I couldn’t stay there anymore.

I couldn’t listen to another twisted, poisoned word.

Lurching from the storeroom, Ms Tallup’s voice chased me as she purred, “Six p.m. on Sunday, Gilbert. Don’t be late.”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-Eight

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

I WAS BORROWING tomorrow’s happiness.

I knew that.

I knew this wasn’t real and wouldn’t last.

I knew Gil would kick me from his life the moment he’d dealt with whatever issues he struggled with.

But it didn’t change a thing.

Is it naïve to accept the upcoming abandonment? Is it even called abandonment when you know it’s inevitable?

My thoughts rushed and raced as Gil drove us in his white hatchback that I suspected was a cheap alternative to another vehicle he might’ve sold to pay whatever debt he owed.

He didn’t seem comfortable driving it. Then again, he didn’t seem at ease with anything.

We didn’t speak as we arrived outside a large department store in downtown Birmingham. I helped him carry boxes of paint, glitter, and rhinestones from the car. He carried the heavier stuff like air guns, gas bottles, and an entire wooden box of brushes and sponges.

Pedestrians watched us with mild curiosity. The city wasn’t too busy thanks to most of the workers already ensconced in their places of business, toiling through a long day.

I squinted against the sun as Gil dumped his armful against the wall of the huge store. Motioning for me to do the same, he marched back to the car and pulled out a foldable trestle table along with a few other artwork requirements.

I waited until he’d set up the table and placed what he needed into logical positions before asking, “What exactly is the commission?” My eyes scanned the milling people, hoping I didn’t recognise anyone from Status Enterprises. Calling in sick after only being employed a few days had chipped away at Shannon’s supportive welcome. Her tone had turned cooler, and she’d asked for a doctor’s certificate if my symptoms went on longer than forty-eight hours—company policy.

I’d screwed up.

I’d willingly put my income on the line to help Gil.

Am I stupid or sweet?

At this point, I was going to go with stupid.

“The department store.” Gil cocked his chin at the hulking retail shop where we’d placed his gear.

“Kohls?” I peered at the name of the store. It was hard not to miss with its large lime letters glowing against the dark grey façade.

K.O.H.L.S.

Each giant letter shouted at would-be shoppers to enter and spend. I had no idea how Gil would incorporate them into a painting—they loomed huge from the pavement like ships sailing through concrete.

“Yeah.” Gil continued doctoring his supplies. “They want an image they can use in their upcoming catalogues and billboards. Something recognisable to their brand but unique.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t like commercial stuff. Never have. I’d much rather do natural.”

“Natural?”

“You know...woodlands and beaches. A waterfall or two with humans all hidden with paint.”

I stiffened. “So...you like doing camouflage pieces?”

He hooked up the air gun hose to the gas bottle. “Yes. I find natural shadows and textures much more satisfying than manmade.”

Moving closer to him, so I didn’t have to speak too loudly, I murmured, “The girls who were murdered...the ones painted and left to starve while the police couldn’t see them.... Do you know who would—”

“Paint corpses?” Gil interrupted with an icy stare. “No, I can’t say I hang out with such creatures.”

“I’m just asking if you think whoever painted those girls is talented.”

“Talented?” He laughed morbidly. “Talented at killing, you mean?”

“No, talented at shading and disguising.”

His eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Sorry to disappoint you, Olin, but I didn’t exactly inspect them up close and personal.”

“True. Sorry.” I pulled back. “Stupid question.”

“Very stupid.” Turning his attention back to his paints, his hands trembled a little as he worked out the colour palette and placed bottles of his chosen pigment in a row.

Did he shake from hunger? We hadn’t had time for breakfast.

Did he shake from cold? The sun was out and warm.

Did he shake from nerves? Surely, he didn’t get performance anxiety. Not with skills like his.

Touching his forearm gently, I studied him. “You okay?”

He froze, his gaze locking on my fingertips resting on his bare arm. His T-shirt choice today already held streaks and spots of paint from other work. His jeans were just as paint-decorated, and his boots would be welcome on a building site if it weren’t for the orange and highlighter green mixing with dirt and grime.

Slowly, he moved away, dislodging my hold. “I’m fine.” Pulling a familiar packet of skin-toned lingerie from his pocket, he artfully switched the conversation from him to me. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed nervously as he passed me the packeted G-string. “God, do I have to stand on a busy street at ten in the morning in just a flesh-coloured G?”

“Not just a G-string. I’ll let you wear pasties today.” His lips twitched a little. “Least your nipples won’t be on display.”

“Oh, gee. That’s so generous of you.”

“I thought so.”

Pushing past me, he stalked to his car again and returned with a white robe. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To get my canvas prepped.”

I trailed behind him as we entered the large department store. Men’s, women’s, and children’s merchandise were all on offer. Silver escalators led to more floors full of stuff. Toys, home-wares, and clothing. A treasure trove for the shopaholic, and a place I hadn’t had much reason to enter in a while with no disposable income.

A pretty caramel and cream skirt caught my attention as Gil stormed down the centre aisle, guiding me toward the women’s changing rooms.

“You seem to know your way around here.”

His eyes trailed over the racks and shoppers. “I’ve been in a couple of times.”

“You don’t seem the kind to frequent retail stores.”

“Yeah, well.” He massaged the back of his neck, wincing as a kid sprinted past, screaming with joy as he headed toward the toy section. Reluctance layered his voice as if he didn’t want to admit he’d had a love life before I’d inconveniently waltzed back into it. “Eh, I didn’t come in here for me.”

Ouch.

If that didn’t cure me of my stupid insanity, nothing would.

My heart relocated into my throat as another question poised on my tongue.

Don’t ask.

Do. Not. Ask.

“I, um, should probably have checked before this, but...eh, do you have a girlfriend, Gil?”

Every part of him locked into place. His face darkened; his eyes turned chilly. “Do you think I’d sleep with you if I did?” He leaned toward me. “I’m not a cheater, Olin.”

I fought the urge to stumble back. “Okay, just thought I’d check.” I waited for him to ask me the same question. Normally, that was how these things went. The desire to know if you’re both free to pursue whatever magic brewed.

However, Gil already admitted he didn’t want what was between us, and he most likely already knew how unlikely it would be for me to be romantically involved with another while he’d always owned my heart.

Justin danced on the edges of my thoughts.

Gil had watched me date him in high-school. He’d seen me overplay the act of happy, contented girlfriend all while my shattered heart remained in pieces. Back then, I’d hoped he’d confront me about it and demand for me to break up with Justin because I was always meant to be his.