Page 75 of Shattered
He stared at me, gritting his teeth. Then in a low, calm voice, he asked, “Then what is it that you want to be doing?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I fought back tears and clenched my jaw shut instead. “I fought for so long in what I believed was my one true path, but it wasn’t what I thought it was. I don’t know right from wrong, good from bad. Truth from fiction. Everything is upside down and none of these paths seem like they’re the one I’m supposed to take.”
Because maybe it was my fault. All of it. Maybe if I had played their game, done exactly what my parents wanted, I wouldn’t have had to worry about the Dahlia District. Living with Colin. Meeting Rourke and knowing that I couldn’t be with him like I wanted. Having this stupid conversation with Garrett.
“Can’t there be multiple paths?”
“None of them will ever be good enough,” I huffed.
“They’re enough for now.” My eyes watered, and Garrett took my face in his hands. “And now is good enough.” He kissed me, then. A soft, gentle kiss, his lips enveloping mine. Thick and heavy, but with a tender touch. I closed my eyes, and I thought of Rourke. His lips were soft like this, swallowing me whole, and yet this was different. He wasn’t trying to devour me, but to revive me. To make me see through the fog.
We stayed there for a moment, our lips so close, the wind tickling our faces, his thumb stroking my temple. The bandages on his hands.
I pulled back. “What happened to your hands?”
“At the Dahlia District,” he said. “Remember?”
I blinked, but then I remembered him breaking the glass when we overheard the other club member, Irvine Montgomery, bragging about killing a hooker. How Garrett had been so focused on listening to him, that he hadn’t realized that he was crushing the glass. But then I thought of Rourke. The cuts we had given to each other. The ‘M’ on his palm.
Which hand had crushed the glass, and which had I carved? Why were both of his hands bandaged?
“I have to go,” he said.
My shoulders dropped, and I forgot about his hands. “You can’t stay?”
“I’m afraid not.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his gaze focused on the full moon. His voice sounded dreamy for once. “Like you.”
“It’s a dark place, and yet it’s so bright to us,” I said. “It’s funny how perspective changes everything.”
He studied me, a glossy sheen covering his eyes, and then, he relaxed. “One day, you’ll get your own show, and it won’t have anything to do with what anyone else wants. Just you.”
I smiled, but it hurt. Why was he saying something like that? Why did it sound so absolute?
“My work calls me elsewhere,” he said. A tightness grew in my chest. “I might not be back for a long time. If at all.”
“But how will I see you again?”
He kissed me, and this time, I held the back of his neck and pulled him in, our tongues caressing for a brief second. I bit his tongue and a soft groan escaped him. He closed his eyes too, holding back so much more.
Then he pulled away, leaving me breathless. As he stood straighter, he was calm. As if nothing had happened. I handed him his jacket.
“Goodbye,” he said.
He walked down the street, towards his black car parked on the other side of the road. But I couldn’t take this to be our last time. I would hate myself if I didn’t try to make him stay.
Stay with me. Please. Anything.
When I saw the lights to his car flicker on from his remote, I ran. I stopped a few feet behind him, still in the road. I started, “Can you come—”
He opened up the backseat. My eyes fell on the edge of a canvas. The mauve and gray background, the charcoal and green-colored twigs and branches stretching out. Garrett tossed his jacket on top of it and slammed the car door shut. I couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows.
Was that my painting?
“Can I do what?” he asked.
I blinked, staring at him. The rough skin. The facial hair. The long fingers.
“Yes?” he asked again.
