The Price Of Gold

04. empty plates

iv.
OPHELIA ARCHIBALD.
20 July 12:15 a.m

My eyes trace the shapes, the colors-

I didn't know how long I'd been standing there, just staring. Looking at blur of muted earth tones and the vaguest outline of what could be a field. Julian's apartment was empty, except for one painting that hung above the couch, a strange smudge of darkness and light, colors that bled into each other. I was drawn to it, caught somewhere between understanding it and wanting to look away.

The painting was chaotic, a mess that somehow made sense if you stared at it long enough, you just have to let yourself get lost in it. It reminded me of how I felt right now-disconnected, everything bleeding into everything else until nothing felt real, or maybe it was too real. That sharp feeling of holding your breath just a second too long. Like the painting was swallowing itself, like I was somehow becoming part of it.

I was exhausted. I could still feel the weight of Julian's jacket around my shoulders, heavy and grounding, but that didn't erase the bruises or the ache still lingering on my skin. The silence pressed around me, and my mind slipped back to the lake. The feeling that I was about to.... I didn't want to think about it.

I barely noticed Julian walking towards me until his voice cut through the silence, low and steady. "It's not supposed to make sense, you know." Julian leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he stared at the painting. "The artist painted it after he lost everything. Some... catharsis, I guess." His tone was calm. "He called it The Tipping Point. Fitting, I'd say."

I swallowed, looking at the painting again. I didn't want to look at him, he always felt like he sees right through me. He didn't give me time to respond before he straightened, pushing himself off the doorframe. Julian turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, coming back a minute later with a soft gray hoodie and a pair of shorts.

"Here," he said, handing them to me without meeting my eyes. "They'll probably be too big, but that's all I have."

I nodded, taking the clothes in my cold hands. Julian didn't move, just watched me with that guarded look, his face unreadable, as if he were considering saying something but thought better of it. Finally, he tipped his head toward the bathroom. "Go get changed, Ophelia."

Julian walked me down the hallway. "Bathroom's here," he said, pushing open a door and flipping on the light. The space was almost bare-clean, modern, and empty, like it hardly saw any use. Just white tiles and silver fixtures, efficient and cold. Like him.

As he pointed out the shower handle, he muttered, "Hot water, turn it left, obviously. Here's a towel." He paused, glancing over his shoulder before handing me the basics-a toothbrush still wrapped, some soap and things.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," he said, dryly, lips curving into that familiar smirk. "Though you might want to lock the door... you never know."

He leaned back, hands in his pockets, and cleared his throat. "Look, Ophelia..." His voice dropped, a bit softer now, looking into my eyes. "I know things suck right now.. but it'll get better."

That was as close as Julian got to showing concern. Then he straightened and nodded before disappearing down the hall again, leaving me alone in the strange, hollow silence of his barely-lived-in apartment.

I turned to glance around. There wasn't much here, almost as though he'd ghosted his own life.

I stood there, staring at the empty room, closing the door behind me.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, the warm light casting sharp lines across my face. My hair, brown and tangled, fell over my shoulders, the sliky straight shadowing the hollowness in my cheeks. I had always thought my eyes-gray and blue, like a sea strom, unfeeling-looked out of place on my face. Like they saw through things, through people, but I could never see myself clearly.