“Danni.” Anstice placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You have to stop this. It’s making it worse.”
Anstice hated my portraits. When she’d seen the first one two years ago, she’d looked sick to her stomach, her complexion fading to a translucent white and her eyes widening with horror. Ever since then, she avoided the paintings altogether. Her excuse was the man looked creepy and it freaked her out.
He was forbidding and harsh with those all-knowing eyes. But it was the fearless strength I saw in him that gave me the determination to tackle another day. Then again, he reminded me of the frustration of living with a black hole in my mind.
I’d never been one to sit quietly and take whatever life threw at me. Instead, I fought for what I wanted. And I wanted to know him. No, it was stronger than that. I had to know who he was like my lungs needed their next breath.
But it was tearing me apart. Every time I looked at him, another piece of me broke off.
I shrugged off Anstice’s hand and strode to the front door. “I have to remember, damn it.” I flipped the Open sign to Closed and locked the door to my art gallery, which I’d aptly named Danielle’s. “You have no idea what it’s like waking up in the middle of night freezing cold, feeling like clammy hands are on my body and then there is the water dripping . . . constantly waking to the tap dripping, but it’s not. I know it’s not because I check, damn it. And I keep checking.” I kicked an unopened box of art supplies. “I can’t even go on a date anymore without the fear it’s my abductor coming back for me.”
“It takes time.” Anstice’s voice was soft, and when I glanced at her, I saw tears in her eyes.
“Time? Are you kidding me? It’s been two years, damn it. I live like a hermit. Me. The free spirit with a tattoo on her butt. I don’t like men touching me. Black licorice makes me sick to my stomach, but before the abduction, I ate it by the truckload. I hate any sort of confinement and . . .” I stormed over to the portrait. “And I hate you!” I punched my fist through the middle of the canvas.
Anstice gasped.
I threw the ruined painting across the room. It landed face up on the floor, vivid green eyes watching me with an omniscient look as though the bastard knew I was all screwed up.
I gave a loud, frustrated grunt and stomped over to the cans of paint and picked one up. I carried it over to the canvas, opened the lid, tilted my hand and let the bright red paint slip over the lip to land on top of the eyes. “There. Now stay the fuck out of my head.”
The back door opened, then slammed shut against the cold wind.
I looked up and saw Keir. He was the type of guy you noticed, shit, when he walked in a room it was as if it became his. He nodded to me then looked at the destroyed canvas. His square jaw tightened and dark brows lowered over his eyes. He didn’t say anything though as he went and put his arm around Anstice’s waist, drawing her in close to his side.
I carried the can of paint over to the closet, threw open the doors and began yanking out every portrait of the man. I kicked my foot through each one and then poured paint over the haunting eyes.
I had to get this guy out of my head before he ruined my life. All I did was think about him, dream about him, and wonder if he existed. Shit, I’d even done hypnosis to try to erase him from my mind, but all it managed to do was intensify my awareness of him.
I dribbled the last of the bright red paint on the final canvas before letting the can slip from my hand. It bounced off the walnut hardwood floor and rolled on its side to settle beneath an easel. I looked around at the paint puddled on the floor and the numerous damaged canvases. Countless hours of work wrecked in minutes.
A giggle escaped and then another and another until I was laughing hysterically. I laughed until my shoulders and stomach ached. It felt good to laugh again, even though it wasn’t because I found this funny. Rather, it was just the opposite.
God, I was losing it. I’d end up like my father after all, sitting alone in the darkness, unable to decipher what was real.
“You’ll stay at our place tonight,” Keir said.
Anstice nodded. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
I stopped laughing. What had I done? I’’d turned every single portrait into what looked like a bloodbath of insanity. I tapped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I . . . guys, thanks, but it looks like I have a little cleaning up to do before I open tomorrow. Wouldn’t want clients to think I’d lost it or anything.” Maybe I’d killed the pesky mosquito. It was time to let go of this and start living again.
Keir’s tone was firm and unbending. “I insist.”
“Oh, pull that insisting crap on someone else, Keir. It doesn’t work with me.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
I liked Keir, but the man had a thing for being in control. If I were Anstice, I’d have punched him in the jaw a few times and threatened to leave him if he continued to insist or demand. But she did usually get her own way. When Anstice’s temper flared, and she was a redhead, Keir procured this little smirk and he’d back down. It was kind of cute, considering there was nothing cute about Keir and his over six-foot mass of tatted muscles.
“I had a freak out. I’m entitled.”
“We’ll help you clean up,” Anstice said.
I shook my head and the pencil slipped from my hair. My almond locks fell to swirl around my shoulders. I picked up the pencil and twirled my hair around it again. “No, I’m good. I need some time alone. I just destroyed my favorite paintings and dumped red paint all over my gallery floor.” Keir opened his mouth and I shot him a glare. “Don’t say another word, Keir. I like you—most of the time—but I’ll kick your ass if need be.”