FALLON
It all started with that vacation, visiting the Eternal City for a week.
Nick and I went there as a couple, and we broke up in the end, just before our return flight. Before it, I used to have a rich social life and lots of fun. I had two close friends, Kate and Tisha, and we would often go out together. But ever since I returned from that vacation, they have been acting like the time gap or connection rupture is between us.
Why? What could have happened in a week? Kate's birthday was last Saturday, and she never invited me to that club where she held her party.
What the hell happened with my friends? Did I do something?
"So, what's new with you, Fallon?" Melissa's voice brings me back to reality. I stopped calling Kate and Tisha after getting a cold shoulder a few times from them.
"Oh, nothing. I don't get Kate. And Tisha, but mostly Kate. My so-called best friend!" I exhale, puffing in the end. Kate has been my best friend for years, we used to see each other and chat almost daily, and now she is nowhere. It's one of many things confusing me.
"Maybe she is angry at you for breaking up with Nick?" Kate and Nick are siblings, but that isn't the reason behind her behavior.
"I don't think so. I wasn't the one that ended things between Nick and me. We came to the conclusion we weren't good for each other. We parted as friends." I stir my coffee with that small, plastic spoon keeping my eyes down. I hate lying to Melissa. Why we truly broke up is beyond me. I fucking don't know the real reason.
"So, did he call you? Do you know where he is?" Slowly taking her cup to her red, plump lips, Melissa stares at me curiously.
"No, I haven't heard from Nick. It's over. I think he moved to LA, has a new job. Who knows, maybe he has a new girlfriend, too." I never saw Nick after coming back to New York or heard from him. And I feel no jealousy when mentioning his possible new girlfriend. I remember him considering moving to the east coast due to his career. Nick is the financial consultant for Citibank.
Exactly 98 days ago, I returned alone from Rome. Why didn't we fly back together? Did he take another flight? Change his flight? I have no clue about that. That memory of mine doesn't exist. How and when did he move his things across the country?
"You should get laid! How come you didn't find someone yet? I mean, you look great, and it's been three months since Nick left." That issue is bothering me too. I should get laid for sure, if only because of health reasons.
I tried to pick up a few men from a few bars, but I had no luck. The funny thing was, they seemed not interested, like not seeing me at all, leaving me with the feeling of being invisible. I've been so paranoid since Rome and the onset of those nightmares. Maybe I'm only not so pretty anymore.
"Oh, I just don't feel like it yet," I twist the truth. "Maybe I need more time to get over Nick." I lie even more to Melissa because I don't feel anything for Nick. Like I never had those feelings.
But I must have had them as he was my first, and I remember having sex with him, a hell of a lot of it. And I remember his gorgeous body on top of mine and orgasming so wildly over his magnificent dick. Just thinking about it makes me sex-starved, craving for him. Even though I have pictures of us being together, his face is a blur during vivid, steamy images of us fucking. He was a beast between the sheets. The fucking machine, but with no face.
When I arrived back from Rome, bruises and bites covered my entire body, especially my wrists and ankles. We had it kinky, obviously practicing some bondage. I never knew I had that in me.
"Did Greg tell you we sold four more of your paintings yesterday? Guess once who bought two of them!" Melissa's smile gets wide. I don't smile, feeling uncomfortable. I've been aware for months now that something is off with my life, with me. But the more I think about it, the less I understand. And this thing is one of the so many mysteries.
"Again?" I don't have to guess as I know it.
Someone bought almost all of my paintings from Greg's gallery while I was in Rome. Plus, the client asked my cousin to raise my prices like I was fucking Picasso. Of course that he did, becoming loaded himself. The buyer wanted to stay anonymous. But his act skyrocketed my career and my finances up high.
No other gallery wanted to exhibit my work before that happened. A few would take them on consignment, rarely selling anything. Now I stay loyal to Greg, selling through his gallery exclusively.
"Yeah, 120 K each! Invest, buy a new condo or a house." Melissa advises me, giggling all the time.
A new real estate isn't what I need or want. I don't know what I need or want, feeling misplaced in time and space, lost in my life.
The penthouse I live in is just gorgeous and enormous. Nothing like that tiny condo Nick and I lived in before. But it doesn't feel like home. Though, I finally have a spacious art studio in the loft, my favorite room. At last, something good. And my bank account is filled with money, waiting to be spent by me. Already a millionaire, and I am still a student.
Before going to the gallery, I studied for three hours. I have only two exams left until becoming a Bachelor of Fine Arts. But another peculiar thing is, whenever I go to Parsons, I never meet someone I know, seeing only new faces. It has been like that for the last few months. I don't remember having a single friend there at all. Where the hell is everyone?
After knocking two times, Greg barges into the office without hesitation. His eyes land on Melissa first, then on me. I so want to avoid this.
"Ready?" Melissa asks, and I nod while smoothing down my black cocktail dress. It is almost 7 pm, the time to attend the opening of my first solo exhibition. Melissa knows I'm nervous, taking my hand as I take a deep breath. I hate being the center of attention, dreading the crowd gathering inside the gallery. It will take only an hour, I repeat inwardly, trying to calm myself.
"Can you use any other color besides red and black in the future? Maybe some white, or gold, silver maybe? You are stuck with that palette, but luckily that patron of yours is still willing to pay well for it. He called again, buying one more today. Plus, you had three other buyers, so it's four sales in a day, again." Greg chirps so cheerfully. He likes the money received from these sales.
But, I have no wish to find out who this anonymous collector is since knowing his name or face won't change a thing in my life. I don't care to find out as I have other problems bugging me way more. And I have no clue how to solve them. I only know I'll have to start dealing with them. Maybe I should call that number and ask for help regarding my nightmares.
"I'll try..., but I won't promise anything," I respond while thinking of the color green I used in that last painting that I finished this morning. The one I kept for myself. Because it looked like..., something..., familiar? Have I painted someone's eyes? Yeah, I have, no need to lie to myself. I painted the eyes, and their color is so strange but even so, more exciting. Bright green irises, almost like neon mint green. No one has that shade in reality, Fallon!
"Oh, another thing! Want to come over for dinner after this? My mom and dad would like to see you! It's been a while. They invited you, too, Melissa" Greg says coldly, almost like not caring if she goes or not, making Melissa uncomfortable. My stupid cousin! Greg's mother is my aunt, my late mother's younger sister. The only relatives I got left are Greg and his mom, Uma.
"Yes, I guess I could. When?" Uma must have invited Melissa after noticing something happening between the two and wants to meet the girl. That's why Greg is so nervous, not liking his mother's action.
My mother died when I turned eighteen, and my father even earlier, when I was six. So Greg's mom and dad took me under their wing, supporting me through college.
"The dinner is at 9 pm. Are you coming?" Greg asks me after introducing a couple that bought my painting a few days ago. They stated their interest in purchasing another one, and Greg offered them a discount for returning customers like the sly salesman he is.
"Yes, I'm coming," I accept, hoping we could skip this event and go to dinner right away. Too many people around me make me nervous.
"I can go, too, I guess. We won't stay long, right?" Melissa questions. A naughty idea pops into my mind.
"Oh, yes, she has a date with that hunk Jerry at 10.30 pm. She won't be late, right, Greg?" I stare at my cousin, inventing everything about Jerry and a date, observing his reaction.
"Ooh! No, she won't," he manages to reply after losing it for a few seconds. Jealous, are we?
Both Greg and Melissa made sure that I wouldn't feel awkward at the exhibition, keeping me entertained all the time. The family dinner eased my thoughts and senses as the people I knew so well were the only ones surrounding me. The food was splendid, and the conversation stayed light. Greg felt so proud of the fact that my solo show was such a success.
Somewhat around 10.20 pm, Melissa dropped me home. I was tired, falling asleep as soon as I touched the bed.
The nightmare woke me up again around 4 am, and I continued my routine, got up, made some coffee to last me the whole day, and started to paint.
Taking a break in between painting, I stare at the number I stored in my phone a month ago, the one Melissa gave me.
And finally, I make that decision, calling it.
"Hello, this is Dr. Andrew J. Gibson's office. How can I help you?" The female voice asks politely.
"Hi, Fallon Bayliss speaking. Could you arrange a meeting for me with the therapist? Hypnotherapy is what I have in mind. You s-see, I have t-these n-nightmare-es, a-and..." I stumble on words again.
"Sure, this is Anne Curtis, an assistant of Dr. Gibson. Can you wait a few minutes? I'll connect you directly with the doctor."
"Yes, yes, I can!" I add enthusiastically, staring again at those eyes I painted.
Unnatural mint green eyes are staring back at me, with everything else around them screaming in droplets of black and red. It was the first time I used some extra color, next to black and red, during the last 99 days.
Droplets, I became obsessed with drops, droplets, jets, spurts, and currents.
My subconscious is trying to tell me something through these paintings, but I can't understand what.
Whatever it is, those eyes attract me like magnets, at the same time making me want to run as fast and as far as I could, don't exist in nature. That much, I know.
I schedule the appointment for tomorrow, at 7 pm.
Too bad I am never to get there.