The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter Thirty Three: Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word

You don't know how long you stay like that, weeping softly in Taron's arms, but eventually your crying subsides and the grey filtered light of morning turns into bright sunshine peeking through the cracks of Richard's drapes. Sniffling the last of the tears away, you sigh heavily and wonder if Taron is even still awake. He must be just as tired as you are, if not more.

"I'm sorry", your voice cracks in an almost inaudible whisper.

His voice in response comes drifting above you immediately, and his hold on you tightens. "Whatever for love?"

"For leaving you. For hurting you. Again." Even as the words have barely permeated the air, you know you will have to hurt him again in the very near future. But the fact is that you're still sorry. He shifts you in his arms slightly so that he can look into your eyes but his hold doesn't loosen, and for this you're grateful.

"No love, I'm the one who's sorry. I meant what I said before. We shouldn't be apart. This confirms it. We need to be together now more than ever. I'll stay here if I need to too. Hell, I'll move to L.A. if that's what it takes." His words are sweet and sincere but they just remind you of what you must do. You had hoped you would have a little more time but it seems he's not going to let go of this issue. Rachel was right. Taron would be ruining his career if he stays with you, at least right now. You have to do what's right by him, even if he won't understand it. Bringing your hands to your tear-stained face, you rub at your swollen eyes and gather the courage to say what you need to say. Knowing that you can't do what needs to be done while he's holding onto you, you reluctantly pull from his grasp and come to a cross-legged position on the mattress to face him.

"Taron...", you begin, and you can tell by the change in his face he knows whatever you're about to say is bad. "We need to talk." Lord, why did you say that? Everyone knows that's the beginning line of every break up.

"Uh oh", he says, sitting up to match your position across from you. "That doesn't sound good." Exhaling out the last bit of fear you have, you begin again. You need to just say it. Get it out. Rip the bandaid off and let the pieces fall where they may. You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, reaching for your bandaged arm that you had practically forgotten about. "What the hell is this? You were hurt?" He asks angrily, turning your arm over to examine it from all angles.

Shit. "Richard didn't tell you?" The livid look on his face tells you no.

"No he didn't", he snarls through gritted teeth. "What happened?" You know you're going to have to tell him.

"It's no big deal really. Didn't even need stitches", you say casually, looking down at your arm that he's still holding. He says your name firmly, grabbing your attention and causing you to look him straight in the eye. "It seems...that in the struggle to get to Ethan and to get me out of the apartment, I was cut with the knife he was holding." You hope you've downplayed it enough, but as you watch his eyes close tightly and his nostrils flare, you realize that's probably not likely.

"I'll kill him", he mutters with his eyes still closed.

"Taron", you begin, pressing your hand lightly to his arm which causes him to open his eyes and focus on yours. "It really is just a scratch. He's in jail. He can't hurt me anymore." He seems to relax at your words, but only slightly.

"What did the police say?" He asks, trying to remain calm for you.

"They said something about a restraining order and that I might have to testify it it comes to that...I don't know. I really don't want to talk about him anymore. Please", you beg and his face finally eases.

"Fine. For now. Is that what you were wanting to tell me? About your arm?" If only it was. Gathering up your courage once again, you start over from the beginning as he looks at you expectantly.