What the hell are you doing, O?

I honestly couldn’t answer that.

The entire time I’d been in the supermarket, I’d flip-flopped over being so grateful for the fat wad of money in my purse and so annoyed at it. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about Gil.

Gil.

Gil.

I needed to talk to him.

I needed to be around him, to be near him, to look into his eyes and tear his secrets out one by one.

My fingers hovered on the keyboard. Opening sentences flew behind my eyes.

Gil, I miss you.

Gil, you paid me way too much.

Gil, what are you hiding?

I slouched.

An emotionless message would never work. He’d just ignore me, block, me, or never even see it. A conversation with him needed to be face to face, so he couldn’t hide what he battled.

With another sip of wine, I left Gil’s page and navigated to another man’s profile.

A man I’d kissed in my youth after another broke my heart.

Justin Miller’s Facebook was littered with after work drinks, pretty girls taking selfies with him, and a confident, friendly man who seemed successful.

I was happy for him.

Glad he hadn’t messed up his dreams like I had.

With liquid courage and a flush of excess energy, I clicked on a new message bubble.

Gil consumed me.

I needed a distraction.

Olin Moss: Hey, Justin. It was nice to see you at Gil’s last night. I...

My fingers paused, searching for something appropriate. I hadn’t planned to write. I had no script to follow.

Another sip of wine, and I added:

Olin Moss: I wanted to thank you for standing up for me and encouraging Gil to use me as a canvas. He finished the design today. It was amazing to be part of his process.

I chewed my cheek in worry.

What am I doing?

Justin probably didn’t want to hear from me. There was a reason school friends drifted apart—especially exes.

I’d been mean to him in the end. Shattered beyond repair when Gil just vanished. I hadn’t been able to keep up the pretend anymore—couldn’t let Justin try to help me when I no longer wanted to be helped.

Dance had been the only thing that’d granted any peace.

I clicked on the icon to add to my text. To tell him how grateful I was for his help in the past. How stupid I’d been to turn that help away.

But a chime sounded, delivering his reply.

Justin Miller: Hey, O! Great to hear from you. He wasn’t too much of a brooding artist, I hope.

I smiled.

Olin Moss: No, he was perfectly professional.

Justin Miller: I’m glad. Do you have to go back tomorrow to finish?

Olin Moss: No. All done.

And banished for life.

Justin Miller: He pay you for your time? He has a bad habit of forgetting.

My heart picked up its pace.

Olin Moss: No, he paid me.

In cash and kisses.

My thoughts returned to the thick envelope.

I shouldn’t do it. I knew I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t stop my fingers typing:

Olin Moss: Random question, but do you know the going rate for a living canvas?

I liked torturing myself.

Liked justifying my crazy conclusions.

Liked chasing rabbits that had no right to make me worry.

Justin took a few minutes to reply.

Justin Miller: Eh, I think it’s about three to five hundred per commission. Why?

I froze.

Oh, no...

I’d been right.

Gil had overpaid me.

Paid me triple.

Over triple.

Why?

Not only had Gil kissed me while trembling with things he couldn’t survive, but he’d tarnished that kiss with money.

He’d ruined it.

Successfully hurt me all over again.

Will he ever stop?

I suddenly didn’t want to talk after all.

I wanted to finish my wine and sleep. To run away from scars and body painters, money and heartbreak.

Olin Moss: No reason. Hope you have a good night!

Without waiting for his response, I closed Facebook in a rush.

I went to shut the laptop, but an email icon showed I had a reply from an office position I’d forgotten I’d applied to.

Some sterile building with its depressing cubicles and mind-numbing tasks. But at least a steady paycheque that meant I get to keep my clothes on and heart intact.

From: Static Enterprises

Subject: Interview for receptionist

Dear Ms Moss,

Thank you for your interest in our company and your resume. We are pleased to invite you to an interview tomorrow at three p.m. at our downtown location.

Please advise if this is convenient.

I didn’t hesitate to reply.

A steady job.

A ticket out of bankruptcy.

Something to focus on so I didn’t lose myself in the labyrinth that was Gilbert Clark.

If my interview went well and they offered me the job, I would visit Gil and give him his money back.

I’d look into his eyes and demand answers.

I would fight one final time for us.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Nine

______________________________

Gil

-The Past-

“HEY.” I SHOVED my hands deeper into my tattered jeans pockets and smiled, pretending I hadn’t run here from home or stolen a bottle of deodorant to ensure I smelled semi-decent.

Olin jolted, one hand flying to her throat, the other clutching her messenger bag with white fingers. “Oh...hey.” Her eyes switched from shock-wide to suspicious-narrow. “Where did you appear from?”

I smirked. “Somewhere.”

She glanced over my shoulder at the mostly empty field behind me. Early bird students straggled in, but the majority of the school were still shoving toast and jam down their throats at home.

Tilting her head against the sun’s glare, she said quietly, “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

She shrugged, still not totally at ease with me even though we’d professed a mutual liking of each other last week. That corridor used to hold nasty memories. Now, it held the best one of my life.

A small smile tilted her lips. “I’m always early.”

“I know.” I realised my mistake too late.

“You do?” Her forehead furrowed.

Shit.

“Um...” I raked a hand through too-long hair. “I mean...” Words flew out of my brain. Lies weren’t possible. Truth was too hard. My heart crashed against my ribs in panic. “I’ve...watched you.” I couldn’t look at her. “I don’t mean that in a stalkerish way. I mean...I’ve noticed you.” I swallowed hard. “For a while.”

Her pretty blush was back, pink and innocent. “You noticed me?”

I nodded, catching her stare. “You’re the kindest person at school. I like watching you.”

She blushed deeper. “I’m not kind.”

“No one else carries Millie’s bag to class because it’s too heavy. No one else brings a newspaper from home for Mr. Scoot to read with his coffee in the staff room.”

I waited for her to run away screaming. To file a restraining order. To tell me to stop being a creep watching her from the bushes.

Instead, she studied me in a way that stripped me bare, gave me no place to hide, and made me so grateful I’d been honest. “Is that why you liked watching me? Because I help where I can?”

I’d never had such intense conversations with anyone. Never been trapped wanting something so fucking much all while petrified of losing it. “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

“Do you need help?” Her gaze dropped to my scruffy T-shirt and the patches on my jeans. She didn’t sneer at my poverty. She didn’t back away at my bad luck. She was the only student to look at me without any biased opinion or expect me to be violent just because I preferred my own company.