naturally, okay?”
There was nothing natural about what my father was doing. I didn't meet the man I was being betrothed to on my own or by accident. I was literally being sold to him like merchandise. How was that natural?
“That's easy for you to say, Henry. You're not the one being forced into an arranged marriage, or the one being sold off to some guy you don't even know, let alone love,” the words burst out of me in a nervous rush.
“I'm not some piece of property in one of Dad's garages that he can just wake up one morning and decide to sell. I'm a human being, for Christ's sake! I have a beating heart, a soul,” I said to him, pained about how I was treated.
“No one's selling you off, Colette,” he said calmly.
“Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain what's happening right now?”
He was quiet, unable to find the words to defend himself.
“Why do you always take Dad's side even though deep down, you know he's wrong?” I asked, not expecting a response because I was certain that I wouldn't get one.
He drew in a deep breath, but was still speechless.
I glanced at my fancy golden wristwatch and exhaled sharply.
“I need to go meet my future husband and his family. You're right, I can't hide in here forever,” I said to him.
He walked over to me, trying to mask his guilt. Henry bent his elbow in with his fist almost resting on his hip in a welcoming gesture.
I slipped my hand into the opening in his arm.
“You'll be fine,” he whispered to me, and we headed out.
As we approached the dining table, I could hear the sounds of their laughs and the clinking of their cutlery against their plates. Dad's voice filled with joy as he cracked some lame jokes, but somehow, the people at the table with him found it funny. They were too engrossed to notice us standing there until Henry conspicuously cleared his throat and their attention immediately turned to us.
“There she is.” My dad smiled wonderfully, beaming with pride as he pointed in my direction.
That was very weird, but I understood it was a publicity stunt.
“Darling,” he greeted me warmly as I stopped by the table. “Please, take a seat.” He gestured at the vacant chair beside him, but directly opposite a gentleman.
The table was set with mouth watering delicacies, the aroma of which had filled the air as fine polished silverware and delicate crystal wine glasses towered over the table.
The man sitting in the chair opposite mine could not seem to stop staring at me, and I knew he was the one prepared for me — rather, more accurately…the one that I was being prepared for.
He wasn't too bad, physically. His hair was blonde, and his dark gray eyes were still glued to my face. Although he was seated, I could tell that he was tall.
A bald man, almost as old as my dad, leaned toward the fine man and covered a part of his mouth with his palm so I wouldn't read his lips to know what he was whispering.
Like I gave a damn.
My dad did the introductions, and I found out the man's name was Ricardo, Ricardo Lorde, and the bald man was his father.
“Nice to meet you, Colette.” Mr. Lorde smiled at me.
“The pleasure is mine, sir.” I gave out a fake grin.
My future husband was quiet with a blank expression as he sized me up like a pervert. His aura was off, and there just was something dark about him that gave me the creeps. I was uncomfortable by his stares — Honestly; the man had practically stripped me naked in his mind and had done God-knows-what to me.
Stealing a glance at Henry, he flashed an encouraging smile at me, but I really couldn't sit there at that table with those men. I wasn't sure if Ricardo was keen on the marriage as well because he had a blank expression on his face, beside the fact that he was clearly attracted to me. It was difficult to get a reading of him — impossible really, and I didn't like people I couldn't read.
Mr. Lorde, who had been talking with my father, now turned to me.
“I'm really looking forward to having you join our family, Colette.”
My heart skipped that instant. The way he said it gave me the jitters. He was smiling at me, and it took everything in me to respond with a very faint grin.
“You know, you're lucky that you have a pretty face,” Dad said to me. “Men don't mind even when you aren't smiling. Isn't that right, gentlemen?” he asked the Lordes, and Ricardo’s dad erupted into an annoying laugh.
My future husband was still silent, still looking at me. However, this time, a bit more subtly. I was getting upset by my father's words, especially as he made me a laughingstock.
“Learn to be a lot more accepting, darling,” he added, chuckling.
I dropped my fork and pushed back my chair. “I've lost my appetite. Now, please excuse me.”
I was pissed off, but I was trying to keep it in and snap out of it. Henry gulped down his wine and set the glass down before rushing after me. I could hear him calling my name and asking me to wait up, but I ignored him and continued down the hallway in a hurry. He increased his pace and soon caught up with me.
“Hey,” he said to me, holding my hand, forcing me to stop in my tracks. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”
My eyes widened in disbelief. Did he not witness that back there? “Are you seriously asking me that right now, Henry?”
“Come on, don't listen to Dad…”
I cut him off immediately.
“Don't listen to Dad?” I scoffed in frustration. “Henry, he's selling me off like fucking cattle.” I tried to keep my voice down in order to avoid any more problems.
“That's not what's happening here,” he replied defensively. “This is different.”
“But is it, though?” I pulled my head back dramatically. “Because this looks a lot like what happened with Leo and Antonio's sister.”
He frowned at me. “Don't go there, Colette,” he warned.
“I'm pretty sure she would understand what I'm going through right now. At least her own family wasn't to support of their dad selling her off! What's my brother doing to dissuade my father from this madness? Oh, that's right…nothing!” The words burst out of me in an angry rush.
“I'm not doing nothing, Colette, I'm trying to protect you,” he replied.
I snickered in disbelief.
“Yeah, you're doing a pretty good job at it. You know what? Maybe I should I just take the easy way out and just kill myself? That would end my misery. It sure ended hers.”
Furious, Henry raised his hand, threatening to hit me, and I instinctively turned my cheek, terrified.
Seconds later, he still didn't strike, and I slowly looked in his direction. He was fuming, with his hand hanging in the air. Tears had welled his eyes. I knew I had crossed the line because I knew how much Henry loved the Amato brothers’ sister, even though she was way older than him.
It was insensitive of me to have said what I did, but I couldn't help it. I apologized to Henry, and he did the same with tears in his eyes.
“I'm sorry for raising my hand on you. But don't say such things to me anymore.”
My trip down memory lane is cut short when my phone rings in my hand. Looking at my lit screen, I realize that it’s Henry.
“Hey, Henry,” I answer.
“Hey, are you doing alright?” he asks.
“Yeah…” I drawl lazily as my mind flashes back to my encounter with Antonio. “Hey, did you know your bird-brained friend is back in town?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Who else?”
“Are we talking about Antonio?”
“Yes,” I respond sharply.
Henry laughs.
“Let me guess, you two ran into each other, and it didn't end well.”
“He's the one always getting on my nerves. Argh!” I snap. Just the mere thought of him is annoying me.
“Yeah, if you say so,” he replies. “Don't worry, though. I'm sure you two won't run into each other that much.”
I sigh heavily, unsure of how realistic that statement is, and I can't shake off the feeling that he just jinxed this for me.