BASELINE ✸ Art Donaldson

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Twenty-One. The Cut That Always Bleeds

2011. ATLANTA. 

           THE STREETS WERE BUSY AND DIMLIT. Tatum reeked of alcohol and probably, at this point, looked like a drugged hooker. She had her hands jammed tightly into her coat pockets and her teeth were jittering together as she shivered. It was probably 60 degrees out, but Tatum had just spent three months in Spain where it was summer and at least 95 on a daily. 

It was 3 in the morning but she had just been returning from the bar and Patrick wanted to meet up as soon as possible. Sure, meeting at 3 am when she was drunk off her ass wasn't ideal, but it was the only time he knew she'd have. 

So, when she stumbles to go open the two glass doors, it's no surprise when Patrick does instead. But he can barely look at her for more than 2 seconds without looking away. 

Like he has a secret. 

"Hey Tum." He says, looking down on her -- pretending that he doesn't have bad intentions rushing through his brain. 

"Hi Patrick." She slurs, almost laughing at his frantic state. She takes another step through the door but Patrick goes to stand in front of her -- trying to block her from seeing something. Or rather, someone. 

He smiles the fakest he can. 

She laughs again, standing on her tippy toes, trying to look past his shoulder to see what it is he's hiding.  

Patrick's hands find the small of her waist as he tries to move her -- another attempt to block her. 

Relentless and assuming he's joking, though, she tries once more except this time, her ankle almost twists and she begins to fall over. Patrick is quick to catch her however, but when she sees short-haired Tashi sitting in the corner of the cafe, it's enough to make her smile drop and to sober her up completely. 

He gives her a sad, faltering smile like she's sorry for what she's about to do. Her cold brown eyes softening at Tatum's drunken state as if she's apologizing for something she'll never have the courage to say out loud. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do because I know you could have treated Art way better had I not stripped him away from you. 

Tatum pulls herself up, off of where she'd been leaning most of her body weight off of Patrick and he doesn't look away from her once. His eyes laced with concern. 

She, however, looks up at him through sheer disgust. 

Sure, she was drunk thirty seconds ago, but now, she was so sober and overwhelmed with unwarranted emotions that she wishes she could down a bottle of whiskey right here and now. 

"Tate--" he tries again, voice softer than before but she just walks away. She didn't want any part in their infidelic ways. 

So she kept walking until she found the lobby. But when she did, she was met with Art. He was wearing a light blue sweatshirt that hung loose around his chest but tight around his muscled biceps. 

He clashed into her by complete accident but it felt almost like fate. 

His blue eyes meet her dark ones and she's suddenly speechless. Helpless. 

Her eyes well with tears -- but not because she's sad. But because she's angry and wasted and feels like shit. 

Quickly, she turns on her heel to try and show Art what she had just witnessed but when she does, no one is there. Almost as if, no one was ever there. 

Like some figment of her drunk imagination and now the last memory Art would have of her would be her fragile, drunken state. 

So, without saying anything at all, she walks past him and continues down the hallway of the hotel until she finds the elevator. 

BLAKELY SPEAKS !

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