Rush

by Samantha Towle

  Not that he’s faring much better. He looks awful. Like he’s not slept at all. Unshaven with dark rings under his eyes.

  “Hi,” he says low, his voice gravelly.

  My skin breaks out in goose bumps.

  I wrap my arms over myself as our eyes connect. Ares’s eyes are somber and soulful, piercing deep into my already-fragile emotions.

  “I was just about to head out,” my dad says, getting his jacket and keys. He walks over to me and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll call you later.”

  He gives Ares a sturdy pat on the shoulder as he passes. Then, he’s gone, and I’m alone with Ares.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. My voice sounds as rough as his.

  “Ari, I…” He drives a hand through his disheveled hair. Gripping the strands, he shakes his head and exhales a soft, painful-sounding breath. “I’m sorry, babe. So very fucking sorry.”

  He knows the truth. Someone told him.

  A flash of anger runs through me. My eyes go to the door and then back to him.

  “Did…my dad tell you?” The words are like rocks in my mouth.

  He shakes his head. “No. I saw…Luke.”

  “Luke?”

  “He came to my place late last night.”

  “How…did he know where you lived?”

  “Money can buy you a lot of things in this city. And, apparently, my address is one of them.”

  “Oh.”

  “He came to give me a piece of his mind. And I’m glad he did. Because everything he said was right. It should’ve been me with you yesterday at the hospital. It should’ve been me listening to you when you were telling me the truth…believing you because you’d never given me a reason not to trust you. But because I’m so used to distrusting people, I…” He breaks off and blows out another breath. “I let down the one person I shouldn’t have.”

  I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper softly.

  “Tell me you’ll forgive me.”

  I stare into his eyes, his endless eyes that desperately search mine.

  And I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Ares. But I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you.”

  He steps up to me, hands curling around my upper arms. The feel of his hands on me…it’s like he’s burning me.

  “I just let my own bullshit cloud my judgment. I made a mistake, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “I was drugged. Do you get that? I was drugged. I was pleading with you to believe me, and you wouldn’t listen! You dismissed me. Yelled at me. You didn’t listen to a word I’d said to you. You once asked me for the truth, full disclosure, and I promised you that…and I have never broken that promise.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “No. But you’ve let me down. The only reason you’re here right now is because Luke told you the truth!” I stab a finger at the ground. “Not because you suddenly realized I was telling the truth. Not because you got over your initial anger and saw that I would never lie to you. No, you’re here because Luke told you what had happened. And I have no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t be standing here right now if he hadn’t.” Tears are running down my cheeks now, showing my pain and frustration.

  The guilt that sweeps through his eyes tells me everything I need to know. That I’m right. That he wouldn’t have come. That he would never have believed what I had told him.

  “You need to leave.”

  Panic flashes through his eyes. “Ari, please. I’ve fucked up, and I’m so sorry, babe. I hate that you’re crying because of me.” He lifts a hand to my face and cups my cheek, brushing away my tears with his thumb. His eyes plead with mine. “Please, Ari. Just give me a chance to make this right.”

  I look away from him. “I…can’t.”

  “But…” I can hear him searching for words, and what comes out of his mouth next is entirely the wrong thing. “You screwed up before, and I forgave you.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell. I push his hand off me. “I can’t believe you! You’re comparing a white lie when I canceled on you because I was too ashamed to tell you that I’d been to a bar before we were even dating to this!” The words roar out of my mouth.

  Surprise flickers through his eyes. He’s never seen me angry. I’ve never seen me this angry. I’m so mad that I’m vibrating with it.

  “You need to leave,” I tell him again, low.

  “Jesus, Ari…please. I’m just saying all the wrong things here. I’m messing everything up.”

  He comes back to me and takes my face in his hands. I look away from him, hating how much I want the feel of his hands on me.

  “Ari, I love you. I love you so fucking much.” His voice breaks, and something cracks inside me. “I’ve screwed up so badly. And you’ll never know how sorry I am for that. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

  My heart is aching and screaming and begging for me to say yes. It would be so easy to forgive him and take him back. But…what if he does it to me again? What if something happens again, and he doesn’t believe me? And he won’t because he doesn’t trust me. He hurt me once, and he has the capacity to do it again. And I can’t go through this again. Not with him. Because it will be ever harder later down the line.

  If I love him this much now, in such a short space of time, imagine how I’ll feel about him in a year…in two years.

  It would break me.

  And I can’t risk that. Because I can’t turn back into the girl I used to be. I’m barely hanging on now. It’s taking everything in me not to turn to alcohol to numb this pain.

  And staying sober has to be the most important thing. If I’m to have a future, it has to be the only thing.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my eyes refilling with tears, blurring my vision. “I have to think of myself right now…my sobriety. And I…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me. Someone who’s just waiting and watching…expecting me to fall.”

  I blink, sending fresh tears down my cheeks, and then I bring my eyes to his…and wish I hadn’t. The raw emotion shimmering in his gaze almost breaks me. But I hold strong because I have to. It’s the right thing to do. The only thing I can do.

  So, I draw up all the strength left inside of me and say softly, “You were right yesterday…when you said we were done…because I don’t trust you with my heart anymore. The one time I really needed you, Ares…needed you to believe me, and you let me down.”

  His hands slowly draw away from my face.

  He swallows roughly and closes his eyes, a shaky breath escaping him.

  Then, he turns and walks for the door.

  I can’t watch him leave. So, I close my eyes.

  “Ari…”

  I force myself to look at him. And it shatters my heart. The anguish on his face.

  “I screwed up. But I’ve never stopped loving you. And I never will.” He opens the door and steps through, and then he’s gone.

  Out of my life. For good this time.

  In the days that pass, I can feel that sense of loss, like I felt after my mom died. It’s a different sense of loss but no less difficult.

  I guess, in some ways, it’s hard, knowing Ares is out there, living his life without me.

  I haven’t been into work since Ares and I broke up.

  My dad told me to take the next few weeks off work, and I didn’t argue the point.

  The last thing I need is to bump into Ares.

  I honestly don’t know how I’m going to handle it when I do go back. But, for now, I’m not thinking about that.

  And that is one of the problems about not having to go to work; I’ve got time on my hands, and all I do is think.

  Mainly about Ares.

  I haven’t seen him since the morning I told him to leave my apartment. He hasn’t called or texted. Not that I expect him to.

  And it’s hard. His disappearance from my life. I got
so used to being with him. Spending time with him.

  He was my best friend. I loved him. I still love him.

  I’m just wondering when I’m going to stop feeling this way. Because being without him is like I’m slowly dying inside.

  I’ve been trying to keep busy. So, I have thrown myself back into my painting.

  I finally managed to finish the painting of me and Ares. I cried the whole time.

  But it was cathartic, you know?

  The final brushstroke was like the closing of that chapter in my life.

  I have considered sending the painting to him, as I promised him that he could have it when it was finished. But that was when we were still together, and now, we’re not. I don’t know if he’ll still want it.

  So, for now, I’m hanging on to it.

  Although it’s in my hallway closet because looking at it makes me want to cry.

  On the subject of things that make me want to cry, but more with anger…I received a call from Officer Knight, who had taken my statement about my complaint against Leo. She said that they had spoken with him, and he, of course, denied any wrongdoing. And they couldn’t check the CCTV footage from that night, as there wasn’t a working camera on the bar. So, it basically came down to my word against his. She apologized that there was nothing more she could do. I felt angry, but it wasn’t her fault. She was just doing her job. So, I thanked her for trying for me and hung up.

  My dad was not happy when I told him. His exact words were, “That’s fucking bullshit.”

  Then, he ranted a little, and I let him. Honestly, it’s nice to see him showing me that he cares about me even if it did take such a shitty thing to happen for him to start doing so.

  Do I want to drink?

  More than anything.

  I’ve had bad days, but I’ve handled them.

  As well as painting, I’ve gotten back into my yoga. I let it slide a little when Ares and I started dating.

  Now that I’m single…I’m reverting to life pre-Ares, just not as desperately pathetic.

  Okay, it’s a little pathetic. I’ve gotten reacquainted with my good buddy Netflix.

  I’ve still got Dexter on there, waiting for me to watch the next episode…but it wouldn’t feel right, watching it without Ares sitting here beside me. So, I removed it from my list.

  Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to watch it alone.

  But that day isn’t today—or anytime soon.

  But I’m not being a total loser all the time. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my dad. Okay, that is sad. But I think he’s trying to make things up to me, all his past failings, and I’m more than happy to let him.

  He’s the only family I’ve got left.

  I also spoke to Luke. He called and apologized for telling Ares what had really happened to me that night.

  But I understood. He cares about me as a friend, and honestly, when you don’t have that many people who care about you, you hold on to the ones you do have.

  Ares cares about you, that annoying voice in my head whispers.

  Yeah, well, if he did really care, then he would’ve believed me when I told him the truth.

  And, now, I’m arguing with myself.

  Great.

  I push open the door to the art store. I’ve run out of a few oil colors and need to stock up.

  I walk inside, smiling at the girl behind the counter. Her hair is long and dyed different colors, like unicorn hair.

  It’s cool.

  Not that I’d ever have the balls to dye my hair like that.

  I’ve just walked down the aisle where the oil paints I use are when I hear my name being called.

  “Arianna Petrelli?”

  I turn at the voice, and a smile breaks out on my face. “Declan Wiseman.”

  Dec and I used to go to art college together.

  “How the hell are you doing?” he asks as he comes over to give me a hug.

  “I’m good.” I smile at him as I pull away.

  “It’s been how long since we last saw each other?”

  The sad thing is, I can’t actually remember the last time I saw him. Because most of those years and the subsequent ones blend together.

  “Too long,” I say instead.

  “Hey, you fancy having a coffee? There’s a coffee shop a few doors down.”

  “I’d love that.” I smile again. “Just let me grab these paints, and then I’m good.”

  I get what I need, and we head to the counter together. Dec pays for his charcoals. He does charcoal drawings, and from my memory, they are amazing.

  I pay for my paints, and then we head out of the store together and take the short walk to the coffee shop.

  We order coffees, and Dec insists on paying for mine. Then, we take a seat by the window.

  “So, what are you up to nowadays?” Dec asks me. No hint that he’s seen the news stories about me recently or earlier this year.

  “I was working for a gallery there for a few years, but I, um…lost my job…and…” I pick my coffee cup up, sipping it, delaying my words. Be truthful, Ari. Stop hiding who you are. I put my cup down and look up at him. “The truth is, I had a drinking problem, and I got in some trouble earlier this year, as I had an accident while drunk-driving, so I had to go into rehab, and I lost my job at the gallery.”

  Surprisingly, his expression doesn’t change. “Shit,” he says. “But you’re doing okay now?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. It’s a little forced because the reality is, I’m not doing great. I have this huge hole in my chest where Ares used to be. “I’m eight months sober.”

  “That’s great,” he says, smiling. “My older brother has been to rehab a few times. Opiate addiction,” he explains.

  “Is he okay now?” I ask sympathetically because I know it’s hard for those who deal with the addiction, but it’s equally as hard for those people’s loved ones who have to watch them destroy themselves.

  “He’s four months clean at the moment. But my mom and I have been down this road with him before. So, we’re just hoping it sticks this time.”

  I nod, understanding.

  “So, what are you doing for work at the moment?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

  “I’m working for my dad.”

  “He coaches the Giants, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m currently an assistant to the team.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Not really.” I shake my head. The guy I love is the quarterback, and we’re no longer together because he doesn’t trust me. “I mean, it’s a job. But it’s not what I want to do with my life.”

  “You want to paint?”

  “Yeah…I mean, even just working back in a gallery would be amazing, but after the DUI, I can’t get anyone to hire me.”

  “My mom has a gallery, you know.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s fairly new. She opened it eighteen months ago, but it’s doing well, and she is always keen to showcase new talent. And she doesn’t discriminate against people with former addictions.” He grins, and I smile. “I can set you up with a meeting with her, show her your portfolio, if you’d be interested?”

  “Interested? Are you nuts?” I laugh. “It’s taking everything to keep me in my seat right now and not grab you and hug the hell out of you.”

  He laughs. “So, should I take that as a yes?”

  I nod manically. “You can take that as a massively huge yes.”

  It’s a bright, sunny afternoon as I walk along the sidewalk, heading for Nuu Fine Art, my heavy portfolio bag carrying the two paintings I’ve brought with me to show Dec’s mom, Moira Wiseman.

  After coffee with Dec yesterday, we exchanged numbers and went our separate ways. I didn’t expect to hear from him right away, but he texted me later that day and said his mom would see me today.

  Cue my freak out.

  I’m dressed in a black shirtdress that sits just above my knees and has a cute bow that ties at the neck. I’ve got cute b
eige-colored high-heeled sandals on my feet. Makeup is natural, hair down and wavy.

  I want to make a good impression.

  I reach the building and stop outside to stare up at it.

  It’s a metal-and-glass-front building. Light and airy. Some of the works are visible from the window. Paintings and sculptures.

  Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and walk inside. Soft music is playing in the background. I walk up to the reception desk.

  A pretty girl around my age with poker-straight, shoulder-length blonde hair and striking blue eyes—which, for a moment, remind me of Ares—smiles at me. “Hi, can I help you?” she asks.

  “Yes. Hi. I’m here to see Moira Wiseman. My name is Arianna Petrelli. I have an appointment.”

  “Of course.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Moira’s expecting you. Follow me.”

  She comes out from around the reception desk and leads me through the gallery, which is a hell of a lot bigger than I was expecting. She opens a door, taking me into the back area, which has countless paintings stacked up—some wrapped, some not. And maybe twenty varying sculptures are all lined up, either waiting for delivery to a customer or ready to go out for display, I’m guessing.

  She reaches a door, knocks once, and opens it. “Moira, Arianna Petrelli is here to see you.”

  Moira Wiseman looks to be in her early fifties. She has short black hair and a strikingly attractive face.

  She stands from her chair and comes around the desk, holding her hand out to shake mine. “Arianna, it’s so good to meet you. Declan has told me all about you.”

  I don’t worry or panic about what she knows about me because her older son has his struggles, too, and Dec told me that she doesn’t judge a person. Only their work.

  I slip my hand into hers and give it a firm but friendly shake, clutching my portfolio bag containing some of my paintings.

  “It’s good to meet you, too,” I tell her.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asks me. “Coffee?”

  “Coffee’s great,” I tell her.

  “Ebony, could you bring us some coffee, please?” Moira addresses the girl from reception.

  “Of course.”

  She closes the door, and Moira tells me to take a seat.