Page 44 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
?CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NATHAN
“Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to everybody else that I’d fallen for a lie?”- No Time to Die by Billie Eilish.
ATHUNDEROUS ASSAULTON THE DOORS ONCE DRAGGED ME FROM SLUMBER, A SOUND SO JARRING IT FELT CAPABLE OF INSTANTLY REDUCING ANY BABY TO TEARS.Back then, it was Renna trying to get me to pull away from the bed after my sister’s passing. I didn’t eat, but I slept, keeping water and alcohol by the side of my bed and just venturing out when I had to go to the bathroom. It was Renna’s tearful warning—the image of her crying eyes burned into my memory, punctuated by a loud noise—that rescued me from a path she insisted would lead to my death.
To this day, I am surprised by the opportunities that life grants to those who want it the less. I would have loved to be taken by the depths of hell at that moment. I secretly longed for it, yet my cowardice prevented me from taking any steps towards that finality. Perhaps the collective prayers of believers in a God I don’t acknowledge held my fate in their hands.
I didn’t expect my Havana mornings to be interrupted by loud clashing against my door. In fact, Benicio doesn’t have the same patience that was once characteristic of Renna. By the time I open my eyes, Benicio is already clasping a hand over the fabric of my t-shirt and tugging me up. The damp air clings to his glasses, blurring them, but his widened pupils remain locked on mine as he admits:
“There are paparazzi right out the door. Care to explain what is happening and what the hell are we supposed to do about that?”
If I had the power, I would stop the world at this very moment. I exist within the industry, a “nepotism baby” as some see it, but I never thought that past would haunt me like this. It’s akin to a toxic relationship I tried to break free from; changing my number and moving felt like the only way, but it hasn’t kept it away.
I stand up from the bed, putting on my t-shirt and speaking to Benicio in a ragged tone. “What do you mean that they’re by the door?”
“Nate, Nate!” I don’t notice I’m rushing out the door, lurking to run away, until Benicio clasps his palms on my shoulders and turns me around. We’re face to face, my longing breaths wishing to fill my lungs but failing. “Tell me why they’re looking for you, son. I am here to help you.”
Anyone would have left me to be torn to shreds, but Benicio is not that kind of man. I slump my shoulders, tears wielding at my eyes but being blinked away before they could drop to my cheeks. Pointless, it is, to be a crybaby now.
“I—I said I came from wealth, but I never said why or how.” I breathe in, sitting down on the sofa and running my fingers through my hair before covering the rest of my face with my palms. “I’m a celebrity by association. My parents’ status propelled my painting career. My fame is probably unwarranted, but everyone enjoys the spectacle of the flawed child of Hollywood’s beloved figures.”
Benicio doesn’t raise his eyebrows. He doesn’t even flinch, as a matter of fact, as he leans against one pillar of the house. “I supposed you would come from that kind of family...” He trails off, but he frowns at his statement. “But why are they looking for you now? How did they find you?”
“I’m not sure.” Running away from the world I lived in before I moved to Havana, I unlock my phone only to find a bunch of missed calls from Renna and Jun. None from Simon. How odd. “I’ll call my manager to see if she knows anything. Judging by the twenty-seven missed calls, I’m supposing she’s aware.”
The deafening shouts and flashing cameras outside force me into a tight ball on the couch, knees digging into my chest. My heart pounds as I dial Renna’s number, placing the phone on my stomach so Benicio can hear. Each unanswered ring tightens the knot in my stomach, and just as my fingers reach my teeth, Renna answers.
“Jesus Christ, just tell me you’re alright.”
Hearing her voice always lulls me to a sense of tranquility, matching my breaths to those she lets out. Renna cares for me like a sister would, and if she’s this insistent, I can only imagine just how troublesome the news that came out must be.
“Paparazzi are surrounding the house I’m staying in. How the fuck they found me passes me, honestly.” I respond, closing my eyes in order to wipe the outside noise away. They remind me of beasts trying to trap me, and I’m a helpless child in this situation.
“That fucker Simon sold you out,” Renna speaks, and inexplicably, my heart cracks into a million tiny shards. I know Simon wasn’t the most affectionate or generous, more interested in the money and image my career provided, but he was also the man who stood with me through all my teenage years and beyond. “I’m guessing Jane Rae’s team had something to do with it. Twitter leaked some pictures of you kissing a woman all around Havana. You on the beach clinging to her. You’re aware of the high demand for this.”
Veronica. I don’t know how she’s doing, or if they have reached for her, and that’s the worst part about all this. I stand up at that moment, clinging to my phone as if it’s part of my anatomy while I munch on my bottom lip.
“It’s not the first time I’m seen with someone. Why did they get here?”
