Page 52 of The Master

I was comfortable here now, able to wander the halls and explore without feeling like I was intruding or being nosy…but it wasn’t home. I loved being with Nate, falling asleep and waking up next to him…but I missed having my own bed. My own space.

This was far too early in a relationship to be spending every minute together, especially since we weren’t even leaving to go to work. I didn’t know how long we would last if we didn’t get breathing room and take things down a notch for a while.

That wasn’t what was keeping me up, though. Not entirely. The biggest reason I couldn’t sleep was that every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was my trashed apartment. Mental snapshots of my things broken and torn. Things that I couldn’t afford to replace. Things that couldn’t be replaced even if I did take Nate up on his offer to pay for anything that was ruined.

The dress I’d worn to the event Nate had taken me to had been ripped from neckline to hem.

A picture of Mom and me at Coney Island the day she’d officially been declared in remission had been stomped into a puddle of melted ice cream.

The mug Mom had given me when I’d gotten accepted to NYU had been dashed into at least a dozen pieces.

So many memories destroyed. I didn’t understand how someone could do this. What sort of person could break into someone’s home and tear it apart like that?

My eyes burned as I climbed out of bed. If I was going to cry, I wanted to do it somewhere I didn’t have to worry about waking him up. I didn’t want him awake right now either.

I appreciated everything he’d done, but the guilt written across his face just made everything harder. A small, petty part of me wanted to blame him because, even though he didn’t deserve this, he hadn’t exactly been a paragon of virtue who had amicable break-ups, no matter what he tried to tell himself. The majority of me was furious with the women responsible for this whole mess, and not just because of my apartment or even the things they’d said. I was angry because, when their lies were finally revealed, it’d make it that much harder for true victims to be believed. I was angry because they’d played right into the stereotype of the catty women who go after their ex’s new girlfriend even if that woman hadn’t done anything wrong.

If we kept doing this to each other instead of banding together and supporting each other, things for women would never change.

Not for the first time since beginning at Manhattan Records, I wondered if there were ways the label could make a difference that wasn’t just helping shape what the most popular music was. Could we choose to focus on artists who celebrated and encouraged rather than tore down others and mocked? Would people even get the message, or would they just think that we were playing politics for publicity’s sake?

I must’ve been more exhausted than I realized if this was where my thoughts were going. The more fatigued I was, the more introspective I tended to get.

I wandered into the kitchen and made myself some tea – decaf – but I doubted it’d do anything either way. Maybe if I kept myself awake, pushed myself to the limit, I’d be able to fall asleep tomorrow. Or maybe I’d end up completely loopy and do something stupid that’d get me fired.

The thought popped into my head that I should call Mom and ask her if she had any suggestions about how I could cure my insomnia. I scowled and tried to push the thought away, but it stuck there, nagging me with the logic that if anyone would know, it’d be Mom. She’d suffered from insomnia since she was a kid and still had bouts of it even now.

But I didn’t want to talk to her yet. I didn’t understand how she could even consider forgiving Mona for breaking her heart, let along for leaving us both. I knew that was the real heart of the matter. I hated Mona for abandoning me.

I was only a kid, and I’d believed her when she told me that she loved me. She’d never been overly affectionate with me, but she hadn’t been that way with Mom either, so I’d always chalked it up to personality. I’d never imagined that she would walk away and not look back.

What sort of woman could leave her child like that?

Obviously, there were plenty of women out there who’d do just that. After all, Mom’s family had done it to her too. That made it worse, though. Mom knew what it was like to have the people who were supposed to love and protect you completely betray your trust. How could she even think about forgiving someone who’d hurt their child like that?

I rubbed the tops of my arms, the chill more from my thoughts than from the actual temperature. Maybe I needed to tell Mom how I felt. I’d never really had to do that before because she’d always seemed to just know, but maybe about this, she needed me to tell her my thoughts because she was too close to see clearly.

MaybeIwas too close to see clearly.

If what Mom felt for Mona was even close to what I felt for Nate, it changed things. I still thought Mom should stay away, and it hurt to think she was willing to forgive someone who’d hurt me, but I did understand it a bit better now that I would’ve been able to before I’d met Nate.

I stopped in front of the couch, looking at the large canvas that hung above it. I sipped my tea and admired what appeared to be a charcoal drawing of a rocky cliff overlooking a sea. At least that was what I could make out in the dim light. Night in New York City was rarely pitch-black, but blinds like the ones Nate had on the floor-to-ceiling windows kept out most of the artificial light, leaving the wide space in shadows.

I could’ve turned on one of the lamps so I could see the picture better. The light wouldn’t even reach his bedroom. I preferred it like this, though. Having lights on would be too harsh for what I was feeling. I wanted things soft right now, even if it made it harder for me to see the picture.

Nate must’ve felt the same way since no light preceded him into the room. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps on the carpet. He just appeared at the corner of my vision, speaking as he came toward me.

“I had a business trip to England about five or six years ago and ended up at a local art show for some strange reason. Pretty much everything in the gallery was abstract or political, and that’s all fine, but then I saw this picture hanging in the back, like someone thought it wasn’t as good as everything else, and I immediately bought it.”

“Is that a place in England then?” I asked as he stopped behind me and wrapped me in his warmth.

“Near Cornwall, I believe.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’ve never really been into art, even though I appreciate it in general, but something about this piece just caught my attention, and I couldn’t let it go.”

“I think I know what you mean,” I said. After a beat, I asked, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No. I had to use the bathroom, and I noticed the bed was empty.” His fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt and lazily stroked across my bare skin. I shivered as my head fell back against his chest. “Are you cold?”

I shook my head and closed my eyes, making a noise that brought a chuckle from him. His hands slid higher, brushing against the undersides of my breasts. I reached up, my fingers finding the back of his neck and the soft hair that grew there. He needed a haircut.

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