“Thank you,” I said heading out. I somehow managed to keep my head until I got into the elevator. Alone, I rested my forehead against the wall.
Not only was she beautiful and classy, but also extremely intelligent. How do you compare to that? His voice replayed in my mind, like a knife to my soul. Worse, no matter how deeply I was hurt, I couldn’t be angry at him. What did I care if he didn’t think I was good enough? I didn’t even really know him, and he didn’t know me. It was good he thought so highly of her; he had wanted to to marry her, that’s how he was supposed to think. Your spouse is the person you are supposed to devote the rest of your life to; shouldn't they be the most perfect person to you? She was his person. If the situation were reversed, I could have said the same thing. What hurt me was the fact that Bash, my person, thought I was no good either. Bash knew me, he had seen me at my best and worst, and in his eyes, I was still not good enough.
Heading toward my bike, I tried to focus on the people passing by instead of my dark thoughts. I reached into my purse, pulled out my camera, and balanced myself on my bike as I took a couple of photos. The world looked so much better through a lens. Maybe it was because I could freeze time for a second and take a good look at the people around me.
New York is so crowded, everyone in a hurry, brushing past people but rarely making connections, rarely truly seeing each other.
Plunging forward, I enjoyed the breeze as I headed back home. It was a short ride back, thankfully. I had the urge to paint again. Making it to my building, I lifted my bike toward the entrance when a little girl ran past me, dropping her teddy bear and almost knocking me over. The bear's arm was torn, one of its button eyes was missing, and the stuffing was falling out of the back.
“I’m so sorry. She's really excited.” A dirty blond-haired man whose five o' clock shadow was working on becoming a beard ran up to me, looking me over through the thick-rimmed black glasses perched on his nose. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way.
“It’s fine. Here, she dropped this.” I handed him the bear.
“You’re the new tenant in 34B, right?” He outstretched his hand. “I’m Toby Wesley. I live in 32C, two floors down. Nice to meet you.”
“Guinevere Poe, but you can call me Gwen. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand.
“DAD!” the girl yelled from the front door.
“Welcome again,” he said before quickly running after his daughter.
I laughed at the sight of the bear hanging helpless under his arm before heading to the elevator. The last thing I’d expected when I got to my floor was to see Eli resting against his door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. He had changed out of his tailor-made suit into dark jeans and a button-down shirt.
I said nothing, wheeling my bike to my door. He didn’t look at me either, making me wonder again how in the hell I had ended up having him as a neighbor.
“I’m sorry,” he said as I put my key in the door.
Turning back, I checked to see if anyone else was in the hall.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He pushed himself off the floor and faced me. “I’m sorry for what I said, it was… I was an ass. I’m here to call a truce.” He lifted the wine for me to see, along with the bag.
Looking away, I opened my door. “I’m fine—”
“I know you aren’t.”
I felt myself getting irritated again.
“I know you aren’t fine because I’m not fine. We say that because we really don’t know how we are feeling at any given moment, and that’s just too hard to explain to others.”
I peeked back at him.
He once again lifted the bottle.
“Aren’t you a doctor? Shouldn’t you be working or something instead of drinking in the middle of the day?”
“I should be, but I’ve clocked more hours than our hospital will allow. I was working nonstop for a month when I should have been on my honeymoon,” he answered truthfully.
His eyes…his eyes were like mine: broken. The scary thing about reality is all of our monsters are humans…humans who have the ability to make you drink with people you don’t even know.
Unlocking the door, I held it open for him to enter, placing my bike by the door.
“You still don’t have furniture,” he said, looking at the open space.
He was right, my apartment was bare. My living room had nothing but a television mounted on the wall and my large window overlooking the city, with a pillow next to it where I usually sat. “Less furniture, more room to work,” I replied, taking off my shoes and heading into the kitchen. “But, I do have wine glasses.”
“You don’t have a studio or something?” His eyes gaze still wandered.
I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “I do, but a lot of my inspiration happens when I’m home. It’s much easier to just grab a canvas here than running to my studio. I save that for bigger, planned projects. Why?” I handed him the glass and bottle opener.
He shrugged. “I’m still figuring out how you make a living off that stuff.”