Chapter 21

Emma

The lines twisted on the page, forming something abstract that I hadn’t quite figured out yet. The best drawings, in my opinion, didn’t take shape until they were already halfway done. I liked sketching still life as much as the next artist, but for me it was all about how the lines blended, strayed, and worked together on the page to eventually form a picture.

I was enjoying Max’s gift, which he had brought back to my place earlier this week. I hadn’t been able to enjoy drawing for a long time, and somehow his support and encouragement had gotten me out of that funk. Max Westfield was my muse. I chuckled to myself as I wondered what he would think if he knew that.

Unfortunately, there were things about my relationship with Max that I wasn’t enjoying. Namely, the uncertainty. He seemed all about me now, but how long would his attention last? Surely he’d grow tired of me eventually.

With that in mind, I’d been trying to hold back emotionally. That was easier said than done when he kissed like the devil, but treated me like an angel. I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to end it if I needed to, if it started to become obvious how much more involved and committed I was than he was. It was a sad thought, one I felt guilty for having. Still.

My pity party for one was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was surprising, though not too much so. Willow had a key to the building, though it was unlike her to drop by unannounced. I laid my drawing down on the desk and walked over to the door, already wondering if I had enough wine in the fridge for the two of us.

The familiar face that greeted me was not nearly as welcome as Willow’s would have been. I glared at Lance and tensed, ready to slam the door in his face. As if reading my intent, he shot out a hand to stop me.

“Wait,” he said. “Can you just listen to me for a sec?”

I pushed against the door but it wouldn’t budge. He was much stronger than I was. I didn’t dignify his question with a response and instead tried body slamming the door. Nothing.

Lance barged right through me, like I was nothing more than a bag of twigs. For a guy as skinny as he was, he knew how to throw his weight around when he wanted to.

“Lance, I don’t want you here.” I held the door open as he started circling the small living room, looking at my sparse furnishings with more than a hint of disdain on his face.

“Tough.” He stopped in the middle of the living room and faced me, hands folded over his chest. “I’m not leaving here until you talk to me.”

He had the same determination in his eyes that he did when he was playing a particularly tricky level on his X-Box. I knew then that he wasn’t going to leave, so I closed the door and gestured for him to start talking.

Lance cleared his throat. “I love you, Emma. I’ve always loved you, but I needed some time apart to see that.”

I scoffed. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have said the things you said.”

“Which things?”

“Any of them!” I threw my hands in the air. “The insults, the breakup, the manipulation! You’ve been horrible to me for longer than we’ve been broken up, but you’ve been extra horrible to me since then and I’m tired of it. I don’t know how much clearer I could be about not wanting you in my life!”

It felt good. Damn good. It was the first time since we broke up that I knew I was completely, one hundred percent over him. There was no ache anymore, no hollowness. I’d stripped away all traces of need for Lance, leaving only anger.

Righteous, bloody anger.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “You’re confused. I hurt you, I know that. But I can make things better, baby.”

He stepped toward me and I took a pointed step back.

“No.” I put up my hand to stop him. “Don’t come any closer to me. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. I just want you out of my sight.”

Visible irritation crept into Lance’s features, pinching his mouth and creasing his brow. For someone who couldn’t hold down a job for more than a couple months, he took failure very hard. Maybe it was because this scene was altogether too similar to how he’d dumped me in the first place. Served him right.

“You’re making a big fucking mistake,” he spat. “You’re just a cheap slut from the wrong side of the tracks. You’d be nothing without me. You’d be back in Illinois if it weren’t for me, probably with a few kids hanging off you. You should be grateful for everything I’ve done for you.”

While it was true that at the beginning of our relationship, Lance had helped me transition into city life, and he had gotten me through a couple rough spots, but I never would have gone back. There was nothing there for me. There never had been.

“I’m making a mistake?” I scoffed. “That’s rich. You’re the one who made the mistake and you know it. You’re just pissed because you’re alone and I’ve moved on.”

“Moved on? Is that what you’re calling your little tryst with that pompous douchebag?”

This was getting ridiculous. I didn’t know whether it was his allergy to success or just a side effect of getting older, but the bitterness that had steadily crept into Lance over the past year was reaching its peak. At least I hoped it was. I couldn’t imagine him being any worse than this, and if I tried to imagine it, all that came up was something quite scary.

“It’s not a little tryst,” I took a step toward him, showing him I wouldn’t be bullied. Not in my own home. Not ever. “We’re a couple, and he treats me better than you ever did.”

“Of course he does,” Lance sneered. “He’s some spoiled brat with a silver spoon in his mouth. I bet all he has to do to get you wet is open up his wallet.”

“He’s a good man, which is more than I can say for you.”

“And he’s rich.”

“What’s your point?” I asked. “I don’t care about that stuff. I never have. You’re the one who’s always been so obsessed with money, but you can’t keep any around long enough to pay the bills. You probably only want me back so you don’t have to get a fucking job. I stood by you and supported you without a single complaint, even though I had plenty to complain about, and you tossed me out on the street. If you think for one second that there is anything you can do or say to hurt me or gather my favor, you’re even more out of it than I thought.” I pointed to the door. “Get out.”

“I wouldn’t want to be here with you any longer anyway,” he snarled. “You stink of whore.”

I laughed, “Good one.”

Lance tossed me one last seething look before wrenching open the door and slamming it closed behind him. I let out a gust of breath as soon as he was out of sight, amazed that I’d managed to keep it together. My eyes stung with tears, but I couldn’t tell whether they were tears of anger, sadness, or relief. Perhaps a mix of all three.

I headed back to my desk and sank back down onto the chair, picking up my pencil with a shaky hand and channeling this odd combination of feelings into swooping arcs and scribbles on the page. It would never be a masterpiece, but this scrambled mass of black and gray had captured the emotions of the day so perfectly that I knew I’d never be able to get rid of it.

It was hard, what I’d just done. It felt good, but the emotional aftermath took some slogging to get through. I was shaken from the encounter, and it took some time and a bit of wine before I calmed down again.

Still, at the end of the day, at least it was over. No more Lance. That conversation had an air of finality about it, one that I was happy to sink into.

No more Lance.

From here on out, the only man in my life was Max. And I’d keep him as long as I could.