Becoming Taylor Swift

(Skye)

Tears flow from my eyes as I bury my face in my pillow. After I sent the last text to Lawson, I turn off my phone. I don’t want to read his messages. And I certainly don’t want to speak to him on the phone.

My heart is crushing in my chest, enough that I worry I might actually die. If this is what it feels like to break up with someone, then I’m glad I didn’t date in high school or college. This pain is unbearable.

I’m so angry at myself for allowing myself to date someone like Lawson. I should’ve known from the start that it was a bad idea. What is someone like me, a poor artist, ever going to offer a billionaire? It could only ever end in nothing but heartache for me.

How could I let myself get in the middle of Lawson and Kelso? To be a stupid little pawn in their billionaire game?

Lesson learned. From now on, I will stay far away from anyone who isn’t like me. If I can’t find a poor, starving artist I can identify with, then I’d rather be alone.

But that doesn’t make the pain that I’m feeling right now hurt any less.

Lying on my bed is only making things worse. There’s nothing to distract me, and right now I need to be distracted.

I drag my feet down the hall into my studio. The earrings on the tree painting is still waiting to be finished. Gordon is pressuring me for more paintings to sell, and I can easily get this finished by the end of the day for him.

After preparing all my paints and putting on my smock, I stand in front of the painting.

Nothing.

I try sitting down in front of the painting.

Still nothing.

This isn’t something I’ve experienced before. It’s a complete absence of any feeling other than hurt and pain. I can’t bring myself to touch the painting like this, I’d ruin it.

I sit for a few moments, staring at the painting and looking around the room. Tears are about to start flowing again but I bite them back.

Without thinking, I spring from my seat and set aside the mostly finished painting in the next room. I put three fresh, blank canvases on the three easels and pick up my brush.

If ever I had a need for an outlet, this is it.

Fuelled with hurt, anger and pain, I fling paint at the canvases. I scrape blacks and browns and blues over them, each color a representation of my emotion.

My arms work furiously, not caring if the paint lands on the canvas, floor or wall. Even the windows become flecked with paint.

I’m busy chucking reds at the canvases when Ava opens the door.

“What’s happening? I’d think you were taking your painting in a new direction, but the look on your face tells a different story.”

My tears had drained ages ago, but I’m sure their streaks still stain my face.

“I broke up with Lawson.” My voice is flat, monotonous, as if the three new paintings sucked up anything that was left of my soul.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.”

Ava moves across the room and stands at my side. She puts her arms up to hug me before taking them away again. I look down at myself, there’s as much paint on me as there is on the canvases.

“I lost my commission, and Lawson doesn’t even care,” I say, my voice descending until I’m blubbering by the time I finish. I wipe my eyes on the backs of my hands, smearing fresh paint on my cheeks.

“That’s terrible. You lost the commission at the mansion?”

“Yes. Kelso and Lawson knew each other. They’re rivals, and Lawson used me to get at Kelso.” I’m not sure how much of that she understands, given how difficult it must be to make out the words between my sobs.

“How awful of him. You poor thing. Don’t worry, dear, the thing about men is it hurts when things go bad, but there’s always another one around the corner.”

I sob even harder. I don’t want another one. I want Lawson. At least I did. I can’t imagine how another man could ever make me laugh as much as him. Or make me feel the way he made me feel.

“Your emotions are apparent in these paintings. They’re actually quite powerful. I know abstract isn’t normally your thing, but I bet you can sell these.”

“Great, I’m like Taylor Swift.”

“Who?”

“She’s a singer who makes a fortune writing about all her breakups.”

“Well, there you go. You can be the art world’s Taylor Swift.” The comment makes me laugh, and lightens my mood.

“What do I do?”

“You keep painting. I know you’re heartbroken about losing that commission, but I don’t think you have to worry too much. I just got back from seeing Gordon, and he said he gets at least a phone call a day asking about you. Now the Texas couple and a man from Ohio are demanding the right to outbid whoever offers to buy your next work. With a bidding war going on, who knows how much they’ll go for.”

My mouth drops open. I can’t believe that my art really, truly, finally seems to be getting noticed. I would love to concentrate on the work I want to do instead of what Kelso wants me to do. Especially his stupid pussy painting.

In bed that night, I once again drench my pillows with tears. I can no longer resist, and turn my phone back on. It immediately dings with several missed phone calls and texts, all from Lawson.

Phone me.

You don’t need Kelso with your talent.

Why do you believe Kelso over me?

I would never hurt you.

The last text is from noon. Eleven hours ago. I can’t bring myself to read all the earlier texts and switch the phone back off.

Would he hurt me? I sigh through my sobs. There’s no way to know.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Like Ava and my college professors and so many of my art friends insisted on a million times — the rich don’t belong in our worlds, and we sure as hell don’t belong in theirs.

Until I met Lawson, I’d always believed their arguments.

The connection I’d felt with Lawson made me stupid enough to believe that they were wrong; that I could be in his world, and he in mine.

I laugh through my tears, remembering our first date, and how I made him take me to the cheapest restaurant I could think of, just so I could judge how out of place he was in it. I told him it was because I wanted to go somewhere fast as an excuse to get him to go. Did he realize what my real reason was?

Lawson did okay in it, at least it seemed that way at the time. Probably my head was too clouded from the overwhelming desire to kiss him to notice any different.

As for me in his world, well, Kelso showed me what it’s really like when he cornered me in his bedroom. Lawson used me to get to Kelso.

Even if he didn’t know about my working for Kelso beforehand, he sure took advantage of my employment as soon as he could, when he came into Kelso’s bedroom and, and…

And gave me the most mind-blowing experience of my life.

My body warms just remembering it. His touch, his voice. Everything seemed to be focused on pleasuring me. Was Lawson’s real pleasure in knowing we were in Kelso’s bedroom? Did he know Kelso would come home and walk in on us?

The whole idea, all the possibilities, make me so angry — so incredibly frustrated — that I can’t fall asleep at all.