Dirty Desire (18 page)

“But then you realized
your wife
,” she hisses, “took me, and you rushed in only to get shot.” She chuckles, like it’s funny.

It’s not funny. I fucking failed her and she’ll never know how much that hurts me.

“They kept me in the hospital all week. I lost a lot of blood and had an infection that needed to heal before they would let me leave. I knew where you were and I couldn’t save you.” Taking a few deep breaths, I can’t stop the tears from flowing and I know I look like an idiot but I don’t care.

She hates me.

The woman I love and lost everything for hates me. And for good reason.

“I deserve better than you,” she whispers, shaking her head defeated. “These claims of love, Knox? That’s idiotic. You can’t love someone you were planning on ruining from the start.”

“It’s amazing what the heart makes the mind do,” I mutter.

She looks at me, broken and needy…but I can’t help her.

“You’re right, you know. You do deserve better. You deserve someone ten times better than me. Not someone like me; hell I’d never be good enough for a girl like you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

She chuckles lightly and shakes her head at me.

“You’ve lost your chance to try, Knox. The only thing you’re good for is breaking promises and ruining hearts. That’s it. It’s just dirty what you did.”

Harper isn’t the type of girl to want the big romantic gestures or girly shit. She’s low key, that’s one of the things I love about her. Knowing that her heart was in this just as much as mine still is breaks the already shattered pieces of me into smaller bits. Dust, almost.

“I’m so sorry, Harper. All of it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say other than I’m just…fuck I’m sorry.” I wipe under my nose and stand my ground, holding on to the sliver of hope that we can make it through this.

Until those two words fall from her beautiful lips.

“Get out.”

            Two Years Later

“Becca, have you seen my notes?”

Where the hell are they? I just had them out last night but everything in this apartment is a hot fucking mess of Becca’s shit.

Knox never would have lived this messy.

“Fuck!” How long is it going to take for my brain to stop thinking about him? Two years! It’s been two years!

I’m over him!

I am.

I am!

Frustrated, I kick the table and a stack of papers fall to the floor, revealing my notebook.

“Jesus, finally,” I huff, grabbing them and stuffing them into my bag.

“Hey, you get em?” Becca walks into the kitchen in her pajamas like she has nowhere to be.

“We have to leave in ten minutes, Bec!” I’m only freaking out because it’s exam day and I have to keep my 4.0 average or I lose my scholarship.

That’s right.

College.

After Knox moved out I was in a dark place. I missed him so bad. I cried every day looking at random things in the apartment. I thought every day I made the wrong choice…even after all the lies he still was the man I wanted to give my heart to.

But he lied. And I couldn’t get past all of that.

John was the one that finally made me realize I needed to stop my pity party.

“Hey you,” John says, walking into the apartment after using his key to get in. No privacy with these boys, but I don’t care. I didn’t feel like getting off the couch anyway.

“Hey,” I mumble over my cup of coffee.

“Plans today?” He asks, heading to the coffee pot.

John and Leigh haven’t left me alone for the past two months. The day Knox moved out Leigh walked in on me having a massive melt down and breaking things…I guess they don’t trust me to not hurt myself next time.

It’s fine. They bring me groceries because I can’t seem to get out of here to buy them.

“Job hunting,” I mumble the lie easily. I’ve been job hunting ever since I realized I was let go from the bar but all my ‘job hunting’ consists of is internet Facebook searches.

Fuck it. Knox annoyingly paid for a year of rent when he moved out without telling me, the fucking asshole, so I’m set for a few more months.

Maybe by then I’ll be dead and I won’t have to worry about this shit anymore.

“Nope,” John says, sitting on the couch. “You’re not. And I know you’re not. Know how? Because if you were, you’d have something by now, Harp.”

“Don’t call me that,” I growl. A name that used to mean so much to me now makes me rage when I hear it.

“Harper, you need to get up and live your life. He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“He doesn’t want to see me at all,” I mumble, glaring at the floor.

Is that a spider?

“You don’t know that. You don’t know any of it because you’ve been holed up in this room for two months. We all had to move on from this, sweet. All of us.”

Nope. Just a string.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“Yes I am.”

“You hear me, but you’re not listening.” Putting his hands on my shoulders, he turns me and makes me look him square in the eye.

“Life sucks Harper, but you have to learn to get past it. I don’t know where he is at this point…he didn’t just leave your life when he moved out. I lost a job, Leigh lost a friend…we all lost something and we all need to learn to move on.”

He’s right. We all did lose something. This whole time I’ve thought I’m alone in this and wallowing in self-pity, but I haven’t taken into account how him leaving has affected them.

I knew he took off when he left…I never put it together that it would affect John and Leigh though. They didn’t love him like I do.

“Maybe it’s time you start living. Starting with getting rid of this apartment and moving in with someone else.”

“A girl this time,” I mutter, a slight grin playing on my lips. No chance I could fall in love with a roommate if it’s a girl. Nothing against lesbians but I like my sex long and hard.

“Yes,” he laughs. “Whatever you want…but we can’t watch you wallow like this anymore. Now up! Your hair needs washed and I have plans for us today.”

That was the day John introduced me to the institute of Art in Schaumburg, IL. Not many people know about my love of art but John and Leigh. I don’t let that many people in.

In my late twenties I decided to give college a real go this time. I’m now a full time student, studying art history with a minor in painting. I’m finally doing what I’ve always wanted to do and on the government’s dime, nonetheless. All of my scholarship applications came back one hundred percent approved. It’s crazy how much my luck has changed, but I finally started doing things for me. Working at a bar for the rest of my life wasn’t in the cards. I kicked myself daily for not doing the college thing and breaking that promise I made to my dad.

Well I’m doing it now, daddy. Four hours away from my life long home, I’ve found a new home here in Chicago.

“We gotta go, Becca!” I holler from the front door. Her and I have a special friendship. They say the artistic type is the messiest type, but holy fuck this girl. She’s so unorganized, I sometimes feel like I am living with a child. All the reminders and sticky notes and chore list…yes a fucking chore list! If she could go two months without cleaning the floors she would. She tells me on a daily basis how lucky she is that we found each other, and I wholeheartedly agree.

She’s a graphic design major so we aren’t together all day, which is good because I’d probably kill her. Plus, she’s been dating this guy, Greg, for a while so I barely see her anymore.

Fine by me. More time to work on my art.

We make it to campus with just enough time to grab a coffee and head to class.

“Hey, Harper!” Dylan, one of my classmates, approaches me as I find my spot.

“Hey Dylan,” I say, smiling. Dylan’s fresh out of high school and living off mommy and daddy’s dime. He’s had no real experience in this world and most of the time he’s not that annoying. Most of the time.

“Hey. So my dad is sponsoring an art show in downtown Chicago next month and their lead artist just pulled out due to contractual problems. I told him I’d ask you if you’re interested. He’s seen some of your work and loves it.”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to not let my excitement get the best of me, and stare at him for a minute.

“How’s he seen my artwork, Dylan?”

He smiles and his face turns bright red.

“I uh…I’ve been taking pictures of your work. You’re so talented and I just think someone needs to recognize you.”

A grin sweeps over my face and I bite my lip, trying to calm my excitement.

“Are you fucking serious?” I whisper. “He really wants me there as the lead artist?”

“Yeah,” he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I can’t truly believe this. “Here, let me call him.”

“No,” I blurt. “He’s working…probably...just…holy shit.”

“You deserve some good in your life, too, Harper.” He smiles at me and I wrap my arms around him, thanking him profusely.

“He won’t be disappointed,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.

“I know,” he says, then walks away and leaves me staring at my painting I’m working on.

Holy shit.

After the two hour class I’m ready to get off of this stool. I’m itching to get home and see what I have in stock. I’ve made a fuck ton of paintings in these past two years. What started off as a hobby I enjoyed in my younger years has now turned into something much more. A show! In Chicago!

“Hey babe,” Leigh answers when I call him right after class.

“Leigh! You’re not going to believe what just happened. I got invited to be the lead artist at a show in Chicago!” I squeal.

“Holy fuck, Harper, that’s amazing!”

“You’re coming up for it, right?”

“Dick yes I am. You better believe it.”

Leigh and John still live in St. Louis. They’ve opened their own bar and from the sounds of it, things are going awesome for the two of them. I’m happy they have each other but I miss my friend dearly. We don’t see each other near as often as I’d like, but I guess that’s what happens when you move four hours away.

“Hey Harper, I gotta go. Can I call you later?’

“Yeah sure,” I say, hopping into my car.

“Bye babe,” he says, hanging up the phone.

I can’t believe I am finally getting my first art show. And at thirty years old I’ve always felt like the old maid in my classes since most of my classmates are fresh out of High School. Finally something’s looking up for me.

“Miss, how much is this one?” A woman, mid-forties I’d say, asks. It’s opening night for my show and I’m a nervous wreck. Putting your work out to the public for them to criticize is scary and liberating. It’s putting pieces of my soul on a wall and having them out there for everyone to see.

She’s pointing to the one picture that’s not for sale.

“I’m sorry it’s not for sale,” I say as politely as I can while looking into the eyes that haunt me at night. His eyes. “What a shame. It’s beautiful.” She sighs and walks on, admiring the other works I have up.

Twenty works in all and only one isn’t for sale.