Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (29 page)

I just wanted you to know that I miss you. A fuckload.

Yesterday I spent the day at The Met simply to be close to you. I saw you in every painting. Every sculpture. Hell, every person who stopped and looked thoughtfully at a work of art
—
there you were. It hurt to be there alone, but strangely I found comfort in the pain.

Then again, maybe that
’
s not so strange after all? I guess we both know a thing or two about pain. Don
’
t we?

While I was there, I came across this painting by Picasso, The Blind Man
’
s Meal, and all I could see was the regret in every brush stroke. The anguish, not just on the man
’
s face, but all across on the canvas as well. I wouldn
’
t be surprised if you can picture the painting in your mind right now. The blue tones. The epitome of human suffering. A man completely lost in every sense of the word. And yet, I saw me framed in that canvas against the while.

And while the man couldn
’
t see in the literal sense of the word, he can see things that can
’
t physically be seen. God. Hope. Love.

That
’
s when I finally
“
got it.
”

I don
’
t want to be that blind man. I don
’
t want to live a life of regret. I don
’
t want to know what it
’
s like to experience that kind of love
…
our kind of love, and have it taken away.

I can
’
t regret my past actions. They ultimately led me to you. But I do hate myself for what I did and how I never told you about that night. You deserve better than what I gave you. And I intend to live each and every day trying to give you that
‘
better
’
.

Ever since my mom passed away, I
’
ve tried to live my life with as few regrets as possible. So while I
’
m horrified by my behavior, there are many things I
’
m not sorry for.

I
’
m not sorry for wanting the best for you, even if it means that I
’
m not it. I
’
m not sorry for falling for you.

And I
’
m certainly not sorry for following my heart when you took it with you to New York.

But most of all, I
’
m doing my damnedest not to be sorry for what I
’
ve done in the past. Because my mistakes have made me the man you fell in love with, and I wouldn
’
t change that for all the money in the world.

In spite of all this, I
’
m still ME, Ivy.

I
’
ve been staying at Brock
’
s for the past week, trying to figure out how to make this right. But I
’
m fairly certain I
’
ve worn out my welcome. He
’
s over listening to me talk about you and honestly, I
’
m over listening to him and his revolving door of
“
gentleman callers.
”
So I
’
m headed back to St. Louis for a while to visit with my dad.

I'm not sure when I
’
ll be back, but I hope you
’
ll give me the chance to talk to you in person.

I love you. And I promise that I
’
ll never stop, even when you ask me to.

Phoenix

By the time I reach the end of his letter, the tears have flooded my vision. I barely make out the reference to our song,
Everlong
, but I know it’s there.

I sit on the curb in a blubbering puddle. Smelling like shit. Missing my shoes. Mascara no doubt streaming down my cheeks as New York City continues to buzz all around me. And I couldn’t care less that I look like a crazy person who will never get the stench of curry and egg fart out from her hair.

I bring my hand up around my neck and finger the delicate metal crane necklace that I have yet to take off. I think of the birds, and Phoenix learning how to mindlessly fold crane after crane. And for the first time ever, I truly feel a connection to the woman I never knew. Before now, I couldn’t wrap my head around how his mother was able to forgive his father for cheating on her. But I guess when you truly love someone, it makes you do incredibly fucked up things. It forces you to see beyond their mortal flaws and scars. And deep in your heart, you’ve forgiven them for their misgivings long before your mind even realizes it.

How fucking hypocritical of me to act like I'm better than him. I'm not. We're both only human, and we have both made our share of mistakes. Some mistakes are gravely worse than others, but those mistakes are what make us exactly who we are.

God, I am such an idiot.

It takes me nearly fifteen minutes to collect myself and walk back into the gallery to find my phone. But first I have a bone to pick with a certain artist in my presence who knows how to play multiple audiences.

Brock looks up from adjusting one of his light fixtures and it takes all of my energy not to march up to him and slap him across the face.

He knew.

He’s known all along.

He probably knows the whole damn story and has been playing both sides this entire time. I'm not sure if I want to hit him for making me relive the whole thing or kiss him for helping me figure my shit out.

Quickly Brock comes over to me and wraps me in a bear hug. I don't stop him and loosely drape my arms around his waist.

“
Ugh!
What’s that smell?” Brock wrinkles his nose in disgust, but I no longer care that I reek of rotten eggs and filth right now.

“Betrayal.”

He pulls back to look me in the eye. “What are you talking about?”

“I know he’s been staying with you.” I hold the wrinkled piece of paper with Phoenix’s confession up for him to see. He tries to pull the page from my hands to read his letter, but I whip it away before he gets the chance. How we could work together the past week without him ever slipping up and saying something about Phoenix staying with him is beyond me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What? And spoil all my fun?” He winks, trying to lighten the mood. “I promised him I wouldn’t poke the bear. I figured that if you knew that I was helping him out, you’d castrate me. And frankly, I’m a little fond of my dick, as are half the men in Manhattan.”

He's right about that. If I had known, there's a strong possibility I would have inflicted bodily harm. But secretly I'm relieved that Phoenix wasn't left to his own devices. The thought of him not having anyone in the city to lean on or talk to never sat well in my stomach. I guess it's nice to know he was able to find friendship in this bizarre man and still have a link to me.

It also means he knows exactly what Phoenix has been up to. How he's been. How he's feeling about our fight ... about me.

I swallow hard and bite my thumb. “How is he?” I ask softly.

The look on his face tells me everything I need to know. Brock chews on the inside of his cheek and simply shakes his head. My body deflates as I exhale slowly and shift my eyes to the ground. I'm not sure my heart can handle any more heartbreak today.

“Phoenix is ... well, Phoenix is really hurting. And that’s putting it lightly. He misses you. He feels helpless. He just wants a chance to explain. He's still pussy whipped by
your
pussy, and he's immune to my charm. In short, he's still hopelessly yours.”

I smile weakly at his last two comments. I’m sure Brock had a field day torturing Phoenix.

But even if he really still is whipped and mine, he probably hates me, and rightfully so. I deserve to be hated right now. I kicked him out and refused to give him the time of day while we both carried on with our lives in a world of hurt. He deserves so much better than me. I don't know why he hasn't realized that yet.

At the very least, I need to apologize. I need for him to hear me out.

I am such a bitch.

My eyes shift from the ground and then back to Brock.

“Do you think I'm too late?”

He smirks at my question. “Nah. You could never be too late when it comes to him. You're all Phoenix talks about and he has been nothing but a pathetic moping puppy dog. Besides, you do realize that time doesn't exactly exist, don't you?”

“What are you talking about?” I look at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand creep slowly toward the six at the bottom. “Of course it exists. It's 3:01.”

“No. Time is merely a figment of our imagination. It's something that the human race created to measure an infinite series of intangible, untrackable moments. The only thing that actually exists is the here and now, and even that is fleeting. This one moment, right
now
is the only thing that matters.”

I look at him blankly, trying to wrap my head around the concept of moments strung together in not actually being time but something bigger and more elusive.

Brock reaches out and touches my arm gingerly. “And because time doesn't exist, you're technically never too late, Ivy. So just embrace the moment.”

I smile at his logic. “And you really think he’ll have me back?” I’m cautiously hopeful and silently praying that my stubbornness hasn’t ruined whatever chance we had of fixing things.

“I don’t think. I know. And with the amount of bitching and moaning and crying I’ve seen him do the past few days, once things are good you better treat him nice. Celebrate steak and blow job day early or something. But I’d be more than happy to help you out in that department,” he says suggestively.

I smack his shoulder with the back of my hand. Brock ducks out the way, laughing at me. “Well, Phoenix was right about one thing. You are a little firecracker. An erratic piece of dynamite.”

I let him hug me one more time, but I don’t tell him that Phoenix is wrong.
I
’
m
not dynamite. Our love is. Together we are strong enough to crumble mountains. Transform landscapes. Tear down buildings. And … if we let it … self-implode.

We are explosive in all the best ways possible.

And apparently the worst ways, too.

I pull away from Brock and walk to the desk. I snatch my purse out from the bottom filing cabinet and fling it over my shoulder before leaving without saying a word. Walking with purpose, I throw my arm out and slip into the first taxi that pulls up to the curb.

As I slide into the back seat, he crinkles his face in disgust, presumably catching a whiff of my stench. Ignoring him, I grab my phone from the bottom of my purse and quickly type a message before I have the chance to second-guess myself.

Ivy:
I
’
m ready to talk. When do you get back in town?

MY PLANE TOUCHED DOWN A few hours ago.

I drove aimlessly around the city trying to summon the courage to see my dad. It wasn’t until I went to the park at the bottom of the St. Louis Arch that I found the strength to head home.

A weight was lifted off of my shoulders when I confessed, but Ivy continues to carry that weight and refuses to let me help her. Since Friday night, my old nightmares have finally stopped—only to be replaced with new ones of hurt, loss and solitude. And the new nightmares don’t even wait for me to be sleeping. I live each day toeing the line between heaven and hell. Every waking moment without Ivy in my life is a nightmare, torn between wanting to sleep away the pain of my past and wanting to make Ivy see that we belong together.

You just can’t force someone to love you though.

Surely this is how my dad felt back when my mom and I walked out on him.

When I walk through the door, my dad looks up over his newspaper and nearly spits out his hot tea. He looks weaker than before. The chemo and radiation are really doing a number on him.

“Phoenix,” he says in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” He pushes his chair out and places his weight in his palms against the table to stand.

“Oh my God ... Dad ...” I have no idea what to say, but the sight of him is absolutely heartbreaking. I lean my bag against the wall and walk over to him, taking in his frail frame. He's lost an ungodly amount of weight. He can see the immediate concern in my eyes.