Page 60 of Painting Her

With Katherine gone, it’s as if someone has taken all the oxygen out of my apartment.

The ship is sinking and I am the only one left on it. A voice deep down tells me to do something about this.

Mateo had tried to warn me. He said something about the art world being a small community and other things I no longer recall.

I toss my half finished bowl into the sink. Silently I apologize to Camilla for the mess I’m leaving.

Was it arrogance on my part that had caused this train wreck? I should have known Dale would stick his head in where it doesn’t belong. After all, he had done the same with his dick.

I pace my apartment like a caged animal. The walls feel as though they are closing in on me. How could I have been so stupid?

Of course dickhead Dale would get into her ear: Dale whose dick had caused so much hurt and upset.

I kick my oversized exercise ball and watch it roll across the floor. With a sigh I walk to the studio. Maybe painting will help.

It is without any enthusiasm I mix my paints. I have to force myself to pick up a paintbrush.

Listless, I move my brush into the red and then make random strokes across the canvass.

A broken heart emerges. My broken heart.

I can’t understand what motivated Dale to blab to Katherine, particularly since he doesn’t know the whole story, the entire surprise.

I sigh.

Then I punch the canvass and see the red on my knuckles. Bastard. Prick. Asshole.

Take some responsibility man, my inner voice grumbles.

I finish smashing the canvass. I feel no better.

Maybe I should start over.

I grab another blank canvass and start again. This time I’m using yellow. A giant round face with tears running down its cheek shows up. It kind of looks like an emoji. It brings a smile to my face, briefly. From world-class paintings to fucking emojis – maybe that’s all I’ll be able to do without Katherine in my life.

I should have thought things through. If I had given it more thought, I would have realized Katherine is vulnerable. She had been in a relationship with a bloke who had totally betrayed her.

I try to picture what that would feel like. How would I feel if Katherine had been with another guy whilst we were together? The image is like someone kicking me in the gut.

Ok. So I have screwed up.

I made a complete mess of things.

Leaving the painting I have started, I cross the studio and pull the cover off my masterpiece.

As soon as my eyes see her, my dick stirs.

For once, stop thinking with your dick, I remind myself.

I needed to fix this but I’m not sure how. Should I destroy the painting? And then what?

At the thought of destroying this amazing piece of art, I feel as if someone is stabbing me right through the heart with a pointy dagger. No I couldn’t destroy it. If I destroyed it I had nothing left. This way I at least have Katherine on canvass.

But I if I want to get her back, I have to do something.

In total frustration, I pace the length of my studio. Pictures of Katherine doing this after she had seen the painting of herself flash into my mind.

I run both hands through my hair. There must be a way to make amends. I’m not the bad guy. Dale’s to blame. Dale and that shriveled cock of his.