Page 152 of Seeing Grayscale

Clearly, this has never happened before because she simply stares like a deer in headlights. “Come on, I’ll show you…Taylor.”

She glances at her nametag briefly, then sputters out, “O-Okay. Yeah. I’m really sorry about…this.”

“Me too. Because I worked too hard on it for some thief to claim it as his.”

Silence. But I lead her to the back, where my fucking art is, and when we get there, I point at it. “That’s…That’s…”

“Mine,” I say confidently.

“But it’s signed,” she says, distraught and glancing around for someone to save her.

“By my shitty ex boyfriend. Who stole it. And his even shittiernewboyfriend, hung it up on this here wall. It’s mine. I want it back. If you need to call your boss, I’ll wait.” And to make my point, I put my back to the wall, cross my arms, and stare at her.

“I believe you,” she rushes. “But I could get in trouble and Brock isn’t in today and—”

“I’m not leaving without it,” I tell her. “It’s mine. I painted it.” And I can prove it too, but I’m waiting to see what she’ll do before I go that far.

She spins in a circle, glances at the security cameras, then back at me. “I could getfired.”

“IfBrock”—what a horrible name—“asks, then tell him Grayson Parker came by to retrieve his art that Caleb must’ve misplaced."

Closing her thickly lined eyes, she wiggles, stomps her foot, and then sighs loudly. “Alright. Fine. But can you like…leave your card or—”

“My card?”

She looks me up and down. “You are in a suit. People in suits usually have cards.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll write my number down.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Good. Thanks, Taylor.” I smile and rip the painting right off the wall.

Withmyart tucked under my arm, I walk to the bus stop and plop onto the bench.

Honestly, I thought this would make me feel better. That it would somehow mainline some much-needed happiness right into my veins.

Is this fucking depression? Is this how it happens? One beautiful man rips your heart out of your ass, pushes you away and lets you walk off into the night and bam. Depression.

There’s a real possibility that’s what’s happened to me. I guess if I had to let the other shit digest, everything I’ve gone through lately would factor in as well.

But that’s the thing.

Despite all the horrors I’ve lived through and seen, they seem so far away—a blip in my memory that I have to dig deep to unbury. Everything with Hunter is so fresh. Part of me still can’t believe I’m here.

As I stare off, chewing on my thumb in some futile attempt at self-soothing, I wonder if he’s moved on already. I know it’s only been a few days, but the way Brent made it seem…

Is it so wrong of me to miss him? All I want right now is to tell him all that I’ve achieved. I want to see his hazel eyes pop with color and his dimples burrow into his cheeks as he smiles down at me, pride shining out of him like the north star.

Abel and Marie are letting me stay with them, and while I appreciate it and feel safe, it’s not the same. I don’t think anything will be.

Hunter was it.

He wasfucking it.And he let me go.

No. Hemade me go.

Love is nothing like the movies. The person who fucked up doesn’t come back, professing their undying love and admitting all their faults. The person whose heart aches and bleeds doesn’t get the person who makes them feel whole.

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