Page 6 of Fractured Fear

Fuck him and the pole up his ass.

I may workout but I love carbs; I havenaturalwide hips and an ass that isn’t leaving anytime soon.

Peering at my shelves, I snag three items without giving it a second thought. Dark green blouse, black pencil skirt, and black pumps. I shove my arms into the sleeves, shimmy the skirt up and over my ass, and ram my feet into the onyx torture devices.

There, that wasn’t so hard. I just had to get a little angry first.

Anger makes the fear go away, but only for a bit. It’s a band aid, not a cure, but I’ll take it right now.

I do a quick swipe of makeup to keep things simple and cover up the dark circles under my eyes. After I meet with Iris, I’m heading right back to the studio. No need to do a full face when it isn’t necessary.

Staring at my reflection, I note that I don’t look like I did when I arrived in New York. My hair was dull and lifeless. My skin was pale for its tone. Now my hair is rich and full, and my skin is a nice tawny gold.

But my eyes are still haunted. Will that ever fade?

Walking away from my reflection, I begin to leave but remember Hayes’ coffee and run back to my kitchen to make it. More like I do a weird clomping shuffle. It’s impossible to run in heels. I don’t care what anyone says.

It’s. Not. Fucking. Possible.

I warm up a frozen breakfast sandwich while I make one coffee for Hayes and one for myself. I hate cooking because ofhim, but I splurged on a fancy espresso machine just over a year ago. I figured it would save me money because I wouldn’t go to the coffee shop next door as much.

Yeah, that’s a lie. It was on sale and then I justified the purchase. Girl math. The purchase didn’t do its job anyways. I still go to The Mudhouse more than is socially acceptable.

Coffees in hand and breakfast sandwich scarfed down, I head out my door and back down to the studio.

Hayes is almost done counting inventory, so I discreetly set the to-go cup next to him. It’s called being considerate, everyone hates it when they have to start over counting.

I wave at a few artists who have come in while I was upstairs.

“Alma! How are you? How are the kids?” I love this woman. She’s a stay-at-home mom and now that all her kids finally go to school during the day, she likes to spend her free time here. In the summer, she only comes when she gets a babysitter.

“Giving me hell as usual,” she says with all the love a tired mother can muster. “Oh, and I put the kids in that day camp you had in here the other day. It’s a life saver!”

We laugh together as I remember the elementary and middle school-aged kids Alma is referring to. I like showing kids how fun art and clay can be, but this group had more than a few wild spirits.

I turn to Paul and give him a wave. Paul’s wife died right before I moved to New York. He retired when she got sick so he could be with her. He said they spent her last days doing all of her favorite things. A trip out to Ellis Island, watching the sunset at the Empire State Building. They were never able to have children, and I know he’s lonely, so I like to give him my time when I can.

“Hi Paul! How’s the teapot coming?” I ask with a genuine smile on my face.

“Good, but I’m struggling with the spout,” he answers without looking at me, staring at the piece on his wheel which I assume is the spout.

“Those are the worst. I’ll help you out after my meeting next door.” I pat his shoulder and head over to Abstract Dreams.

“Thanks, Spencer,” he says, still without looking at me.

I stop at the door that connects the studio and the gallery, it always gets stuck and I have to use my hip to push it open.

Add ‘fix the door’ to my to-do list.

When I walk in, Iris is already at the computer behind the half-circle front desk that sits right by the entrance. The sun shining on her through the windows that cover the entire front of Abstract Dreams. All that glass wasn’t cheap when I remodeled, but it was well worth it.

I added the gallery so smaller artists had a space to display their hard work. I have bigger exhibits here from time to time thanks to my curator. We don’t only showcase ceramics and pottery, we also have watercolor, oil, and other paintings on the walls. I love that the artists who find peace at Clay Creations have a place to show off their work.

I stroll past the pedestal display cases and make my way to Iris. She’s a gorgeous girl with chestnut hair and sun-kissed skin. Iris is a year older than Hayes and is working a few different jobs while she figures out what she wants to do with her life. I’m more than happy to be her introduction to the art world.

She always comes to work dressed to impress. I told her she doesn’t have to do it up so much, but she said she wants to see how it feels dressing up for work every day. I’m quite positive the get up is to impress a certain employee next door.

“Playing solitaire?” I tease.

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