Addicted z.m

Chapter 5

"I wanted to tell you last term," she began. "But with his work, his schedule was so unpredictable. I wasn't sure if school was even on the list of priorities anymore. I mean, yeah, he insisted on coming to Florida for the term he was promised, but he was always so busy and travelling. We barely spent any time together this summer. I didn't want to tell you one thing, get you worked up, then have it all have been for nothing."

I stayed silent, not knowing what to say in response. I was still on edge knowing he could be at every corner we turned. I was trying to come up with what I would say or do if I just happened to bump into him on our way to wherever she was taking me.

"Spencer, you're a dear friend of mine and I care about you," she preached. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But you need to see this. You were going to find out eventually, but I'd much rather it be from me."

We stood in front of the art hall and I tried to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to see. She opened the door and allowed me to enter first. I had only ever been in here a couple times. On less busy days, I'd meet Tiffany here for lunch last year. But now it was totally transformed. There were new sculptures in the foyer but there was a huge banner that hung over an arch down the hallway to our right.

"Is that-" I pointed to the drawing advertised on the banner.

"Come on," Perrie cut me off, pulling me down that hall. On our way to wherever the hall led, there were framed drawings every then feet on both walls. My lips parted but Perrie didn't give me a chance to really study them.

Before I knew it, we were at the mouth of the hallway and I froze. I knew his work from a mile away, but I didn't have look too far to see it. It was everywhere. It took up a whole wall in shades of red fading to whites and grays.

There were larger ones framed on banisters, small sketches probably right out of his journal on tables, paintings on isles.

"T-This-" I stammered for words. "This is the work that's kept him so busy?"

"Are you mad?..." she asked cautiously. When I didn't answer she sighed. "You're mad."

"I'm not-" I stopped myself. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some form of anger. I dared to step into the area and take a closer look at the pictures. Some of them I stared too long and had to look away. I had mixed feelings about the possibly positive drawings.

I couldn't even look at a drawing of what I believed to be my lips connected to his longer than a second, though I couldn't find myself able to tear my eyes away from the gun that played the part of my second eye.

"If you're pissed, don't pin it all on him," Perrie begged. "I'm mostly to blame. I wasn't even supposed to know any of the originals existed but I was nosey enough to...stumble upon them. I was tired of seeing him sit around in a puddle of depression and waking up in tears every night. I had to get him out of the house and doing something, so I submitted some of his work to some museum in New York."

I put the pieces together in my head but she continued to explain how much attention his work and story had gotten and how much better he's doing.

I still had no words. I was hugging myself, trying to physically keep myself together.

"There's more upstairs," she said. "But all of this isn't even half of it. There's a fourth in New York, a fourth in London, and a fourth in Versailles."

Again, no response from me.

"He really has been working hard, and it's really helping his cy-"

"Perrie, I need a moment," I finally spoke. "I just...I need to process this all."