His Purple Heart

5 - Picking up guys at the grocery store

I woke up the next day with drool running down the side of my mouth. Yuck. I rolled over on the damp basement floor, wiping the corner of my lips with the back of my hand. Last night came rushing back at me like a scene out of a horror movie.

That's why I didn't drink. Nothing good ever came out of drowning down almost an entire bottle of wine on my own after having to kick my boyfriend out my your life. Now I had to suffer the consequences.

Slowly, I got up off the cold floor. My head hurt like someone had punched me in the face... with a hammer. I placed a hand on the small of my back and stretched. I seriously felt like an old woman. My muscles were sore and stiff. My tongue felt like parchment paper in my mouth. I could drink the Mississippi river dry in one gulp. That's how thirsty I was.

I glanced around the studio and had to cringe. The floor was caked with paint. What a mess. I had to clean it up before meeting with Addison for brunch.

Using a metal scraper I managed to get rid of most of the paint off the floor and on the walls. By the time I was done, a layer of sweat coated my skin. I grabbed some napkin and wiped my forehead. My fingers got caught up in my hair and came back out damp with red paint on them.

I'd totally broken down last night. I'd gone to a dark place. A place I hadn't been in years.

My heart clenched in my chest and for a moment it was difficult to breathe. I was grieving, an emotion I knew all too well. I was disappointed and filled with recrimination. Drake had broken me. I wanted to blame him for everything that had gone wrong between us.

Looking around the studio, I took in my half finished works sitting in one corner and other private works in the other corner. The studio was my favorite spot in the world. The only place where I could let my creative mind run free. I'd spent a lot of hours holed up in this basement. I could go days without seeing the sun, without eating, on minimal sleep.

It slowly dawned on me that I was never in a relationship with Drake. I was in love with my art, with the magic of creating.

Every stroke of my brush on a canvas was like making love. My lover was enigmatic, ever changing, unpredictable. His face changed every so often and he knew how to keep me chasing for the next detail, the next perfect color, the next moment of pure inspiration.

My exhibition at the New Orleans Museum of Art was less than two weeks away. I still had one more piece to finish. Well, now two because of the one I'd destroyed last night. I was running behind schedule and I didn't know if I had it in me to continue.

I had waited an entire year for this opportunity, working night and day to create a masterpiece. This was my best compilation of work yet, and I couldn't have been more proud of myself. So why did I feel like all this work was for nothing if I was going to end up alone at the end of it all?

I carefully lifted the messy canvas from the easel and placed it in the corner with the rest of the works I considered trash. I guess instead of fourteen pieces I would only be exhibiting thirteen. That number seemed fitting given the circumstances.

After a tedious shower and removing paint from my hair, I got in my Beetle and headed to The Joint to have lunch with Addison. When I got there Addison was already waiting on me. As usual she was dressed in a pair of colorful leggings (yellow and black ones), a short skirt and a crop top. Her long locks were pulled back in a ponytail.