“Your turn,” she says.
I glance down at the paint and then back to her. To the direction of her hand, which is pointing at a
blank space on the wall. A space reserved for me.
“No.”
She frowns and shifts uncomfortably. And I am all too aware of all of their eyes on me. The
expectations and the pressure.
She shouldn’t have done this.
She shouldn’t be asking this of me.
“They want a piece to remain in the studio,” she tells me quietly. “Please, Mr. Vaughn.”
The word no is on my lips again. But then Amanda moves in front of me with both of her
prosthetics on.
“You can’t let him win,” she tells me. “You can’t let him stop you from creating, Keller. Just
because that night ended badly, it doesn’t mean that your life is over. That isn’t fair to you. Or to us.
The people who still love and admire your work.”
My pulse is racing. My breathing stilted.
I can’t say no to her. To them.
And Chloe knew that. I’m irrationally angry at her. For putting me in this position. For making me
do this.
I take the palate in my hands and move up to the blank space on the wall. And I paint. Scorched
earth in hues of red, burnt orange, and black. And a hundred phoenixes rising from the darkness into
the sky above.
A cliché that only my rusty hands would think to provide.
And yet, there is a round of applause when I finish.
One I do not deserve. One I do not want.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be this way. It hasn’t been this way in my head for the last six years.
And this girl beside me is trying to change me. Trying to change everything.
To make me want things that aren’t mine to want anymore. And suddenly it’s clear to me. Clear
what it is I need to do.
“I have to go,” I tell her.
She gives me a soft smile, oblivious to the dark thoughts in my mind.