The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter Four: The Stone

Breathe in...

Breathe out...

All of the air is sucked out of the room and you find it difficult to breath. Your body feels numb and your heart is threatening to pound right out of your chest. The words are still hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud waiting to dump.

"This is Ashley...my girlfriend..."

You are vaguely aware of Richard's hand against your back and you're grateful that he's there to steady you as you can't even feel your extremities. You couldn't have heard him right. Right? Girlfriend... Taron has a...girlfriend? Since when? How is this even possible? He would have told you, right? And he definitely wouldn't have had sex with you if he was in a relationship with someone else. Right? You will yourself to look into Taron's eyes, waiting for him to amend his statement, or explain that she's a just a friend. But an explanation doesn't come and all you see in his eyes is pain and sorrow, mixed with... what? Guilt. His expression must match your own by the way he's gaping at you, although you can't be sure of anything at this point. You see Ashley reach her hand out to take yours and realize that only a couple of seconds have gone by since Taron introduced you to her, even though it feels like hours.

"It's very nice to meet you", she says genuinely in a sweet little British accent. She's not only beautiful, but charming and kind as well. The reality of this is starting to sink in all too horribly.

"It's...nice to meet you too", you squeak, as you robotically stretch your hand out to meet hers and pray that it isn't shaking too uncontrollably. You look down and surprisingly see that it's steady. Thank God for small miracles. After shaking her small soft hand briefly, you pull away and drop your hand to your side, then look helplessly over at Richard. He senses your need and finally speaks up.

"Well, I think I need a drink", he exclaims looking at the two them briefly before turning his gaze to you. "You fancy one?" You simply nod your head, take one last look at Taron and Ashley, then let Richard guide you away from them as you hear Taron mumble something that sounds like "bye" as you leave. As soon as your back is to them, you suddenly find the ability to move again, and start to walk faster than Richard, needing to escape this nightmare as quickly as possible. The house now seems packed with people and you are weaving in and around them so quickly that you can't help bumping into them. Muttering your apologies as you go, with Richard trailing behind you, he finally catches up to you just as you reach the front door. "Whoa, hold on", he says stopping you with his hand on your arm. "Where do you think you're going?" You look up at him in a daze, his features beginning to blur through your watery eyes.

"I'm leaving, what do you think?" You practically spit at him as you fish your keys out of your purse.

"I don't think so, you're too upset to drive love", he says imploringly into your eyes. Does he even have a clue as to what's going on?

"Richard, I swear to God, let me go. I have to get out of here", you say, removing his hand from your arm. Richard's eyes sweep the area around you, then focusing on a door off the main hallway, takes your hand and pulls you toward it. For some reason you don't fight him as he opens the door and ushers you through it, closing it quickly behind him. It seems to be a guest bedroom; with a small, nicely made up bed, a night table and a petite desk and chair set against one wall. You walk to it and grip your hands against the back of the chair, needing something to hold onto so you don't collapse.

Breathe in...

Breathe out...

"Are you ok?" You hear him ask behind you, but you don't answer. You need a moment to collect yourself, if that's even possible. You feel like you're in one of your nightmares, although it's so much worse than any nightmare you've ever had. In fact, compared to this moment, the dream about you and Taron on the beach would be more than welcome. You are desperately trying to process what just happened, even though you have no idea where or even how to start. You wrack your brain trying to remember if there was something he said, something he did that would suggest he had a girlfriend, but you come up with nothing. When you feel that your heart rate has slowed enough for you to speak cohesively, you clear your throat before addressing Richard with one question without turning to face him.