Ruined her innocence

FALLON

I'm strolling hastily through Central Park, slowly sipping on my still warm caramel cappuccino to go. It's only a thirty-minute walk from my penthouse on the east side of Manhattan to the west side where Greg's gallery stands, but it will take me less to get there. And I still have plenty of time ahead.

I'm turning around the whole time as I walk.

That feeling like someone has been following me, stalking me, is back again. I'm doing my best not to succumb to that fear. But my legs don't listen to my mind. The same goes for my heart, disobediently skipping every beat.

Crossing over the Triplets Bridge, I know I'm almost there. The tube dangles against my back over a thick strap attached to it as I carry it across my body. I don't feel much of its weight as only my canvases lie nicely rolled inside of it. Greg will frame them.

My chaotic thoughts wander freely inside my crazed mind. It's Wednesday, mid-afternoon, and I'm already so confused and shaken up, feeling beyond exhausted from all that insomnia.

That fucking nightmare woke me up again this morning, too early like every previous day. And again, I couldn't retrieve the slightest memory of what it was that kept on haunting me, starting three months ago. Like something dark and dangerous is repeatedly blocking my mind from recovering those images.

But I know it is nothing remotely pleasant because there are these impressions, building castles and towers of unknown terror inside me, cold shivers running up and down my spine, tingles crawling all over my skin.

Each time, my heartbeat goes erratic, my breathing becomes ragged, and my body starts to quiver in fear and panic. My blood freezes into the strings of red, icy beads over and over again upon waking up. Something awful and misty can't stop wrapping itself around my soul, never letting me see what it is. It makes me feel so helpless, exposed, and dead broken every time upon opening my eyes. And all that happens without any logical reason.

So, the first thing I did after waking up was to look around the room as usual. Then, under my bed and outside of the window, searching for monsters. But I found nothing today, just as before, sighing in relief.

And add that feeling of someone stalking me during the broad daylight, plus my foggy memories to that, and it all together scares the shit out of me.

What the hell is happening to me? Am I going nuts? Paranoid? Schizophrenic?

I slide the tinted glass gallery's door open, finding the tall blonde guy behind it, hanging and adjusting paintings across the walls. He does it so effortlessly. Hearing me enter, he turns around, opening his arms to greet me, striding in my direction.

"Hi, Greg!" I kiss my cousin's cheek as I leap into his soft embrace, and he kisses me back, taking the tube containing paintings off my body with a single firm yet careful tug of his hand. Greg's smile brightens the dimmed atmosphere of the spacious hallway, the gallery's main exhibit area. There are over sixty art pieces, all painted by my hands, displayed for tonight's event.

"You look like shit, Fallon. When did you wake up?" The look on my face thanks him for pointing it out as I rub my eyes and gaze at his grayish-blue eyes. His hair is curly and a bit longer than the last time I saw him. It sure grows faster than mine.

"Like I don't fucking know it! My usual, 3.48 am." There was no need to check the time since I already knew it was too bloody early.

I wake up well before dawn every day. Like out of habit, I glanced at the screen of my phone. Just great! I could have tried to get some more sleep, but I knew better than to hope. It would happen again. Within half an hour, almost as soon as I'd fall asleep, I would wake up again. No point trying that.

"Nightmares again, huh? You should call that Dr. Gibson that Melissa recommended." I know I should, but I never do, resorting to another form of therapy.

Luckily for me and my sanity, I happen to be an artist, a painter. We gift all our free time to our passion, and we throw all our emotions out through the madness of our art. So, after waking up, I climbed the stairs. Reaching the loft of my condo, I switched all possible lights on. The canvases waited stretched, and I grabbed the brushes. Then I mixed some oil paints. Black and red, a lot of red.

My color palette changed so much..., since Rome, since Italy. Red as blood and black as my shadowed dreams, being my signature nowadays.

"Yeah, nightmares. I r-rather..., p-paint than t-talk, you k-know me...! Where is M-Melissa, Greg? Did you two hook up already?" I ask my cousin while stuttering. It's also a new thing for me, ever since Rome, like having the damn PTSD.

The slightest mention of nightmares, evoking awful anxiety within me, is enough to trigger it.

"Here I'm. Let's have a coffee! I'll tell you all about your bastard cousin." Ignoring Greg, the red-haired woman, wearing a black dress, lurks behind their green office door at the end of the hallway, inviting me inside. I can tell she is oh-so angry at him.

"I had a coffee, but I won't refuse another one. What the hell did he do?"

After closing the door behind us, she begins the story I already guessed. Greg disappears like a coward within the gallery to frame my latest work and stay out of Melissa's path.

"That bastard!" I tell Melissa, taking her side in the matter about the two.

They almost hooked up last night. He doesn't want a relationship but wants to keep things strictly sexual and casual between them, saying he doesn't date. She told him she wanted more, admitting to having some feelings for him.

"I told him to stay away from me then!" She sighs, looking sad.

I think they are perfect for each other, but Greg is an idiot like most men are these days. The girl started working at my cousin's gallery two months ago, and we clicked at the first hello. They are the only two people that I have some meaningful contact with presently. So, I also have a selfish interest in them, getting along. As she talks more, I think about Rome.

It all started with that vacation, visiting the Eternal City for a week.

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.

FALLON

With all these waking up at unhuman hours daily, I feel edgy and jittery. It was almost a miracle to fall asleep on the sofa.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!!!!" Hearing my phone ring, breaking up my surprising but short afternoon nap, I curse loudly. Jumping at my feet, I notice Greg's name popping on the screen. I pick it up, yawning at my phone.

"Only one thing is more irritating than feeling tense because you lack sleep, and it is waking up by a moron right after finally drifting to sleep," I shout at him.

"Did you hear from Melissa?" My cousin sounds strangely demanding, like being annoyed. Every evening, Melissa and I go for a walk or drink. And sometimes, we stay out until dawn. Greg knows it. Melissa likes clubbing, and I like her company, plus I don't get much sleep anyway.

"Not yet, no. Why?" I reply, knowing Melissa will probably call me soon. But this night, I should stay home, watch Netflix, and turn to bed earlier. Or if I must go out, take a short stroll through the park, tiring myself even more until it gets dark, which will be soon. I sure don't feel like leaving my home, not even for a drink.

"Oh, nothing, we got into the fight, and she left the work earlier. I just wanted to check on her. Call me if she calls you!" If Melissa fled the gallery during the working hours, I know the fault must be on this manwhore.

"What did you do? Hey, Greg!" I try asking further, shouting again over my phone, but he hangs up on me right away. Now, I am sure Melissa will call me. The bastard did something but didn't want to admit to me what it was that he did.

I shower and order pizza, exhausted like hell. My hands are stiff, and my back feels painful.

Working in my studio the whole bloody day, I forgot to drink and eat, all until I stopped. No wonder I fell asleep. I worked from before 4 am to after 4 pm, a real art maniac that I am. Even going to the bathroom was a pain in my ass, and I was delaying it as usual. I almost peed myself, not wanting to drop my brushes, spatulas, and palettes down from my hands.

Those not blessed by having creative madness disease running through their veins won't understand, so they shouldn't try to get it, either. You have it in you, or you don't. Just so simple.

These four canvases, covered in black and red, overlapping in vigorous strokes and strong brushes, it is a bliss. I feel fulfilled observing my work. Droplets, blots, speckles, and splotches of paint make my heart tick.

Every painting is different but still a part of the meaningful collection. I've been productive today. Greg plans my second solo exhibition next month, begging me to change my palette a little. As if that is easy.

Patting myself mentally for arranging that first session with the therapist tomorrow, I feel even better. I've been brave today too. Yeah, me!

Things have to get better for me once.

My hands are black and red, and knowing how I am, there is probably some on my face, too. I don't mind getting myself dirty as long as I feel free. There is nothing that little soap and water won't wash out.

Well, almost nothing. I wish it would remove the stains of my haunting dreams.

Creating art makes me happy and less lonely, or at least it did. Now it only helps me to keep my head over the water, maintaining my mental sanity half-checked.

There was also the fifth painting. I placed it aside from the other four, displayed against one of my painting easels.

I painted those unnaturally green eyes again, but now I imagined a face, that big black area above could be hair, and that red, thin line under eyes could be lips. Very abstract, but still, looking a lot like a face. I brought it down with me to the living room.

I couldn't help myself, wanting to keep it close. Inspecting and studying it is slowly becoming my obsession.

My phone beeps as I stare at it while biting into the third pizza slice, thinking whether the face is attractive or a scary one. Probably the both, so popular two in one deal.

We're going out tonight, only two of us, I have to get drunk, and you have to take care of me, preventing me from doing something stupid. I read Melissa's text. All my plans of having the quiet night drop in the shallow water. I can't turn my back on the only friend I have in this city.

"Greg called me. What the hell happened?" I hate texting, so I call her instead.

"Oh, did he? I turned him down again this morning. So he told me I'm a hypocrite for fucking Jerry and refusing him. So he is banging some Nicole tonight. And Jerry doesn't even exist." Hearing her yelling in anger, I move the phone away from my ear, not wanting to turn deaf. She is as loud as she is beautiful and fun.

"What? Are you sure? I bet there is also no Nicole." Greg is an idiot, only doing it to make her jealous, probably since he heard of her date last night. The one she didn't have at all. I am to blame, reason more to go out with Melissa, and stand by her side. I doubt he would do anything with Nicole, though. He didn't tell me anything, dodging my scolding him.

"Oh, fuck, yes! I heard him on the phone. I picked up my things and left work an hour and a half earlier. I told him I'm quitting the stupid job." Wow! She is so into him if she reacted this way. My cousin is an A-class asshole.

"You did? He told me nothing about you quitting. Haha, well done! Did he say anything?" Melissa is the goddess for doing this. He is probably pissed off. And I hope regretful.

"You can't quit, he told me. I replied with screaming; watch me, fucker! Anyhow, be at 10 pm in front of my building, we're taking the cab. I won't be driving tonight!" We live four minutes by foot from each other, with her condo closer to the underground, 77 Street Station.

"Oh, can the cab pick me up first, so I don't need to walk?" I usually walk alone those four minutes, but not alone and at night.

"Oh, yes, your alleged stalker. Sure!" Melissa agrees.

So, after finishing the whole damn pizza with four kinds of cheese on top, I pour myself some red wine and watch one episode of Stranger Things. It goes perfectly with my life. For some reason, I stare more at the red liquid than at the TV.

I put skinny black jeans on, a grey simple sleeveless top, throwing a thin, black leather jacket over one shoulder. With my fingers coated with a bit of hair oil, I ruffle my wavy, half-long black hair into the more or less decent hairstyle. With a touch of lip gloss on my lips, a bit of mascara over my lashes, and my comfy black shoes on my feet, I am all ready to go.

Nobody will notice me anyway, no need to look better. Plus, I feel like crap, only helping Melissa kill the heartbreak with alcohol abuse, without other consequences than drunkenness.

First, we visit a bar nearby, me continuing with wine. Melissa sticks with her fave Strawberry Daiquiri poison of the cocktail. Then we hit three more bars. At the third, I exchange wine with orange juice, but Melissa doesn't change a thing. She is already tanked, slurring her words out.

The words she uses the most: Greg, sex, bastard, manwhore, bitch, whore, fuck, and kill.

But, when we finally enter that club down in Chelsea, and she starts to sway her hips and smile seductively to all men around, I realize that keeping her safe from herself won't be an easy task. After saying she had to go to the ladies' room and seeing her kiss a guy on her way there, I decided I had enough.

"Where are you?" I threw in the towel, calling my cousin for help. If this works out, I can go home and get some sleep I so desperately need. Ever since I left my apartment, I have had that creepy feeling of someone following and watching me. But not seeing anyone, I attributed that to my wracking nerves and my sleep-deprived mind as usual.

"In the gallery. Why?" His voice indicates my cousin's bad mood. He deserves that and much more, that male pig.

"Are you alone?" I whisper into my phone.

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is Nicole? Ooh, there isn't one! I thought so. Listen, Melissa is with me, drunk. I won't be able to keep all these horny males away from her. And since I invented all about that Jerry guy and her date last night, you should come. So, get your stupid ass here, you idiot! Electric Room, now!" I yell at Greg, watching out that Melissa doesn't hear me.

"I'm coming!" Of course that you are! I smile mentally, hoping he'll come to his senses and stop acting like a jerk.

It took Greg exactly thirty-eight minutes to arrive. Being drunk as she was, Melissa wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hands did the same maneuver around her waist, painting the picture any good-hearted painter likes to paint.

"I won't touch her. I'll only tuck her inside the covers, I promise!" Greg promised after hearing my threats of the dick amputation if taking advantage of my wasted friend. And so, we parted our ways.

Greg took Melissa with him to his place, and I took a cab back to mine.