“Ian, Lauren and I just wanted to thank you for the turn out you pulled in tonight. I’ve asked several people about how they heard of the event, and they’ve all said they follow you.” Hillary gives him an award winning smile, and he smiles back modestly.
“Your work is amazing and one of my favorites,” I tell him honestly. His latest works are photographs of abandoned buildings, but the way he captures them, they speak to people—men and women of all different ages. I’m guessing it’s why he has over a million followers on Instagram.
“I may have brought some people here, but your work is what everyone is talking about.” He laughs.
“My work?”
“It’s brave to reveal something so incredibly personal. You could see the pain, the loneliness, the fear, and the joy from it.” The noise around me is drowned out, my heart beats hard in my chest, and it feels like the world has slowed down. I look at Hillary who has a nervous grin plastered on her face.
“Hillary, you didn’t.” I gulp down my multiplying nerves.
“It’s such an amazing piece, Lauren.” She pleads urgently, gripping my hands. Ian looks between us, sensing some tension. My thoughts are clumsily trying to form words, but the words aren’t making it out of my mouth. I scan the room to see where she put it, but I don't see it.
What did she name it? What was the description with it? I haven’t even shown him the piece yet, and now it’s out for all of these people to see. I walk away from Hillary and make my way through the gallery. I didn’t see it during my initial walk through. It’s almost six feet and I wouldn’t just miss it.
“Honey, it’s amazing. You did such a fantastic job.” Raven stops me. She looks beautiful, her hair is shorter than it used to be and cut into a stylish bob. She is wearing a dark grey oversized sweater and black skirt, but I can’t even voice a compliment out loud to her because my mind is on one thing—finding the painting, hoping that maybe no one noticed it, and praying that my name isn’t associated with it. Maybe she just mentioned it casually to Ian while flirting, and he’s just being nice.
“Have you seen a piece by me?” I ask nervously.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the talk of the night. I didn’t think that you would be so open with what’s happening but…” Her words fall on deaf ears.
“Upstairs, it has to be upstairs,” I mutter to myself before moving through the myriad of people holding champagne flutes and engulfed in their own conversations. My heart starts to beat out of my chest when I see it. It’s in its own section with over a dozen people surrounding it. The caption near it says—
Shattered Pieces by Lauren Scott
My heart stops.
“What do you think it means?” I hear a man’s voice say.
“Who cares he’s hot,” a woman’s voice adds.
“It’s the same guy, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“No, they all look so different.”
“Of course it’s the same guy.”
“Triplets you think?”
“Maybe she has three lovers.”
The voices eventually all meld together, except one.
“What is this?” His voice brings everything to a screeching halt. My heart has fallen over on itself, and I turn to look at him nervously. His eyes are wide, his stare hard on the picture. I gulp down my nerves. His presence causes silence amongst the onlookers, and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize it’s him from the painting or his aura alone causes no questions to be asked, only actions to be taken. It makes me want to crawl in myself and hide. He looks amazing—dressed in an impeccable black suit, not a hair out of place, but something seems off. His face is like stone, relaxed, but his movements are quick and rushed as he walks towards the piece and looks around at the small crowd of people surrounding it. He stalks toward me, grabs my arm, his grip deadlocked on me.
“How could you do this?” His voice is hoarse and desperate.
“I-I didn’t mean for it to be on display like this...” I tell him quickly.
“Do you know what can happen if people find out about this?” he asks, his grip tightening even more.
“You’re hurting me, Collin.” I attempt to snatch my arm away.
“There’s a reason we see one doctor, a reason that this has to stay under wraps.” His teeth are gritted, and he pulls me closer to his chest. His eyes are locked on mine and there is fire behind them. I feel myself shaking. I’ve felt many things for this man in the years that I’ve known him—anger, joy, love, disappointment, desire, but fear has never been one of the emotions until now.
“He can destroy us,” he snarls, before pushing me away. My mouth falls open in shock and confusion. This has to be the medication! Onlookers are watching us confused, and with worried and perplexed expressions, unsure if they should intervene.
“Who are you talking about Collin? What is wrong with you?” I beg him. He looks at me frustrated and as if I’m an annoyance.
He walks over to my piece and attempts to pull it down.
“Collin, stop it!” I try to grab his shoulder, but he shoves me away so hard I stumble in my heels.
“Hey, why don’t you calm down,” one of the onlookers says. He’s about Collin’s height and build and I’m afraid of how this will end with the state Collin is in.
“This doesn’t pertain to you,” Collin growls continuing his attempt to rip the canvas off the wall. The onlooker looks over at me in pity.
“Just leave him alone please,” I tell him. Another guy shakes his head in disbelief or anger and approaches him.
“Hey buddy, calm down.” He grabs his shoulder, and I watch as Collin’s fist flies into the guy’s face so hard he keels over.
“Collin!” I scream. But he doesn’t even glance my way. He’s thrown the guy into the painting and is now on top of him punching him in the face.
“Oh my God, Collin stop!” I scream. I try to pull him off of him but he shoves me so hard I hit the floor.
“Hey!” I sit up to see two men—one being Ian—pulling Collin off of the poor guy. A few women help me up. Collin struggles in their arms and manages to tear his arm from the one guy and elbows Ian in the face.
“Fuck!” Ian yells covering his eye. The other guy grabs Collin, and Ian snatches off his jacket and squares up his shoulders as if he’s a professional fighter.
“Come on, asshole!” He taunts Collin, then charges at him like a raging bull. Collin attempts to grab Ian by the waist to throw him, but Ian lands several punches in his stomach. Tears are falling from my eyes. I take off my shoes and run to get help when I see Aidan tearing through the crowd.
I’m so glad to see him I can faint. He rushes to the fight but grabs Ian assuming incorrectly that he’s the initiator.
“It’s Collin. Stop Collin, Aidan!” I shout. Aidan looks up a split second confused, and Ian hits him in the jaw while Collin tries to hit both of them. Security has rushed upstairs and is grabbing everyone associated with the fight.
“What the hell is going on?!” Hillary screams, her eyes wide. Less than a moment later, everyone is beside me asking me what’s happened—the Scotts, Dexter and Helen, Raven and Angela—but I can’t answer. I’m shaking as I look over at Collin being restrained, his eyes vacant, and it makes my insides go cold and tears trail down my face. I look at the piece I worked so hard on—something that to other people would seem strange or extraordinary—was precious and beautiful to me. My painting was similar to a diary entry of the past three years of my life. Now gone, destroyed, and trampled on. My opening night should have been amazing, but life just doesn’t seem to want that for me.