Hung (Under Revision)

27: Why?

Skye

I'm utterly exhausted from being up all night. It's almost ten before I manage to haul myself out of bed. I'd been content to lie in bed this morning, half asleep and pretending Liam was holding me.

It takes twenty minutes in the shower before I'm awake enough to know for sure I can get out of the scalding water without crawling right back into bed.

I drag on the first panties I pull out of the drawer. My hair is still wet, but I don't care. I scrape it into a ponytail. It's hot out, and I throw on a simple sundress.

Now dressed, I finally allow myself to turn on my phone. Nothing. Not a single text or missed call from Liam.

My heart sinks.

For whatever reason, I'd expected to have dozens of them. But zero? I guess that means he's got the hint and given up, just like I wanted. That is what I wanted, right? So why does the lack of messages hurt so much?

The only thing I know to do is trudge into my studio. Without any plan, I set up three new blank canvases and prepare my paints.

In a repeat of yesterday, I take out my emotions on the canvases. Reds, blues, and grays are soon spiraling and intertwining with each other.

No paint gets on the floor or walls. Instead, the painting is more delicate than yesterday. There are less anger and more sadness. The longer I paint, the more despair ends up in front of me.

Am I romanticizing him because he was my first? Or is it because he was the only person I've ever cared about as much as I care about my art. Or am I right in thinking I've been duped by him? That he used me?

The more I think about it, the more angry red spatters begin appearing across my canvases.

Liam cost me the commission with Kelso, just like he cost me my job at Johnny's. Things like that just don't matter to the rich.

It seems a little too difficult to believe he didn't come up to Kelso's bedroom to have sex. And to be found by Kelso, as a way to score points in the war between them.

But I don't want that to be true.

Kelso was a creep from the day I started working for him. There was no surprise when he acted the way he did when I went back to his house. Just remembering him touching me sends a wave of nausea through my body.

At least one thing isn't in doubt: Kelso's a creep.

But he didn't do anything to me until he walked in on Liam and I. If that hadn't happened, I would've been able to avoid him and finish the commission, collect my fat paycheck and put on a gallery show.

Why did Liam come to the house that morning?

But the biggest issue of all is: Why doesn't Liam care that I lost the commission? He seemed relieved by it. Why doesn't he care how important it is to me? That's what really hurts so much.

I glance over to the abstract paintings I did yesterday. I shake off my smock and pick up the one I think conveys the most hurt. Even though it's abstract, there's no mistaking the anguish I was feeling when I created it.

Liam won't be able to miss the way he made me feel. And right now, I need him to acknowledge the way losing the commission hurt me. I lay it in my trunk and get in my car.

After a couple of wrong turns, I find my way to Liam's mansion. I get the painting out and balance it on one arm while I ring the doorbell.

"Yes?" a man says as he opens the door.

"I"m looking for Liam."

"Mr. Furrer isn't home, would you like to leave that for him?" he asks, nodding toward the painting.