Page 39 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

“Or do you think love is why you’re here?” I ask, even though he’s unconscious due to the beating. “You did this, not me.”

Once I’m done cleaning him up and have gotten dressed, I lock the door to my room from the inside, and grab the keys to the SUV—the same one I used to bring him here. I leave to do the only thing I know how to do. I need to give him time to heal, only so I can break him again and again. Until I’m ready... until I’m done.

I was being reckless, I know, but what else do I have to lose? I’m a man with compulsions and nothing to lose. Stepping outside into the night, I get into the driver seat and leave the cabin that has kept me safe fromthe outside.

The trees become a distant memory as a new landscape opens up. My destination: a small, dead-end bar. What I’m looking for? Not sure but I will know when inspiration strikes. Slipping on a baseball cap, I use it as a mask. I look like an average Joe–blue jeans, black sneakers, and a normal red wine, long-sleeve shirt.

Taking a deep breath in, I control the shake in my hand. Scanning the area for cameras—I find none, but I still take my time looking at the locals until I feel satisfied with what I see. After a few minutes, I deem it safe enough and step out, and after locking the SUV, I make my way inside.

The smell of cheap beer, perfume, sex, and sweat invades my senses. Repulsion creeps up my spine, but I push it away as I walk past a couple making out. Once I make it to the bar, I sit in its darkest part. The man behind it welcomes me, and when I look at him—all I see is Byron.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” I ask, placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter. He nods and gets to work. After a few seconds, he slides the warm liquid towards me.

“You’re not from around here?” he says.

Cupping the glass in my hand, I swirl the liquid. “I am, just always working.” The lie comes out smoothly.

“I would have recognized you if that was the case,” he says cheerfully, as he props himself on the bar counter.

But I don’t look his way or give him the attention he’s seeking from me, and that’s when I hear my muse calling for me. Soft sniffles catch my attention despite the low music playing in the background. Looking for the source of my calling, I find it, startling me.

Her almond eyes—puffy, swollen from her tears. Short, thin eyebrows. Perfect button nose. And to her dismay, she’s in a red dress. Red lipstick. Her black short hair sits on her neck.

And I smile.

Closing my eyes, I hear the sound of her heels closing in. My body tenses, but still, in a perverted way, it anticipates. It willfully craves her touch... her attention.

“I’ll take another,” I say, trying to contain my excitement, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I keep my eyes on her, and obviously,. the bartenderdoes as well. Containing my curiosity, I keep my attention on her while also appearing completely uninterested in her... in him, and I play the role of the loner who drinks at a bar with nothing to say. I order another glass just as she stands and heads towards the bathroom. It’s dark, and I’m taking a great chance that she’ll recognize me, but it was fate that we are both here. That I’m certain of.

I wait for her to be done and exit the bathroom, and in a rush, I get up and accidentally walk into her.

“Oh my God,” she says as she steps back, the warm liquid spilling on her breasts.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, hesitant to move out of the darkness. She turns back into the bathroom, and then I take my chance—risking it all for a redo.

She’s back from the dead to haunt me.

I startle her again. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking,” I say as I take paper towels off the roll.

“It’s okay,” she breathes as she accepts the paper towels from my hand.

The woman in red pauses for a second, her brow furrowing together. “Have I seen you somewhere?” sheasks, trying to place me—but no evidence of recognition.

I shrug. “You could have seen me around town, I’m kind of a loner after my divorce.” The mention of divorce makes her soften.

“Divorce?” she whispers as she looks at the stain and presses the paper to it. “Welcome to the club, I understand.”

“Well, I’m Kevin,.” I lie with a tender smile.

“Vivian,” she says. I dip my chin, placing my hands in my pocket, pretending to be bummed out over something that never occurred, but I imitate her. A mirror reflecting her own emotions and insecurities.

“So you’re divorced too?”

She stops, angrily throwing the towel into the trash can. “Yes, as of two months ago. I was abandoned and blindsided with divorce.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. He cheated with his assistant, and well... now I get to start over and find happiness,” she lies, and I read her likea book.

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