It doesn’t really register with me, but it definitely sounds like someone in pain, which makes me cringe. Artists often have more demons than most though, so this man’s, or maybe woman’s, words aren’t exactly unusual.
I turn my head sideways and narrow my focus. Was it a man that painted this, and wrote this. Or was it a woman who spilled her paint, and possibly even her blood, to make this happen?
The name does appear to be signed in actual blood, but like many artist signatures it's illegible. I never quite understood that. As an artist is their work never ’good enough’ in their eyes and therefore they’re actually shy about putting their name on it?
It certainly looks good enough to me, and I wish I could create art with this level of passion, and beauty one day.
I continue walking through the room, and around the various exhibitions, feeling more and more familiar with this work but still unable to put my finger on it. There is note after note of pain, but the one thing that inspires me the most is that I feel like this work could be close enough to mine that maybe I can produce at this level one day.
Silas gave me confidence in myself last night when he told me I should never be embarrassed of who I am, when my little comes out. And this work has given me confidence that I can be a productive adult in the art community. Maybe I’ll never make a million dollars, or even a fraction of that, but at least I can create something I can be proud of.
And that’s all I ever really wanted, artistically speaking.
But suddenly the unmistakable sound of expensive leather shoes on marble are the ones doing the ‘speaking’ and I look for a place to hide.
But it’s too late.
“How dare you!”
I turn around half-way, my body cowering.
“Get out!”
I turn, making a mad dash for the door, weaving around the artworks and making sure not to get within an arm’s length of Silas. Although he’s a big, intimidating man, I know he’d actually never dish out real violence against me, or any other woman.
As soon as I reach the door I don’t stop, running for my desk, grabbing my bag and heading straight to the elevator.
Just as the door opens, I see him walking straight for me.
I dash inside, jamming my finger repeatedly into the close door button and descend to the bottom floor.
I rush out the door and onto the street to the Metrorail stop. I’m not sure where I’m going but I need to get away from here.
I took disobedience too far, and proved to Silas, and myself, that I’ve still got a lot of growing up to do.
And after this it doesn’t seem like our relationship, or whatever it was called, can grow again anytime soon.
I almost had it all and I tossed it away, and I’m not even sure over what.
9 Silas
The girl just won’t learn. She refuses to do anything I say, not to mention that door was locked.
Did she think I’d have a locked door, tell her not to enter the room, and then not have it monitored with alerts sent straight to my phone?
And here I thought millennials were the one that understood technology, not guys like me.
And speaking of guys, the ones I was meeting with excused me for my very rude need to end the meeting early, but considering they flew in from Switzerland just for this, and I barely gave them fifteen minutes of my time, I doubt we’ll be doing any business.
This transgression has cost a considerable sum, not just to me, but to one of our bigger name artists I was representing this morning.
But one word right there is why I left the meeting. Representing. I represent one thing to the world, we all do, but what’s really deep down inside? Does the quest for more money really fulfill me? No, especially as I have no one to spend it with, to experience life and all the moments together that most normal people share.
I’m different, and although I know that, Scarlett has shown me I don’t need to represent something I’m not. In discovering what makes her so unique, I’ve discovered what also makes me tick…my absolute need to be her possessive protector, her biggest supporter, and the older man who can help her avoid the pitfalls in life and really shine.
I pull up to her apartment, hoping and praying she’s inside. If she did anything drastic like rent a car and drive back to where she’s from, crossing four states, then I’m going to be hot on her heels. I will track her down, and I will bring her to heel.
To understand what I do is for the best, and it’s time to show her why. Why I’ve known this since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
“Scarlett, I know you’re in there,” I bluff, hoping she answers, but there’s not a sound. Maybe she knows I’m bluffing and is just waiting for me to go away. She’s certainly a smart girl and I wouldn’t put it past her. I need to dial in a better approach.
“You broke into my private space which means that I should be allowed to break into yours.” I rattle the knob. Nothing.
“I’m coming in,” I announce, and one of the neighbor’s doors opens and their head sticks out around the corner like a Whac-A-Mole before they wisely go back to minding
