by Portia Moore
“Really… are you sure? Because I don’t think you remember as much as you should…” he trails off and stands from my chair and walks to the window.
“Let’s say you didn’t. You don’t think I could persuade one, two, or three of my employees to agree to state otherwise? That I don’t have judges in my pocket?” He turns toward me, wearing a grin. “You are documented as suffering time loss and blackouts. Which means that you are not aware of all that you do. You don’t think that I couldn’t have Helen agree with how I see your condition?” He laughs.
“Having you committed would be generous, Collin. It would be better than you getting into one of those luxury vehicles you love so much and the brakes giving out. A strange man cornering you in an alley with a gun to swipe that fifteen thousand dollar watch off your wrist and his finger slips and pulls the trigger.”
My throat is tight, and my body feels heavy, my thoughts become hazy.
“You see this game that I play with those who think they’re smarter—a step ahead of me. I let them think that they’re a step away from a checkmate and then… I knock the board over.” He leans down in front of me, so we’re face-to-face.
“You’re lucky that you’re blood. Don’t feel so down on yourself. Better men than you have lost to me, and will continue to. Your own brother has his game that he thinks will put him on top but he will lose as well and the world will continue to spin. You don’t get this far in life with what I have and what I’ve built by not having your finger on the pulse of every area that you need to. I’ve learned to see the big picture. Young men like yourself only see a small cutout.”
He touches my cheek like how a father would a loving son.
“You know I really loved your mother… she just…she didn’t understand her place—couldn’t accept it—even after all of my convincing.” He lets out a short sigh. “Oh well. That’s all in the past right, my boy?” He pats me on the back before making his way to the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a present for you.” I turn toward him and he tosses me a pill vial. I fumble before catching it, and he leaves out of my office . It looks like he was never here, but his presence is everywhere, infecting the air, infecting me. I quickly close the door then I’m frozen. Stuck in place. I try to think but I can’t because all I hear is sinister laughing. I quickly open the bottle and pop four pills.
He’s not here yet. In the midst of all the exciting chaos my thoughts are on him, and they shouldn’t be. Everything is going to be fine. Tonight is about enjoying this night, my accomplishments—something I’ve worked so hard to bring together. Well, that’s what Raven has told me since the minute I walked in my pale face hidden beneath foundation, concealer and highlighting powder. Hillary did an amazing job. My face looks like those girls on Instagram—flawless. My hair is effortlessly chic after Angie created perfect loose waves. The black dress I’m wearing seems especially made for me—hugging and hiding all of the right places. Tonight the gallery is packed. The music fills the air as people admire each painting. Cameras are flashing as a few newspaper reporters are here. The crowd is a mix of the young, vibrant, and the sophisticated, which I attribute to my artist’s social media followers and the strings that Dexter pulled for more traditional press. I’m dreaming, and it’s perfect except my leading man is missing.
“Smile honey, you look like you just swallowed a condom,” Hillary whispers in my ear. “There are so many people dying to meet you—make your rounds and thank everyone for coming and upsell your artists work. I’ve sold five and I’m killing you,” she says tightly into my ear. She takes my arm and we make our way around the room. I’m surprised at how good Hillary is at this. She’s charismatic—reserved with the women and the right hint of flirtatious with the men. She’s knowledgeable of each piece and who the artist is. She’s done her homework and stepped up in ways I didn’t imagine she would when I hired her because she was in between jobs. In the moments I was falling apart, she was pulling things together.
“Ian, Lauren and I just wanted to thank you for the turn out you pulled in tonight. I’ve asked several people about how they heard of the event, and they’ve all said they follow you.” Hillary gives him an award winning smile, and he smiles back modestly.
“Your work is amazing and one of my favorites,” I tell him honestly. His latest works are photographs of abandoned buildings, but the way he captures them, they speak to people—men and women of all different ages. I’m guessing it’s why he has over a million followers on Instagram.
“I may have brought some people here, but your work is what everyone is talking about.” He laughs.
“My work?”
“It’s brave to reveal something so incredibly personal. You could see the pain, the loneliness, the fear, and the joy from it.” The noise around me is drowned out, my heart beats hard in my chest, and it feels like the world has slowed down. I look at Hillary who has a nervous grin plastered on her face.
“Hillary, you didn’t.” I gulp down my multiplying nerves.
“It’s such an amazing piece, Lauren.” She pleads urgently, gripping my hands. Ian looks between us, sensing some tension. My thoughts are clumsily trying to form words, but the words aren’t making it out of my mouth. I scan the room to see where she put it, but I don't see it.
What did she name it? What was the description with it? I haven’t even shown him the piece yet, and now it’s out for all of these people to see. I walk away from Hillary and make my way through the gallery. I didn’t see it during my initial walk through. It’s almost six feet and I wouldn’t just miss it.
“Honey, it’s amazing. You did such a fantastic job.” Raven stops me. She looks beautiful, her hair is shorter than it used to be and cut into a stylish bob. She is wearing a dark grey oversized sweater and black skirt, but I can’t even voice a compliment out loud to her because my mind is on one thing—finding the painting, hoping that maybe no one noticed it, and praying that my name isn’t associated with it. Maybe she just mentioned it casually to Ian while flirting, and he’s just being nice.
“Have you seen a piece by me?” I ask nervously.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the talk of the night. I didn’t think that you would be so open with what’s happening but…” Her words fall on deaf ears.
“Upstairs, it has to be upstairs,” I mutter to myself before moving through the myriad of people holding champagne flutes and engulfed in their own conversations. My heart starts to beat out of my chest when I see it. It’s in its own section with over a dozen people surrounding it. The caption near it says—
Shattered Pieces by Lauren Scott
My heart stops.
“What do you think it means?” I hear a man’s voice say.
“Who cares he’s hot,” a woman’s voice adds.
“It’s the same guy, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“No, they all look so different.”
“Of course it’s the same guy.”
“Triplets you think?”
“Maybe she has three lovers.”
The voices eventually all meld together, except one.
“What is this?” His voice brings everything to a screeching halt. My heart has fallen over on itself, and I turn to look at him nervously. His eyes are wide, his stare hard on the picture. I gulp down my nerves. His presence causes silence amongst the onlookers, and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize it’s him from the painting or his aura alone causes no questions to be asked, only actions to be taken. It makes me want to crawl in myself and hide. He looks amazing—dressed in an impeccable black suit, not a hair out of place, but something seems off. His face is like stone, relaxed, but his movements are quick and rushed as he walks towards the piece and looks around at the small crowd of people surrounding it. He stalks toward me, grabs my arm, his grip deadlocked on me.
“How could you do this?” His voice is hoarse and desperate.
“I-I didn’t mean for it to be on display lik
e this...” I tell him quickly.
“Do you know what can happen if people find out about this?” he asks, his grip tightening even more.
“You’re hurting me, Collin.” I attempt to snatch my arm away.
“There’s a reason we see one doctor, a reason that this has to stay under wraps.” His teeth are gritted, and he pulls me closer to his chest. His eyes are locked on mine and there is fire behind them. I feel myself shaking. I’ve felt many things for this man in the years that I’ve known him—anger, joy, love, disappointment, desire, but fear has never been one of the emotions until now.
“He can destroy us,” he snarls, before pushing me away. My mouth falls open in shock and confusion. This has to be the medication! Onlookers are watching us confused, and with worried and perplexed expressions, unsure if they should intervene.
“Who are you talking about Collin? What is wrong with you?” I beg him. He looks at me frustrated and as if I’m an annoyance.
He walks over to my piece and attempts to pull it down.
“Collin, stop it!” I try to grab his shoulder, but he shoves me away so hard I stumble in my heels.
“Hey, why don’t you calm down,” one of the onlookers says. He’s about Collin’s height and build and I’m afraid of how this will end with the state Collin is in.
“This doesn’t pertain to you,” Collin growls continuing his attempt to rip the canvas off the wall. The onlooker looks over at me in pity.
“Just leave him alone please,” I tell him. Another guy shakes his head in disbelief or anger and approaches him.
“Hey buddy, calm down.” He grabs his shoulder, and I watch as Collin’s fist flies into the guy’s face so hard he keels over.
“Collin!” I scream. But he doesn’t even glance my way. He’s thrown the guy into the painting and is now on top of him punching him in the face.
“Oh my God, Collin stop!” I scream. I try to pull him off of him but he shoves me so hard I hit the floor.
“Hey!” I sit up to see two men—one being Ian—pulling Collin off of the poor guy. A few women help me up. Collin struggles in their arms and manages to tear his arm from the one guy and elbows Ian in the face.
“Fuck!” Ian yells covering his eye. The other guy grabs Collin, and Ian snatches off his jacket and squares up his shoulders as if he’s a professional fighter.
“Come on, asshole!” He taunts Collin, then charges at him like a raging bull. Collin attempts to grab Ian by the waist to throw him, but Ian lands several punches in his stomach. Tears are falling from my eyes. I take off my shoes and run to get help when I see Aidan tearing through the crowd.
I’m so glad to see him I can faint. He rushes to the fight but grabs Ian assuming incorrectly that he’s the initiator.
“It’s Collin. Stop Collin, Aidan!” I shout. Aidan looks up a split second confused, and Ian hits him in the jaw while Collin tries to hit both of them. Security has rushed upstairs and is grabbing everyone associated with the fight.
“What the hell is going on?!” Hillary screams, her eyes wide. Less than a moment later, everyone is beside me asking me what’s happened—the Scotts, Dexter and Helen, Raven and Angela—but I can’t answer. I’m shaking as I look over at Collin being restrained, his eyes vacant, and it makes my insides go cold and tears trail down my face. I look at the piece I worked so hard on—something that to other people would seem strange or extraordinary—was precious and beautiful to me. My painting was similar to a diary entry of the past three years of my life. Now gone, destroyed, and trampled on. My opening night should have been amazing, but life just doesn’t seem to want that for me.
Chapter 32
Chris
My head is throbbing, my stomach, face, and hands hurt. I sit up and look around. I’m in a hospital room. I have an IV in my arm, and you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m handcuffed to the bed?
What did I do? Dread starts to creep all over me. Of course like always I wake up in the middle of a mess that I didn’t have anything to do with.
What am I doing here? What happened? I think about the last thing I remember. I was talking to Cal and we agreed to share. Of course this has something to do with him. I was stupid enough to trust him. I deserve this.
“Hi.” I turn to see my mom sitting in the room, a grim expression on her face.
“Mom. What’s going on? What happened?” I ask her. She looks down on her lap before glancing up at me, and it tells me almost everything I need to know. Whatever’s happened I messed up bad.
“Chris?” she asks holding back the hopeful tone in her voice.
“Yeah, it’s me, Mom.” She lets out a relieved sigh, but then the worried expression returns to her face. My head still feels woozy.
“Am I on drugs?”
“A sedative. It was hard to take you down,” she says quietly. I look at her bewildered. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
I tell her what I remember and she nods.
“Well, it’s been a few days and there was a big incident at Lauren’s gallery opening.” My heart and stomach feel like it’s been thrown off a cliff.
“Oh no. How bad is it?” I ask afraid to hear her answer.
She explains that Collin showed up and destroyed a portrait Lauren created, picked a fight with three people, and pretty much ruined her gallery opening. I feel like I’m about to throw up.
“The people you assaulted aren’t pressing charges…” she trails off conjuring up a small smile. It’s one bright spot in the story but the fallout goes so much beyond that. I can read it on her face.
“But you’re on video—a few people recorded the fight…” she continues and I throw my head back in disbelief. “You pushed Lauren, Chris… grabbed and shoved her.” She tries to keep her voice as calm as possible, but my hands are already shaking.
“I did what?!” I ask in shock. She can’t have just said what I think she said. Her lips press together tightly.
“The doctor ran some blood test, and you took some type of medication that could have caused the erratic behavior. They’ve flushed it out of your system."
“Which one of them was it?” My anger is fuming, and my fists are balled up.
“Christopher,” my mom says her voice quiet and still. “You’re my son… and I love you so much. The moment I laid eyes on you when you were five years old you were the second man who stole my heart.” Her smile makes me smile, but the solemnity in her tone scares me. “I think it’s time that you come to terms with your actions being your own.”
“Lauren must… she must hate me.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you but she’s devastated, Chris.” My mom says simply, and the tone of her voice sends a chill down my spine.
“She has been through so much, son.” She is quiet but intense, her tone and the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be her and to love how she does. It’s so pure and unselfish,” she smiles. “She’s what I prayed for when I asked God to send you a wife. But everyone has their limits, Christopher.”
Her tone is ominous.
“I-is she going to leave me?” I ask her, feeling the burning sensation in my throat. She should... she should pack up and disappear—no one would blame her.
“I can’t say for sure. If anyone knows the crazy thing love makes you do, it’s me. But I will say that she is hurting. I think she has been for a long time and it’s not because she can’t accept or handle your condition, but that you have refused to.”
My eyes widen and I start to defend myself.
“You have all made it a competition—no, a battle for her to love you!” she stresses. “She is not unbreakable. A woman’s heart is so fragile. You… Collin… Cal… you have not been gentle with her heart. I don’t know how any of this works.” She shrugs slightly and wipes a tear from her eyes, coming to stand at the side of my bed.
“But whatever it is that you need to do to get well or better—you need to do it. I’ll always love you r
egardless of what you do. It’s sort of a requirement as a mother.” She smiles, and it’s the genuine, warm smile that used to make me feel better when I was little.
“But as a wife you have a choice, and Lauren always has chosen you. But she is not alone anymore—she has a daughter—your beautiful little girl and if it comes down to where she has to make a choice between the two of you… you won’t win.” She kisses my forehead and gives me a long hug.
“Your father and Aidan are outside waiting for you… would you like to talk to them?” My dad? What is he even doing here?
“I’ll talk to Aidan.”
She nods and a few moments after she slips out of the door Aidan comes in, hands in his pockets and a circle around his eye.
“What happened to you?” I ask seeing his face swollen. He looks like how I feel.
“You did!” he says seriously as he sits down and stretches his legs out.
“Of course.” I let out a sigh.
“I was hoping when you woke up it was the other guy, so I could punch his lights out and bring you back,” he kids… or at least I think he’s kidding.
“Tell me—was it bad?” I ask knowing Aidan won’t sugarcoat things. He whistles and shakes his head before pulling out his phone.
“Better you see it,” he says hesitantly, and after a few seconds I hear my voice and he turns the phone toward me.
“What the hell?” I ask watching the entire disaster happen.
“You were on something—you or whoever it was—wasn’t even themself.” I look at the number of views on the video. It’s at over thirty thousand, and it was only posted seven hours ago.
When I see myself push Lauren down, my heart breaks in half. I must look like I’m going to vomit because Aidan grabs the wastebasket and offers it to me. I knock it away angrily. I want to bang my head against the metal railing. I can’t even watch anymore. Nothing I’ve done could be worse than that.
“Turn it off,” I mutter.
“Wait, you don’t want to see the part where I came to the rescue thinking some asshole was ruining Lauren’s opening and the asshole turned out to be you?” he asks jokingly. I look at him blankly.
