Numbly, he walked through the space, his mind seeing Ellie, gorgeously naked in front of him, walking away. His pace picked up just to try to catch her; he didn’t want to lose her. If he could only just catch her.
His mind and his body remembered carrying her out of the kitchen and into the bedroom – and that’s where his hallucinations stopped. The deep red stains on his bed jarring him painfully back to the beginning of the end. He paused next to the dried, blood-covered pillowcase, picturing her lifeless body lying there – the image distorting, the room turning into the hospital, Ellie laying in the bed, motionless, as his mom’s oncologist entered the room, coming around to verify what the beeping of the machine was suggesting.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Black. She’s gone.” The words he’d heard the doctor tell his father; the words that had lost him everything he had cared about, only now, it was Ellie the doctor had been talking about.
The tears running down his face brought him back to his actual surroundings. Turning from the bed, he walked into the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Stopped again by the sight of the glass-covered floor. To think that seconds before all of this had happened, he’d had her up against the shower wall, her body convulsing in pleasure, his erupting, spilling himself so deeply inside of her; such exquisite pleasure to be followed by such excruciating pain.
His hands covered his eyes, unable to escape her, unable to escape the thoughts of her or the pain that accompanied them.
So. Much. Pain.
“FUCK!” he roared, turning to punch the vanity mirror above the sink, adding to the collection of glass on the floor and the spilt blood in the apartment. He didn’t even feel it.
He wanted to. God, how he wanted to.
Physical pain was easier to handle than the pain inside of his heart breaking. Tristan dropped everything and stormed out of his apartment, needing to go somewhere that wouldn’t have Ellie’s essence engrained in everything. In the elevator, he realized he’d left his keys inside the condo.
Have someone break in and steal something, he dared the universe, a mocking laugh accompanying the thought because that would be something that would happen to him now – except he didn’t give a shit if it did.
The only thing valuable I ever had in that apartment is currently laying in a hospital bed, already stolen from me.
Ellie jerked away from her father as he rushed to her side to try to comfort her. Her immediate reaction was rash and cruel, but the pain was blinding. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t focus. A part of her heard her father’s frantic questions – “Ellie, what’s wrong?” “What happened? Did he hurt you?” “I’ll kill him if he hurt you, honey, just tell me what happened.”
Tristan had left her.
She’d lived her worst fears, that is what had happened, but she couldn’t find the words or the strength to say them through her sobs. She didn’t know how long she cried, but at some point, her dad had given up on the questions and just sat with her quietly, knowing that she would talk when she was able.
The doctor didn’t come back. Her dad shooed the nurse away when she tried to come into the room. After that, she’d been left in peace to mourn. For the longest time, it was only the fact that he had left – his words, “You told me, it’s done” and then the final “I’m leaving her,” hammered over and over again against her heart, slowly breaking up any pieces that remained until there was nothing but a pile of despairing dust left inside of her. Finally, her tears stopped because her body just couldn’t make anymore; her sobs subsided only because her throat had finally given out on her, too raw to continue.
With no tears, only puffy eyelids obscuring her view, she finally got a good look at her dad’s stricken face, hunched over the side of her bed, his hands clenched together just waiting for her to open up to him, except she couldn’t.
He was a part of this.
“How,” she began, her throat rasping painfully at the attempt to speak, “how do you know Tristan Black?”
She watched her father’s face break, recognizing that she knew enough where he would have to tell her the whole truth, even though it would hurt her even more. Ellie didn’t say another word, she just waited while he fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. Reaching for the cup of ice water, she drank the now-lukewarm water slowly, letting it coat and calm her burning throat.
“I met him at an auction several weeks ago,” Jack began, his eyes still staring down at his hands. “I went because I’d heard these artists, the Gentlemen’s Guild, were good – like really good, Ellie, and I needed one of them. I didn’t realize how exclusive and hard to meet they were.” He paused, glancing up at her. She still said nothing; she wanted the whole story.
She deserved the whole story – the truth.
“In a fortunate, or unfortunate for some, turn of events, the auctioneer mistakenly put up a drawing that wasn’t supposed to be sold. The image, it was just beautiful Ellie, and so I bid on it and won. I asked if I could meet the artist, but the Guild’s manager said that they don’t meet buyers, or any clients for that matter. So, I went to leave, trying to think of another way I could contact them, when a man – Tristan – approached me.” Again, he paused, waiting for a reaction from her – one that wasn’t coming.
“He explained that I’d won the wrong piece, something that I was unaware of up until that point. It’s not usually in my nature, but I suddenly saw an opportunity to turn this oversight into an opportunity, initially refusing to return the work that I had purchased fair-and-square. I said I would be willing to consider an exchange if I could meet the artist, at which point Tristan enlightened me to his other identity; he was ‘Titian’, he was the artist.”
Ellie couldn’t help the signs of disappointment from creeping onto her face, hearing the beginnings of the tale of blackmail that Tristan had hinted at.
“So, I told him that I would exchange his painting only if he would provide me with one of you.”
So, Tristan had been telling the truth. Her father had resorted to blackmail.
She couldn’t believe it, let alone understand his actions. “Why?” she croaked out.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, regretfully, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, as though even he almost couldn’t fathom what had prompted him.
Almost.
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he started again. “I couldn’t take watching you every day losing more and more confidence in yourself, even as you were getting closer and closer to a complete recovery. You left the firm, and I was hopeful. I had hoped that this was finally your new beginning, that you would find something where I would finally see you happy and excited, but instead, you left and you just continued to look more and more lost. It was as though you didn’t know how to live without having cancer as a handicap. You were afraid, I could see it in your eyes. You wanted to live, but you were afraid to. Even though you’d beaten the cancer, a part of it had beaten you and your self-esteem.” He looked up at her, the pain of what he had seen happening to her echoing in his eyes. “I thought, if I could find an artist to draw you, to take the time to painstakingly replicate every detail, it would show you just how beautiful and valuable you are and that the cancer hadn’t changed that.”
Twenty minutes must have been enough production time because Ellie felt the cool course of fresh tears streaming down her face.
‘Mission accomplished’, dad. Tristan did exactly that. He showed me that I am gorgeous and valued and desirable. Because of him, I’m no longer afraid of living, I just no longer have a reason to.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” her father choked out, his eyes filling with tears now, too. “I never meant for any of this. I just…” He stopped to blow his nose. “I just wanted you to finally see the real you.”
Her throat was thick again, too thick to respond. For a minute, they both just sat there, letting the tears fall from their eyes. She wanted to be mad at him; she wanted to be irate at him for lying to her, for trapping her into meeting the lo
ve of her life, for putting her in the position now where that love was built on nothing but lies, both his and Tristan’s.
But, there’d been enough anger today and how could he have known that she would fall in love that golden, gorgeous artist.
With a pained inhale, she finally opened her mouth to respond. “I did, dad. I did see it,” she whispered, giving him a watery smile.
My eyes were opened at the expense of my heart.
“What happened, Ellie?” he asked again.
She laughed a little on her exhale before finally admitting, “I fell in love with him, dad.”
Her father just stared at her, his eyes widening in understanding; the extent of her brokenness now making more sense. His brow then furrowed in confusion. “What happened? Is this because of his drawing? I’ll give it back to him. I was wrong to keep it in the first place; he can have it,” Jack continued, thinking that the drawing was the reason that Tristan had left her.
Then, her memory from the other day crept to the forefront of her mind – the covered drawing in her dad’s dining room, the familiar face it contained. Tristan had his mother’s eyes, it was no wonder that she would recognize them anywhere.
“Did you know it was of his mom?” she asked bluntly, suddenly wondering if he’d blackmailed Tristan knowing that the portrait was of his deceased mother, praying that her father wouldn’t have gone that far, knowing what it was like to lose a wife and a mother.
It was a good thing that she was at rock bottom because when her father nodded in admission, she could feel no more pain or disappointment in his actions.
“Oh, dad…” Her sorrow seared through the softly spoken words. How could he have done such a thing? She didn’t have to say anything more, the look of anguish on his face told her that he was already suffering enough from the choices that he had made; raking him over the coals for it wouldn’t help the situation any. Instead, she forged on with her explanation. “She died of cancer.”
“Oh, Jesus, Ellie…I’ll give it back,” he choked out, biting on his fist with all of the regret he had for his actions. “I didn’t know that - not that it matters. I’ll give it back. I don’t know what came over me, sweetheart. I’m so sorry for disappointing you like this; I will return it to him immediately.
“She died of cancer,” she repeated, trying desperately to get the last, painful piece of the story out, “and I never told him about mine.”
“But, when he told you about his mom, why wouldn’t you –”
Ellie cut him off, “He didn’t tell me – he didn’t have to.” She inhaled shakily. “I saw it in the anger in his face this afternoon when he found out about mine. He’s one of the angry ones, dad. He learned, took one look at me and saw nothing but the next opportunity for him to lose someone he cares about.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘someone he loves.’
“What did he say? Why would he tell you then about knowing me?”
“He told me because he was hurting, and he wanted to make me hurt too. He told me that I meant nothing to him. He told me that making me fall in love with him was part of his plan to get revenge on you for blackmailing him. He told me that he set out to break my heart from the beginning to punish you.”
“I’m going to kill him, Ellie.” The protective rage in her father’s eyes actually bringing her some concern. She didn’t know that she’d even seen him this angry. “I’m going to burn that goddamn portrait of his mother – I don’t care if she died. How he has treated you is unforgivable!” His words vibrated with the intensity of his anger.
Ellie grabbed his hand, bringing him back to focus on her. “Dad, you aren’t going to do any of those things,” she said, her voice deadly calm and serious. “You are going to return his mother’s portrait and then you are going to walk away and leave him alone. Do you understand?” Her tone made it clear she would accept no other answer than his agreement.
“Ellie, how can —” he began, flustered by the ease with which she glossed over the incredibly painful things Tristan had said to her.
“I can because no matter what he has said, I love him and he is hurting. And if I can’t promise him myself for the rest of his life, at least I can give him back the only other woman who could possibly have loved him close to how much I do.”
Her father just stared at her, waiting for her words to sink through his anger at the man who had broken his daughter’s heart. Slowly, the hard edges of his face softened in sadness, seeing how both she and Tristan had suffered. Ellie knew Tristan’s suffering would never completely excuse the things he’d said in her father’s mind, but at least he finally could see the situation from Tristan’s perspective.
“I’ll be sure to return the drawing back to him this week, once you are home and safe.”
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile to her face as she squeezed her dad’s hand. “I think I’m going to rest for a little bit alone, if that’s ok. I’m completely exhausted.”
“Of course, darling,” her father responded, taking the hint knowing that he had disappointed her. He stood and leaned over the bed to kiss her on her forehead before heading towards the door. “I’ll see if I can’t find the doctor and see if he’s gotten ahold of Dr. Sion.”
Ellie just nodded, not really caring what he did, so long as she could just be alone right now. She needed time to assess the damage, to pick up the eviscerated pieces of her heart and bury them along with any hope she had for her future.
She couldn’t…she wouldn’t believe that Tristan had meant the things that he said. She had seen the anguish attempting to burst through his mask of anger. She knew that he cared about her, that he loved her – it was the reason, deep down, why he had said what he did. When you become sick like she had been, it teaches you that most, if not all, times when someone lashes out, it’s from hurt. It didn’t excuse what he’d said, or his motives for choosing her. But, if he had wanted to hurt her there had been countless other opportunities for him to break her; he only chose now because she had broken him.
It was easier to hate her and lose her than to love her and lose her; that’s what she chose to believe, if for no other reason than the alternative would most assuredly kill her – quicker and more painfully than the leukemia ever would.
Chapter 31
“Tris.”
He heard his name vaguely through his hungover haze, and like he’d done with most things over the past however many days, he chose to ignore it.
“Tristan!”
The annoying asshole persisted, this time the noise accompanied by object hitting the back of his already pounding head. The vibration breaking up the fog surrounding him
“What the fuck…” he groaned, his hand blindly reaching for the spot where he’d been struck.
“You need to get up.” Sloane’s calmly irritated voice got louder as his friend moved closer.
“I don’t need to fucking do anything,” he groggily replied, squeezing his eyes shut harder, trying to go back to the unconscious sleep he’d been in.
“Yeah, you fucking do because you’re still on my couch and you’ve been on my couch for the past three days.”
“Three days?” His perspective on time had been way off. Three days was a long fucking time; he had shit to do. Tristan rolled over, groaning as the movement made his entire body ache. He struggled, finally pushing himself up to sit on the couch, his sensitive eyes raising to meet the disapproving stare of his keeper.
“Three days, Tris.”
“What happened?” Honestly, he felt like it had been maybe a night, because that was about all of the memory that he had. Not even memories – just shadows of dark drinks and even darker feelings.
Sloane sighed, sitting down in the chair across from him. Thankfully, all of the blinds in Sloane’s apartment were closed so Tristan could actually look at his friend without too much pain being inflicted on his head.
“You showed up here Monday night. Well, I tried calling you first, to check on
…” he paused here, clearly unsure if he should even say her name.
“Ellie,” Tristan rasped for him.
“I tried calling you, you didn’t answer. Next thing I know you are here, with bottles of alcohol, and you just start drinking.”
“Have I stopped?” Tristan asked, his head really starting to pound.
“Well, you drank through all your alcohol and mine and were too hungover to go get more. So yes, but only out of necessity, because I sure as shit wasn’t about to go buy you more.” Sloane informed him, nodding to the glass of water and four pills sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “Take those, it’ll help bring you back to the world of the living.”
“Not sure I’m going to survive that journey,” Tristan remarked sarcastically as he picked up the pain meds and chugged them down with the entire glass of water.
“You will, if for no other reason than you need to get out of my apartment.”
“I thought we were friends,” he croaked, only partially offended by the blunt attempt to get rid of him.
“We are. However, for the past three days, I’ve been not only dealing with my life, but running auto-pilot on yours. Fielding calls from your secretary, your office, trying to pry business answers out of your drunken ass when all you want to talk about is her.”
“Fuck,” Tristan spat, “Sorry, man.”
“Don’t be sorry. I know what happened – at least if your drunken alter-ego can be trusted, I know.”
“What did I tell you?” Tristan asked, unsure that he even remembered everything that had happened.
“A lot of crazy shit,” Sloane huffed. “Sparknotes version? You found out Ellie has cancer. You told her that you only fucked her to break her heart. And that you told her the only reason you ‘picked’ her as your model was because her father blackmailed you into doing it.” He paused again. “Yeah, I think that’s about it – oh no, wait. And that you don’t love her. ‘Absolutely not’ – or so you said.”
The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 36
