Page 24 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
A brief struggle played out on Nathan's face, his eyes flickering from me to the bottle. The words urge and crave must get lost in his brain, and I place one hand on his chest to cage him away from Manuel.
“He’s not drinking tonight.”
Though, Manuel doesn’t listen, clicking his tongue at me. “Jess, toss his head back, he’s drinking.”
My shout was cut short as Jessica, riding on Manuel’s shoulders, seized his head and poured her bottle's contents down his throat. Nathan closes it at first, but then, it’s hard not to drink what is given to him. That’s the initiation of something that shouldn’t have been ignited within him.
I push at Manuel’s shoulders, exclaiming. “Let him go! Don’t be an asshole.”
“Alright, party-pooper, we’re going somewhere else.”
His other words faded away as I turned to Nathan, my hand gently resting on his cheek. “Are you okay? We can go look for some water if you—”
“I’m okay. It’s just a drink. This means nothing.”
But it means a lot.
Decisions are sometimes not made by us. The awful destiny that clashes in our lives decides for us instead. Alessia’s cake was planned to be cut after that event, so I got ready. An hour before the finale, I'd left Nathan at the snack table, then busied myself with the celebration: locating the knife, gathering people, and setting up the video Zeke and I had prepared. Soon after, I found myself posing for pictures with Alessia, her eyes brimming with emotion. We sang her the birthday song and then, I went to look for Nathan.
He wasn’t where I had left him, and he also wasn’t in the crowds of people when we were singing.
The noise and laughter around me faded as I navigated the dance floor, desperately searching the pub's shadows, my voice hoarse from calling his name. Each vague direction, each mention of him drinking, tightened the knot in my stomach. He'd confided his struggle with alcohol, and the fear of what he might do consumed me.
I had a feeling he was trying to distance himself for a significant reason.
The biting wind tore at my blouse as I exited the pub, stealing my breath, and then I saw him. Nathan stood precariously at the sidewalk's edge, a half-empty wine bottle clutched in his hand. His shoulders convulsed with each ragged sob, his eyes glazed and distant. He swayed unsteadily, his gaze fixed on the street with a raw longing that chilled me, especially when he took that single, hesitant step forward and froze.
“Nathan!” His name tore from my throat as I rushed to him, pulling him away from the curb moments before a car roared by. His eyes met mine, a flicker of resistance in their depths as he fought against my hold.
“I—I’m okay. Please, let me go.”
“Nathan, it’s me, Veronica. Yes, you’re okay. Just...come here...okay? Let me hold you. I’m here.” I exhale sharply. “Don't do that again, Nathan.” I command.
If only I had been there for him...
It seems destiny enjoys making poor choices.
“Just take me home.” Nathan keeps crying, his body losing force when he lets the wine bottle fall to the ground. The expanse of his figure drapes over me, my arms holding him from under his armpits, trying to keep his weight up. “Please, I need to leave. I need to feelsafe.”
“Don’t worry,” I promise, kissing the top of his head. “You’re safe, Nathan. You’ll always be safe with me.”
