3 Years Later (Part 2)
1167 Words
Chapter 2
3 Years Later (Part 2)
(Lia’s POV)
I took a deep breath and tried to press the non-existent wrinkles out of my black silk slip dress before opening the door to Savannah’s gallery.
I had spent the last three years trying to forget my past and move on… to this. To have something that wasn’t given to me or created by false delusions.
This was it.
An exhibition in Savannah’s gallery.
If I could sell my paintings, I could finally become independent. I could finally tell Uncle Seamus to stop paying for the apartment and sending me allowance. I tried not to use it. I really did try, but grad school and the cost of living on the west coast, specifically California, was too much for me to manage.
I shook my head.
This is what he meant when he had torn me apart. I had lived such a sheltered life for a common person, I couldn’t do what millions of other people had done.
I did work. I worked all sorts of jobs in the last three years, and now I didn’t need to touch the allowance Uncle Seamus sent. But it had been a steep learning curve. To go from a pampered princess to a barista. He did own the apartment I lived in, but that was something he refused to budge on. Aunt Charlotte had insisted. And it was for the best; there was no way I would be able to afford anything livable in LA with the money I made.
But tonight could change even that.
If I could sell even a few of my paintings, I could further myself from anything related to the Irish Mob.
I would forever be grateful to Uncle Seamus and Aunt Charlotte for raising me, for loving and cherishing me. None of this was their fault.
It was mine.
I had crossed a line and forgotten who I truly was.
I closed my eyes and tried to clear out my mind.
I looked around the room, taking in the carefully arranged lights, angled towards the walls filled with paintings. My paintings. My very own display of paintings that held fragments of my soul. And hidden in the middle of them was the one that shattered me all over again. The first painting I had painted when I moved to Stanford.
I had painted it through tears. Each brushstroke was an ache in my chest, a reminder of the unfulfilled dreams and the words that had torn me apart.
Angry blue eyes.
They reflected anger, the heartbreak, and the love I could never have.
It was the most honest piece I had created, and no one would know the reason behind it. No one would know who those eyes belonged to.
I needed this piece to sell today. I needed to move on, and I promised myself I would never see those blue eyes again.
Oliver deserved better. If this painting sold today, I could get rid of the ones in my studio. I could start fresh.
I could burn everything and maybe… just maybe, I would finally feel free of the past.
“Hello, beautiful people!” Abby practically yelled as she walked into the art gallery and tore me from the invasive thoughts.
People turned and looked at her, but she couldn’t care less about it.
I smiled at my friend as I walked up to her. “Abby, I’m glad you made it.”
Abby hugged me. “Of course I was going to make it to your first show! Are you kidding me? I would have thrown my co-star down a flight of stairs to make it here on time, babe.”
I arched my eyebrow at her.
“Okay, I wanted to throw him down the stairs anyway,” she exclaimed.
I laughed and shook my head at her.
Abby, Savannah, and I had met at Berkeley while I was pursuing my master’s in fine arts. They had helped ease the pain of being so far from Moira and Maeve. They had become the family I missed. Abby had dreams of becoming an actress and was biding her time, waiting for her big break. I never doubted it would come. With her striking platinum blonde, bombshell-curled hair and piercing green eyes, she had the kind of beauty that made people stop and stare. Add to that her tall, lean frame, like something out of a 90s fashion editorial, and it was clear she wouldn’t have to wait long.
And I was right.
Not long after we met, she landed a supporting role in a film, and from there, her career took off like wildfire. Over the three years I’d known her, Abby had done nothing but climb higher, each success adding another layer to her already glowing aura.
She was destined for stardom, and even back then, it had been impossible to imagine her as anything less.
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
She sighed. “He’s just a bit handsy.”
“Have you told anyone?” I asked, concern taking over my mind.
She waved her hand. “Please, I don’t need anyone else to handle my problems for me. I’m taking care of it.”
I nodded, knowing what she was capable of.
"How's the event going?" Abby asked, her green eyes sweeping across the crowded room. "There are a lot of people here."
"I think it's going really well," I replied, glancing around. "The turnout is even better than I expected. I haven’t talked to Savannah since this morning, but this is better than what she was expecting as well."
Abby smiled knowingly. "Savannah has a habit of underestimating herself," she said, her tone warm and affectionate as she spoke about our mutual friend.
I nodded, unable to disagree. Savannah had poured her heart into making this event a success, and even though she doubted herself, it was clear her hard work had paid off. She had an eye for talent and appreciated artists more than other curators I’ve met.
“Do you have any offers on your work?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I have no idea; I’ve been nervous to go look at the wall.”
“Well, it’s still so early! I bet your wall is going to be sold out by the end of the night,” she stated.
“It’s my first show. I don’t expect anything,” I told her. I was nervous enough as it was—not hearing a negative comment would do for the night.
“Come on! Show me your wall. I want to see the paintings you chose!” she said excitedly.
Abby grabbed my wrist and pulled, her movement quick.
I winced, letting out an involuntary sound.
Her grip loosened immediately, and she looked at me with that piercing gaze, the one that said she wasn’t going to let this go.
“What the hell happened to your wrist?”
- Writer
