Page 27 of The Art of Professing Love

“A few thousand?” My jaw went slack. “So thousands of people have seen you fucking another man?”

Sylvan shrugged. “I never thought about it like that but, yes, I suppose so.”

“Well,” I huffed, “you can have these to do what you want with since you care so little about where they end up.”

I threw them at him, but I overshot and they floated to the floor. Sylvan rose from the chair and walked over to them, stooping to pick them up.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” I continued, “I think it’s time for you to leave. I’m painfully behind on my work and I need some time alone to think.”

Sylvan made his way to the door, the tension suffocating us more with each step. “Will I see you again tonight like we planned?”

“I don’t think so. The thing is, Sylvan, you might not mind those pictures. You might even like them. But I do mind them. They tell me more about you than you’ve ever said in all the hours we’ve spent together.”

He looked down at the pictures in his hand, then back up at me. “They’re just photos, Irving. What we have is much stronger than a couple of compromising images.”

I laughed bitterly. “Is it? We’re two very different people, and that has never been clearer to me than it is right now.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No, but I need some time to think things through – to think us through.”

“Very well, but if you let these stupid photos get between us, you’re allowing Lachlan to get exactly what he wants.”

My throat tightened, rage bubbling up inside me. “Don’t try to tell me about Lachlan. I know him. I know what he put me through for years on end. You’ll never be able to understand that.”

Sylvan nodded. “I’m only making you more upset,” he said quietly. “I’ll try calling later when you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

He shut the door softly behind him, and by the time I thought of what else I wanted to say, he was gone.

21

SYLVAN

The sun was shining when I left the dark, cold college. It left dappled spots on the ground as it broke through the branches of the trees, yet my walk home had never been more dismal. I kept looking at the photos Irving had given me, thinking back to that night with my former lover.

We had fun together, it was true. And I still liked how I looked in the images. I liked having a reminder of our time together, even if we’d long since moved on. I didn’t even care that a stranger might see my naked body intertwined with someone else’s body. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. I never had before, so why would my thoughts change now?

Still, these photos had affected Irving more deeply than I could have imagined. Was it really just the photos, or was it something more? The nudes made a good scapegoat for his frustrations, but if he wouldn’t tell me what was going on in that fascinating mind of his, how could we possibly work through it together?

I walked past the hotel and briefly considered stopping inside to have a chat with Lachlan, but decided at the last minute that I would only make things worse if I went through with that. He wanted me out of the picture – the picture with Irving, that was – and talking to him now would only tell him that his insidious little plan was working. He’d gotten to Irving, even if Irving had played it off the last time they talked.

A spider nearly the size of my fist was spread across my door when I got back home. I tapped the wood next to it to move out of the way, but the little rascal refused to budge.

“You’re worn out too, aren’t you?” I asked, leaning in closer to examine its intricate details. “That’s all right. You’ve found a safe place and that’s all that matters. You can stay.”

I cracked the door open, hoping the spider wouldn’t seize the opportunity to scurry in with me, and slipped inside. The house was quiet and lonely without Irving. I was used to living alone, yet somehow in the last week, I’d grown so accustomed to having Irving around, that his not being here felt wrong.

There was only one thing I could do while I waited, and that was paint. I set up my space and got to work, hoping that I would be able to give this painting to Irving in person. He might like it even less than the first one, but I didn’t care. It was the only I knew how to express my true feelings since the “I love yous” weren’t getting through to him.

I got so engrossed in my work, the hours passed by easily. Painting worked well to take my mind off of my worries, even if they still gnawed at me in the very back of my mind. As time ticked on, it grew dark out and I forgot that I should have been wrapped in Irving’s arms right about now.

The brush strokes came easily to me at this stage in the painting. Each shade, each swipe, each stipple was calculated yet free. I allowed myself to be swept away in the image that was coming together on canvas.

I got so wrapped up in finishing my work that I almost didn’t hear my phone buzzing on the coffee table. When the sound finally hit me, I jumped up and scrambled to answer it without even looking at who was calling.

“Irving?” I asked excitedly.

There was a pause, and then, “Yes, it’s me.”

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