Beautiful Lies (4 page)

“Gosh, I love you so much, Paige,” he whispers. His voice sounds broken. I hear him inhale again. Is he trying to hold back tears? My stomach drops at the thought, so I push it away. I hold in a breath and repeat the words
do not cry
within the safety of my mind. Then he leaves. I wait until I hear the front door open and close, then his car drive away before opening my eyes.

What have you done?

The question spins through my mind at speed and I struggle to silence it. I love Rick so much and seeing him in pain is one of the hardest things that I have ever had to witness.

I look at the clock sat on the dresser. It reads
6:55am.
He has left for work. I sit up. I take my phone off the dresser next to my bed and dial Jen.

“Hey,” she answers groggily after three rings.

“It happened again,” I whisper with my eyes closed.

I hear her weight shift on the phone. “You spoke in your sleep again?” She sounds more alert now.

“Yes. I was calling out Taylor’s name. Jen, what kind of girlfriend am I?”

“Hey, don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Paige. Look, it’s not as if he didn’t know about these dreams. He knew and he agreed to get through it together so don’t you ask questions like that.”

“You didn’t see his face. He looked broken. I’m not sure that he can take much more of this.”

“He loves you, Paige...”

“That might not be enough. What if it was you? What if the person you loved was in love with someone else; someone that didn’t even exist. Could you stay? I sound crazy even saying it.”

“You’re not crazy and he
has
stayed. Relationships have hurdles but it doesn’t mean they won’t survive them. You’ve made it through three years; you have something to fight for.”

“Yeah, and one of those years I’ve spent every single day dreaming about and falling in love with someone else.”

“Not on purpose.”

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I think he’s going to leave.”

“No, he’s not. Look, I know that you said no before but what about talking to Clarise?”

“You want me to sit in a room and talk about my problems to a total stranger?” I ask in frustration. The idea of seeing a therapist doesn’t sit well with me. My problem is embarrassing enough without having to sit and tell a complete stranger all about it.

“If it helps, yes. She really helped me, you know with...” she pauses, it’s hard for her to speak about it. I understand. “With
everything.”

“I know,” I say sympathetically.

“Will you at least think about it? I can text you her details.”

“Ok. Thanks, Jen.”

“What else are best friends for?” She chuckles. “Call me if you need anything, ok?”

“Ok. Bye, Jen.”

“Bye, Paige.”

I’m not sure if talking to anybody is going to help but it can’t be any worse than where I am at right now. I glance at the clock and decide that it’s time to get ready for work, not that I want to go in today but life goes on, I guess. I take a deep breath and go and get ready for the longest day of my life.

* * *

Two hours, three coffees and a bagel later, I’m ready to walk out the door. I pull my keys out my purse and head to the front door. It’s slightly cold out so I move a little faster to my car. As soon as I sit inside, I turn up the heat. I take a deep breath before starting up the car. Today is going to be awkward but there is nothing that I can do.

Five minutes into my journey and I’m stuck in the morning traffic. I connect my phone to the Bluetooth and call my sister.

“Hey,” she sounds solemn.

“Liv? What’s the matter?”

“I just heard that Lilly died.”

“What? Lilly, as in your best friend from high school?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Have they planned the funeral yet?” I ask gently.

“Yeah, it’s next Friday.”

I hear her inhale a deep breath as though she is trying to hold back her tears.

“I can come with you.”

“No, you have so much going on right now.”

“I always have time for you, Liv.”

“I know but I’ve already asked Nate.”

She’s lying, I can tell, I’m just not sure why. I decide not to press her today; we can have this conversation tomorrow.

“Ok, if you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Well you know where I am if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks. Oh, and what did you call for?” She asks quietly.

I called to tell her about my dream but my problems seem pretty insignificant in comparison to hers so I decide to keep it to myself.

“I just wanted to say hi, before I got to work, that’s all,” I lie.

“Ok, how’s Rick?”

My stomach drops at the sound of his name.

“He’s great, he’s already at work. I’m just heading there now.”

“Good, tell him that I said hi. And I’ll see you at Brenda’s on Saturday.”

“Yeah, Saturday,” I say as if I hadn’t forgotten. I forget easily these days. I’m still getting used to the fact that after being absent for the majority of our lives, my mother decided to just show up two years ago. It’s still weird...I mean, it just doesn’t feel right calling her
Mom.
I guess Brenda will have to suffice for now...maybe forever.

“See you later.”

“Yeah, bye,” I reply before cutting the call.

I don’t even realize that I have been driving this entire time. I am lost somewhere deep in my own sea of problems. I feel guilty since Liv just lost her friend and all I can think about is my own crazy situation.

I pull up outside of the gallery and park my car. I feel sick. I see Jessica sitting at the desk as I walk in and I immediately put on my ‘happy’ face.

“Hey, Paige,” she beams as she spots me walking toward her.

“Hey, Jessica, how are you?”

“I’m great thanks,” she says, flipping her red, wavy hair over her shoulder. “How was your weekend?”

“Not too bad, yours?”

“Boring,” she chuckles. I don’t think that I have ever seen her look anything but happy. She started working at the gallery a week after I had gotten the job and I’ve really never seen her without a smile on her face. I wish I knew what she was taking, God knows I need it.

As I look around, I wonder if the fact that I’d gotten involved with my boss was why I was in the situation that I was in now. They always say that it’s a bad idea to mix business with pleasure, whoever ‘they’ are. I didn’t instantly know that I liked Rick when he first gave me the job. Number one, he was about to become my boss and number two he was five years my senior, which seemed like a pretty big gap back when I was nineteen. We didn’t pursue anything until I had been working at the gallery for around six months – that’s three years ago now. I had just turned twenty at the time and it just sort of happened. I guess it was when I started to realize the type of person he was. He was so caring and kind.

He inherited the gallery from his grandfather, who knew that he had a love for art--but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t worked hard to make it into what it is. I’ve watched what he’s done over the past three and a half years and I am still in awe. It is so much more that I could have ever imagined. I have had so many amazing experiences that other employers wouldn’t have even thought about giving me but Rick is different. He believes in giving chances to those who would usually be overlooked. My age -- at the time -- meant that I was overlooked by a lot of gallery owners until I stumbled across Rick. He said that I had one chance to impress him and I haven’t stopped working hard to do exactly that ever since. Each time he pushes me to do more than I think I can, and I relish the challenges that he throws my way. I guess that’s what initially attracted me to him. It was the thing that started all this mess.

I definitely wasn’t looking for a relationship; I was just pursuing something that I loved.
Painting
. I loved it. Every aspect. Looking at a painting was like peeling away the layers of that person, understanding who they truly were. Most people just look at the surface of a painting, but I really
look.
Each time it looks different to me, feels different. It tells me a new piece of the story. It’s like I find another jigsaw piece that matches the last piece that I found and bit by bit I build something. I don’t actually paint myself, I just fall in love with the colors and strokes, and curves...just...everything.

“Hello,” Jessica’s voice breaks me out of my trance.

“Sorry.”

“You were miles away there. I was saying that if you’re looking for Rick, he’s in his office.” She smiles.

“Thanks,” I return her smile before walking away. As I move toward the stairs I’m suddenly glad that we are the only people that work here. If I had to pretend to be happy to anymore people I’d probably crack. I walk up the silver windy stairs until I reach the top of a wide corridor. The smell of the ocean incense stick that Rick insists on burning every day fills my nose and I take it in while closing my eyes.

“Hi.” His voice fills me with goose bumps instantly and my eyes fly open. He stands still, hands in his grey trouser pockets and just stares at me. He looks good. Very good. He has on a white shirt, with the top button undone. He looks masculine and powerful. My stomach tingles but I can’t look away and neither does he. We stand in a staring contest for what feels like forever before he speaks again. “Come here,” he says quietly.

I walk over to him much quicker than I had intended. I feel needy but I don’t care. I practically crash into him and my arms fly around his waist, holding him tight. I feel his arms snake around my body and he squeezes just a little. I hear him inhale as his nose sinks into my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I know.”

No one is around but we are both speaking so quietly. My eyes are closed and I refuse to open them, just in case this isn’t real. I want to savor every moment for the rest of my life.

He pulls away slowly and looks down into my eyes.

“I was wrong to be mad, Paige.”

“No, you weren't. You have every right.”

“No, I don’t. This isn’t your fault. Like you said, you didn’t ask for this and neither did I. I love you and I promised that we would get through this together and we will. I promise,” he says.

I kiss him, for so many reasons. I kiss him for his forgiveness, for his love, for giving me his everything even though I no longer give him my everything. “I’m going to see a therapist; one that Jenna suggested. I don’t want this to come between us anymore.”

“Are you sure that it’s what you want to do?”

“I have to, Rick, I can’t lose you.”

“Ok,” he says, kissing me gently on the forehead. “Come on,” he takes my hand in his and leads me to the office. “I wanted to show you something,” he says letting go of my hand and taking a seat behind his desk.

“The last time you said that to me here, we ended up making love in the gallery,” I chuckle.

“Yeah...great night,” he smirks, looking up at me but I also see a sadness in his eyes as everything changed that night…

“So, what do you need to show me?” I say, changing the subject.

“Just a few paintings.”

“New ones?” I feel a sudden rush of excitement running through me at the thought of seeing something new.

“Yeah. They are just pictures but the real paintings can be here in less than forty-eight hours if we want to see them in person.”

I nod my head before walking around to look at his computer screen. He pulls up a picture of a painting that takes my breath away. It’s a painting of a man but it’s beautiful. He looks broken and bewildered as if he has reached the end. The painting is not done using smooth strokes but instead he is almost painted in bits, like he can be broken apart. His arms are dripping as if he is falling to pieces, and his expression pulls at my heart. The background is grey, much like I would imagine his life is. The man is painted using a mix of orange and red tones. It is perfectly imperfect in every way.

“It’s amazing,” I breathe. I hear Rick grumble in agreement but much like me, he is drawn in by the painting. I‘m left wanting to know more about this man’s story. I want to know what made him get to the point of self-destruction that he is at in the painting. “Are there more?” I ask.

Rick only nods before clicking another equally breathtaking photo. My eyes dissect every tiny aspect of the painting. This one is made up of specks and splashes of paint. It is a girl playing a violin. Her eyes are focused solely on the instrument as she plays and instantly I know that she loves it. It is the one thing that keeps her sane, but something tells me that it is the last time that she will ever play it. It’s her last chance. She plays it with such passion in her face and while her eyes are not focused on anything else, the pain is evident. My stomach dips and I feel for her. “Who are these by?” I ask.

“Markquis Lemont. I saw some of his work at the art exhibition that Alfred held last month. They are simply exquisite. We talked about putting up a few of his pieces in the gallery but I wanted to run it by you first.”