Page 63 of Beautiful Lies
“Mom,” Ava said, horrified. “No. I want him to stay—”
“You need to be with your family at a time like this. He has no right to be here. That boy is trouble. I don’t know why you would even speak to him, let alone bring him to the hospital when your father…” She stopped and shook her head.
“But Mom…”
I gave Ava’s hand another squeeze to let her know it was okay. “I hope Lars gets better soon,” I said.
Her mom nodded curtly but didn’t respond or even look at me.
Lana lifted her chin, mimicking her mom’s pose. If it had been any other time, I would tell her to go to hell. But this wasn’t the time or the place. Ava walked me to the door and stepped outside with me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I want you to stay, but…”
I cupped her chin in my hand and tilted her face up to mine. “It’s better for you if I go. You don’t need any extra stress.”
She wrapped her arms around me, and I held onto her, wishing I could. I wanted to be the one to give her strength, to sit by her side and hold her hand. To help her through this. Ava let out a shuddered breath and released me, taking a step back.
“He’ll be okay,” I said, hoping like hell it was true.
“I know.”
“Call if you need me. For anything.”
“Thank you. For the tattoo. And for…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “When you were holding me just now, it made me feel like everything will be okay. It reminded me of how I used to feel. Like you could fix things. Like you could hold me together when everything was falling apart.”
I stroked her hair and pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head. How it used to be, not how it was now. That hurt, but I gave her a little smile. “Go be with your family.”
She gave me a final look before she turned and walked back into the waiting room.
* * *
I finished staplingthe canvas to the plywood and hung it on the bolts I’d drilled into the wall. Floodlights were trained on the empty canvas, my cans of spray paint lined up in a row. I pulled on Latex gloves, strapped on my mask, and plugged myself into my music. Eminem rapped in my ears, the volume so high the music reverberated in my body.
Ava’s mother had looked at me like I was trash. No wonder she liked my father so much. They had a lot in common.
Bomb a wall. Make your peace.
My arm and wrist moved across the canvas, the spray paint seeping into the fabric. I willed my hand to paint what I envisioned—Ava’s pale hair glowing in the spotlights, the multi-colored silk ties suspending her in the air. She was a blur of motion, her face hidden behind a black mask trimmed in purple feathers. I moved in close for the fine lines, the bars of music swirling across the canvas. On cue, “Undisclosed Desires” pumped into my ears. If this piece had a name, that would be it.
I stepped back and studied my work. Was it any good? Hell, if I knew. If I’d just bombed a wall, I’d pack up my shit and leave before the cops caught me defacing public property. I wouldn’t have time to wonder if it was my best work. That was the beauty of graffiti. Under the cover of darkness and anonymity, I got in and I got out. My pieces rarely got covered by other artists, a sign of respect for my work, and that had always been enough for me. With my tattoos, I worked with the clients and when they were happy with my designs, they gave me the okay to ink their skin.
But to have people in a gallery studying my work up close and personal … I would be judged on my technique, my use of color, my lines and command of a spray paint can.I would be judged. Fuck.
My phone rang, interrupting the music and my thoughts. I pressed the answer button on the screen and Ava’s voice filled my ears.
“He’s going to be okay. He needs to stay in the hospital a couple days, but the doctor said … he’ll be okay.” She let out a breath of relief.
“That’s good news.”
“Yeah, it is.” She paused a moment, and in the background, I heard a siren wailing. “Connor, I’m sorry. I don’t know why she acts like that with you. I thought it would be different … with my dad in the hospital.”
We both knew why her mom acted that way with me, and in some ways, she had every right to think the worst of me. But she had hated me from the start before I’d ever touched drugs. I tipped my head back and looked up at the inky blue sky. No stars. No moon. “Where are you?”
“I’m standing outside the hospital. I needed some air. Where are you?”
