Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (8 page)

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOW MY dad’s visit spiral out of control. I have a hard time concentrating on work, and Brock has been increasingly more demanding. Farrah is all up my ass with details that don’t even matter yet, and I’m still not convinced Phoenix is telling me everything that plagues his mind.

I’ve never really understood the phrase “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I mean, what’s so bad about a shoe dropping in the first place? Unless, of course, it’s the heel of your favorite pair slipping into the subway grates on the sidewalk. That happened to me this morning and subsequently ruined my red patent leather pumps.

Phoenix is stuck late at the office tonight, so I’ve become a permanent fixture on the couch eating Chinese take-out directly from the carton. And, of course, I’ve made a mess of things because I’m stubborn and insist on using the chopsticks. Which would be fine if I were capable of using them correctly. Which I am not.

I have the TV turned up so loud I barely hear my phone chime, alerting me to a new text message. Tossing the chopsticks onto the coffee table, I snatch up my phone and smile to see a message from Rachel.

Rachel:
How are you holding up?

Ivy:
Fine.

Rachel:
Really? I don’t believe that for one second.

Ivy:
Why? Is there a reason I shouldn’t be fine?

Rachel:
Glad to see you’re still fluent in sarcasm. Seriously though, I can’t believe Genevieve did that. Are you okay?

Genevieve did what? And why the fuck am I the last to find out about everything these days?

I quickly dial Rachel’s number from memory.

“What are you talking about?” I command. No hello. No how are you. Just give me the answers.

“Genevieve. She went to the cops.”

Fuck.

“What? Why? She didn’t …”

“She did.”

“And?”

“Apparently that loving husband of hers beat the shit out of her.”

My stomach drops. From the fact he hit her or from the fact she still married him, I’m not entirely sure.

“She filed a police report. Has a restraining order. She’s building a case against him. Everything.”

I don’t say anything. The only thing I’m capable of doing is taking slow, shallow breaths. Even though my sister can be a raging cunt, I never would have wished this upon her. I would never wish this upon anyone.

“Hello? Ivy? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I just …”

I stare off into space with no fucking clue how to process any of this. The memories rip my heart into countless shreds.

“I know. I wasn’t sure when or how you’d find out. I kind of already assumed your dad mentioned something when he was in town.”

I’m surprised he didn’t say anything either. Perhaps he doesn’t know? Or maybe he decided that dropping the
hey, I
’
m not actually your dad
bomb on me was more than enough news for one visit.

“No, he didn’t mention it. He was too busy telling me that my mom resents me because I’m a constant reminder of
her
inability to be faithful in their marriage.”

Rachel gasps into the phone. And doesn’t say anything. It’s official. The shit show that is my life has finally rendered my best friend speechless.

“Ivy. I …” she trails off, words failing her.

“It’s okay, Rachel. I’ve come to terms with it.”

I know it’s not okay, but I have to pretend that it is to keep my world from crumbling down on me. It’s like my brain knows that I’m only capable of processing little bits of life-altering news at one time and so I’m slowly getting a grip on the truth that is my life rather than falling completely off the deep end.

“It’s like the whole fucking universe is trying to screw me over right now. Karma is finally coming back to bite me in the ass for all those years of defiance and being a total bitch.”

“
Karma
Sutra!” Rachel snorts into the phone. “The universe has resulted in coming up with the most creative ways to fuck you over!”

I pull the phone away from my ear when she howls wildly on the other end of the line.

“It’s not funny, Rachel!”

She continues to cackle. “Admit it. It kind of is.”

Okay. It kind of is
. But I’m not about to tell her that.

“I’m so glad I amuse you,” I deadpan. This girl is utterly ridiculous. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oh, don’t get your panties tied up and twisted, Ivy. I’m only joking.”

“Allow me to take a page from your book, Rachel. Wasn’t it you who once said that it’s impossible to get your panties in a bunch when you’re not wearing any?”

She snorts into the other end and I’m thankful for the momentary reprieve from the heavy. Rachel takes a cleansing breath and brings me back to the matter at hand.

“What are you going to do? About Genevieve?”

Nothing. There’s not really anything I
can
do. Or want to do. I kind of just want to move on with my life and pretend nothing ever happened to me.

“I don’t know yet.” And that’s the honest truth. I
don
’
t
know.

“Well, I know you don’t want to hear it, but I do think you should at the very least consider making a statement.” She sighs heavily into the other end of the phone.

“You’re right,” I agree. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Ivy …”

“Hey look, I need to get going.”

I’m desperate to get off of the phone. I need to stay out of my own head and if I listen to Rachel prattle on about what I should or shouldn’t do with reporting Sully, I’m going to be sick.

“Fine. If I don’t talk to you again before the end of the week, have a wonderful birthday. Be sure to make that man of yours treat you right on my behalf.”

“Thanks, whore,” I tease. If she hadn’t reminded me, I probably would have forgotten all about my birthday.

“Love you, girly.”

“Love you, too.”

I hang up the phone and toss it on the couch next to me.

He hit her.

He actually hit my sister.

I chew on my cuticle and stare off into space, forcing myself to go numb.

Don
’
t think. Don
’
t feel. Just turn it all off.

I don’t want to feel anything right now. Especially not sympathy. And especially not for Genevieve.

THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS PASS in a blur. I tried not to think about everything Rachel told me, but that was a recipe for disaster. The more effort you put into trying not to think about something, the more it consumes your every waking moment. Eventually, it eats away at me until I confess the conversation to Phoenix after pushing my dinner around on my plate for the better part of an hour.

“He hit her?” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, I always knew he had an anger problem and control issues … but I never took him as that kind of guy.”

I scoff but don’t bother correcting him. What would he really expect of his former best friend who drugged and raped unsuspecting girls? The real shocker for everyone should be that he hasn’t been caught fucking things up before now. But that’s Phoenix for you, I suppose. Always wanting to see and believe the good in everyone.

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about right or wrong or good or bad with Sully. We both know his true colors, and I’ve experienced firsthand what he’s capable of. I just … I don’t know. I feel partly responsible for what just happened to Genevieve. If I had reported things when they first happened months ago, maybe this wouldn’t have happened? He could have been shipped off to jail and never married Gen. I mean, my family would hate me for even more reasons, but at least this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Ivy …” he grabs my shoulders firmly and looks at me deliberately. “He is not a good man. Nobody is deserving of his love. Except for maybe prison inmate number 82104.”

I appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood, so I feign a small smile and roll my eyes at his ill-timed joke.

His expression turns serious again. “But you cannot feel like you are to blame for any of this. No matter what you did or didn’t do, he would have hurt Genevieve one way or another. There’s no way for you to know that all of this could have happened.”

Maybe he’s right. And who knows, Sully could have hurt Genevieve in ways I don’t even know about before he ever met me. But it’s hard not to feel like I’m to blame on some level because I should have spoken up when he pushed the issue the thirty-thousand times before. I mean, as wretched as Genevieve can be, she
is
still my sister. I’ve spent the last few months so wrapped up in my own hate, doing what was selfish instead of doing what was right.

God, I
’
m such a bitch.

“I’m not going to say it because you already know how I feel.” He pulls back to look at me and takes my face in his hands. “But I meant what I said before. I don’t want to push this issue with you. However, I want you to know that whatever you decide to do, whether or not I agree with it, I swear that I will support you wholeheartedly.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Deep down, Phoenix knows I’m starting to have a change of heart. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in the way he touches me. It’s as if I’m delicate; like I’m one of his paper birds that could fly away at a moment’s notice.

But I can’t fly away. I am tethered to this man in so many ways that if I lost him, I’d lose myself, too.

“You’re an incredible and resilient woman, Ivy. You’ve been through more over the past few months than any individual should experience in a lifetime. And I’m proud of the fact that you’re so headstrong.”

Phoenix leans over and gently kisses my forehead. I wrap my arms around him and allow some of the guilt I feel to slip away.

“So we’re going to need to create another false wall here,” I say, pointing to an open space on the floor plan. “And over here.”

Brock looks up to inspect the area I’m referencing and nods. “And I’d like to build another one on the east side of the room by the entrance for a feature piece if possible.”

“We can make that happen,” I say, even though I’m not really sure it’s possible. James Horesji’s words
we can and will accommodate every artist
’
s needs
echo through my head. I figured he meant making sure we stocked their preferred bottled water or even opening early so they could gain access whenever they needed. I never imagined it would involve reconstructing and repainting the whole damn space in such a short period of time.

Brock’s alleged needs are aggressive, but hopefully doable.

The open floor plan of the gallery is quickly turning into a maze as Brock maps out where each structure will be placed, the space needed for the angle of each light, and how the shadow will be cast upon the wall behind it.

We’ve been at this for days and this has to be version thirty-seven of the plan. I knew artists were anal retentive, but Brock brings the obsessive tendencies to a whole new level. Actually, Brock brings perversion to a whole new level with his constant inappropriate gestures and jokes. But I digress.

He reaches over me and grabs an earlier version of the floor map that we nixed this morning, reconsidering it.

“Are you wearing Chanel No.5?” he asks, sitting back on his knees right beside me.

“How’d you know?”

“Oh, honey, it’s my favorite. I used to steal my mom’s bottle when I was little and walk around pretending I was Coco Chanel.”

I smile, imagining a miniature version of Brock dressed in black, running around acting all classy and fabulous.

“So on opening night, you be sure to wear
that
perfume along with your sexiest little black dress. You’ll be my good luck charm!” He squeals like a little girl and claps his hands twice.

I curl a loose hair behind my ear, not having the heart to tell him I no longer accept orders from people other than myself. I played that game a little too long and it left me too unhappy.

“Aww, chin up, buttercup.” He touches his index finger to my nose and I instinctively grin. This ridiculous man either irritates the shit out of me or makes me smile. It drives me crazy. He looks at me with a glint of mischief in his eye and then looks back at the floor plan.

A brown paper bag is tossed onto the floor beside me and snaps my attention from the task at hand.

“Oh! Hey, baby. I didn’t hear you come in.” I beam at my handsome boyfriend who looks cautiously down at the mess of notes we’ve created on the floor.

Brock and I aren’t exactly in a compromising position, but judging from Phoenix’s body language, it’s obvious that we’ve crossed some threshold of comfort for him. We’ve spent the last hour huddled together on the floor, mapping out the placement of his pieces and determining just how much space is needed for the light and the angle at which the shadow will be cast upon the wall.

I quickly push myself up and throw my arms around his neck in a tight hug. When I pull back to introduce him, I can see that Phoenix’s eyes never left Brock.

He’s possessive. And dare I say jealous?