Page 2 of The Lies I've Told
Heading straight for the bar, I opted for something a bit stronger, forgoing the wine for straight-up whiskey.
“I just heard the good news,” a familiar voice said behind me.
Downing the entire glass, I felt the liquor burn all the way to my gut. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the one man I’d hoped to avoid for the evening.
Hell, maybe even forever.
“The good news?” I said, nearly spitting out the words, my accent growing thick with anger.
James recognized the subtle change and did his best to keep the conversation light. I’d been in this country for well over a decade, watering down the British accent I’d brought with me. But times like these—when my fists were clenched tightly at my sides and I couldn’t do much but breathe through the rage? That accent grew thick.
A warning to leave me the fuck alone.
But James didn’t back away from a challenge, especially when it involved me. He was a bastard like that.
“You’re sold out! That’s fantastic, Aiden,” he said, his own accent very much accentuated. Honestly, I thought he sat at home during the weekends and took lessons on how to sound like a pretentious asshole. “The gallery director says he already has people asking when you can get new pieces in.”
I didn’t justify his words with a reply. Instead, I turned back towards the bartender and demanded another drink.
“I’m not the enemy here,” he urged, stepping up to the bar so his words could be heard only by me. “If you’ll just come back to the office and talk with me—”
“I don’t want to fucking talk about it, James.”
He turned to me, his brown eyes round with concern.
No, not concern. Pity.
Fucking pity.
He of all people should know I didn’t need his pity.
“This isn’t something you can run from, Aiden.”
I swallowed hard, the test results he’d so conveniently printed out for me earlier in the day burning a hole in my pocket. Staring straight ahead, I waited as the bartender slid another shot of whiskey my way. Wasting no time, I emptied the glass and turned toward my big brother.
Scratch that, former big brother.
“Watch me,” I said, and then I walked out of my own gallery opening and never looked back.
I wandered around the streets of New York City, the bright lights serving as a path for my solitude, but after several hours, I felt no more a sense of peace or solace than I had when I left the gallery.
How many movies had I seen where the hero or heroine simply wandered around a big metropolis and within a few magical movie minutes—backed by a popular soundtrack of course—all their problems were solved?
By the time I made it back to my apartment, I was feeling incredibly let down by the movie industry and life in general. After making my way through the door, I threw my keys down on the kitchen counter and immediately went for the necktie around my throat. The saleswoman at the upscale store had said the dark green satin brought out my eyes. At the time, even though I had known she was flirting with me, I had taken it as a compliment and bought everything she had thrown at me regardless of the price.
Looking down as the tie hit the floor, I couldn’t help but feel anger as I tried to focus on it in the darkened room, but I couldn’t. My eyes blurred and strained as that anger boiled up to the surface.
Anger toward James and his constant positivity. Anger toward life and how it never failed to keep throwing shit at me. Anger toward…well, everything.
Yes, that about summed it up.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I kicked off my shoes. Pulling it out, I saw James’s name flashing across the screen.
Ignore.
Undoing several buttons of my shirt, I headed into the small kitchen, hoping to find a silent companion for the rest of the night—one that didn’t deliver bad news or give me sad, pitiful eyes. I found just the thing I needed in an expensive bottle of scotch I’d been saving for a special occasion.
Sold-out gallery showing sounded pretty special to me.
