Page 26 of Surrender to Me
“Oh, you’re that girl from Owen’s place,” she said as if she was only now realizing it. Her blond hair dripped onto her shoulders, and she shook it from her body. I considered myself a woman, not a girl, and from the looks of her, she couldn’t have been that much older than me. If anything, she was Owen’s age, but even that seemed to be pushing it. “Impressive that you have your first opening so young,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m almost twenty-five,” I said. She already had me on guard.
She bent over and dangled her fingers across the woman’s melted stump. I cringed, hating that she was touching my creation. “I remember the first time Owen bought me a painting,” she said wistfully. “We were so young then. Dreaming of bigger things as love birds do...” Anger boiled in my stomach, and I balled up my fists, then consciously talked myself through it. She was doing this on purpose, trying to get a reaction out of me. I couldn’t play her game. “I traded the painting for a gun.”
I found myself glancing at Owen, watching him talk to Stevens. A gun? Why did she need a gun?
“Has he hurt you yet? So badly you couldn’t sit down without feeling like your legs were going to crumble into a heap of ash?” she asked. I locked and unlocked my fingers, staring in front of me so hard, that I didn’t even notice that Owen was now talking to Lisa, and they were both staring at me. “He could tear you in two if he wanted,” Poppy said. Lisa waved to get me out of my trance, and Owen was warm, that knowing smile that held me when his hands couldn’t.
“He doesn’t need to hurt me like that,” I said.
“Is that right?” She touched my shoulder and waved at Owen, then took my arm in hers. I wanted to swat her away but I was trying desperately to not seem affected by her. Deep breaths, inhale, exhale… “Owen may like the idea of you—a young artist, a normal, average woman,” she paused, letting it sink in that she had called me average. Like I cared? I was still the one with Owen, not her. “He may even believe the idea that you could save him from his own needs. But you can’t. There’s a darkness in him that he can’t escape, and it’s a woman like you who will only delay his gratification. He’ll get what he wants. Trust me, he will.” She unlocked our arms and winked at me like she was telling a joke. “It’s a matter of time before he breaks you too.”
The dinging of a glass followed by the clearing of Lisa’s throat silenced everyone, including Poppy. I was suddenly grateful for Lisa’s introduction.
“My friends and fellow artists, tonight we’ve gathered to celebrate Riley Glass’s work, and I am truly honored to be her first host. Riley Glass was awarded the Bouchard scholarship at Foundations for the Arts and was the first choice of Sculpture Department Head, Professor Hunt for being innovative in all of her applications. Riley grew up in the Bay Area, but we know where she’s headed.” A few chuckles escaped, and I blushed, not knowing what the joke meant. “Please welcome Riley Glass.”
Lisa opened her hand towards me, beckoning me closer, and I started shrinking—metaphorically, at least. Everyone was clapping and the noise, although short-lived, felt claustrophobic, like it was going to eat me alive. But then Owen’s green eyes held me, sending encouragement and comfort with his calm demeanor. He nodded, a small gesture that only we would notice. Warmth filled me, and I felt ready.
“I’m new to this,” I paused, looking around at the audience. “It’s an honor to be here. I would bore you with my explanations, but we all know we’re here for the free wine.” A few laughs sounded, and that’s when I saw Michael, leaning against a column, looking at me with disgust. “Are there any questions?”
A few asked about my intentions for specific pieces, and I gave brief responses. One person even asked for my plans after the Foundation, and I shrugged, completely at a loss. But thankfully, the audience was supportive and welcoming.
“Any other questions?” I asked, expecting the answer to be no.
“I’ve got one,” Michael said from the back. “Your glass sculpture, it’s the first in the series.” He stood up straighter as everyone turned towards him.
“Right.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little generic?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Glass from Glass. What an original idea,” he sneered.
Lisa glared daggers at him from across the room. “That’ll be all. Thank you, and enjoy the h’orderves,” Lisa said.
Michael smirked at me, then saw Lisa coming towards him and cowered away, heading straight for the door. Something about their interaction made me think that they had a personal feud; maybe Michael had wronged her too. After he was outside, he stopped and pulled out his phone, then lit a cigarette. Lisa crossed her arms. Creep, she mouthed. She turned around, heading for the people by my glass sculpture.
Exhaustion filled me like a stressed water balloon, ready to pop. I knew I was supposed to stay for the whole opening to answer questions, but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, gossiping about what Michael had said. Generic echoed through my head. What an original idea. I looked for Owen, and as I found him, Poppy touched his arm and smiled. He said something, and she responded by putting her hand to her chest. Owen laughed. A green storm cloud crowded my mind. How could someone evil make him laugh? The expression on his face, that half smile, made me think that there was something he was hiding. But was he hiding it from everyone else, or me too? I wished I could read his lips.
I checked my phone: one missed text message. It had been on silent since I left the house, not wanting it to interrupt any of the opening. I am with you, the text said, from Owen. Still engaged in a conversation with Poppy, Stevens had joined them now, and my heart sank. I knew I couldn’t approach them. I wondered whether my artistic dreams were worth it if it meant giving up talking to the only person I wanted to talk to in a crowded room full of strangers.