Pieces of Lies (4 page)

I ripped the drunken stiff’s hand from my arm, “Take your fucking hand off me!” I growled harshly at his face. Both his hands instantly went up like I had screamed bloody murder and he retreated immediately back into the sea of people. I was at my maximum level of intolerance and felt a surge of anger run through me as I was quickly getting the idea this was no ordinary party. Hurrying to the back of the wine bar, I could still hear the sound of rushing feet behind me. Reaching the door of the study, I didn’t knock; I just burst in with clear determination to find Josh.

Have you ever had a moment in time when it felt like it moved in slow motion? As if a split second felt like an hour because your mind cannot seem to process in the instant it’s supposed to, and the moment implodes on itself so you can barely breathe, and everything feels like a dream. A slow, heart-wrenching, time-freezing, dream.

Well, this was one of those moments for me.

I was halted immediately as I walked in. I was unable to get a breath out as I desperately tried to make sense of what I was looking at. My eyes met Josh’s, who was absolutely still when he saw me. Bile rose up in my throat. The study had wall to wall bookcases and in the middle, a grand wooden desk. Josh was standing at the desk, his tuxedo pants and boxers around his ankles. A blond Barbie-looking girl sat on the desk, her blue silk sapphire dress lifted above her stomach, her bare legs gripped around Josh’s naked waist. Josh had stilled, mid-thrust.

This is a joke right? Someone please jump out and tell me this is a fucking joke.

Clint came up behind me, breathing heavily like he had been running, “Norah,” and he put his arm around my shoulders to try and lead me away. I shifted out of his grip, looked over at Josh and then back at Clint, finally fully grasping what I had walked in on. My lip quivered and my eyes welled up. I looked at Josh, my pain and humiliation obvious, and that I simply couldn’t hide on my face. He just stared at me in a frozen state, unable to talk or make a sound. He looked like a deer in headlights, although his eyes were painted the perfect shade of guilt that only I, as his best friend, could register all too well. 

The blond, who was still impaled by Josh, half shrugged her shoulders as if waiting for me to leave, which almost made me want to launch at her and choke her neck, but as emotions took over my body, anger quickly substituted for the pain I was feeling. Clenching my fists, I fought back the tears; looked at Josh with hateful daggered eyes, and then I turned and bolted for the front door, brushing past Clint as I went.

The last thing I remembered was Clint’s fingertips trying to reach out for mine as I made my escape.

Chapter 2

Raw

“NORAH, NORAH, please let me in!” Josh had been pounding on my apartment door for thirty minutes. When I woke the next morning, I was still in shock. I was hurt much deeper than I cared to admit, especially to myself. “C’mon Norah, please talk to me. Please!”

I sat, my back against the front door, tears streaming down my face. I knew before I faced him, that I had to stop crying. There was no way I was going to let him see how hurt I was. I was not giving him that satisfaction. Wiping my face clean with my T-shirt, I took a few minutes to calm my breathing. I stood up facing the door. It vibrated again with his relentless pounding. I pulled it open as it shook, which startled Josh; his hand was frozen in mid-air, about to knock again. He took two steps back.

I put on an expressionless face, and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all. He was still wearing his tuxedo pants and white button-up shirt from the party; his hair was disheveled, his eyes blood shot with dark black circles underneath them. He looked like a complete mess.

“What Josh? What seems to be wrong?” I asked, and stared at him coldly with both my arms crossed. He knew my hard demeanor was the worst punishment I could be dishing up right now. I wasn’t the type of girl who became a blubbering mess when I got upset;
well, not around other people.
He knew I would come at him with a whole lot of bite and would keep my real emotions well hidden from view.

“She meant nothing to me Norah. Nothing at all. It was just meaningless sex.” Josh was pleading some sort of case with his voice. I was rock hard with my gaze.

“You fucking lied to me. You knew what kind of party you were taking me to, didn’t you?” Josh was silent. “Didn’t you?” I screamed at him and he took another step back.

“Norah,” Josh said softly in his approach.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” And this time I could see fear on Josh’s face, but he still walked towards me, determined to explain.

“Yes I knew,” he confessed.

“Tell me what kind of party it was Joshua,” I emphasized his full name in disdain. Only the truth would save him now.

“As a final test, we all had to bring, virgins. Our final group test was to ensure all the virgins were not virgins when they left that party.”

My hand flew against his face with great force, slapping it as hard as I could. I had to grip it with my other hand after it connected with his cheek because it burned from the pain. Josh swayed a bit, but then steadied himself and returned to looking pathetically at me.

“I deserved that,” he said flatly, rubbing his cheek as he spoke. “I should have told you. I should have never put you in that kind of situation.” He had such sincerity in his voice but it didn’t register through the cloud of anger that had fully engulfed me.

“How the hell did you know I was one?” I asked looking at him with pure disgust.

“I didn’t, I guessed. I figured back home your social life was still, limited.”

I felt nauseous. “Who are you Josh? I don’t even know you anymore. You manipulated me into going, lied to me about what kind of party it was, and you put me in a really dangerous situation, and for what, what?” I was sad and confused but mostly blindsided by my best friend.

“Norah please, I’m sorry. That girl, she meant nothing to…”

I cut him off. “I don’t care who you fuck Josh. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend,” and I retreated back into my apartment, slamming the door in his face.

“Please forgive me Norah, please. You are everything to me. Everything. I needed to do that. It was for us, our future.” His voice was raspy through the thickness of the door.

“Walk away Josh, I need some time,” I said in my calmest voice, which was still shaking.

“Norah…” he pleaded again.

“WALK AWAY!” And after a few seconds, there was silence.

I was pacing my apartment furiously, trying to calm the adrenaline pumping through me. My body shook from the whole scene. I was angry, hurt and confused by Josh’s actions and I needed to vent everything that was about to erupt inside me and spew out from all the pores in my skin. The paint room immediately sprang to my mind.

I had a second bedroom in the apartment I had turned into my paint room. I used this room to create pieces for my studio space downtown, the space being yet another perk in my transfer here. I was in my senior year finishing my graphic design degree which I intended to use to design book covers, which I really enjoyed. I had a huge love for books and reading, so applying my creativity towards that avenue seemed like a good career path to take. I even had a few publishing houses already sniffing around with job offers after seeing some of my freelance work.

There was however, another part of who I was, a dark side that I constantly kept at bay, and I controlled it by creating intense and emotionally driven pieces of art on flat canvases. This was a side of me that thrived on being a moody artist type, who reveled in passionate darkness and chaos. It was my own personal form of therapy. 

When I moved here, I was given my very own studio space to display my work. It was a loving thought with the intention of helping me keep my focus and feel less out of control when my emotions threatened to take me down a dark path. I knew my triggers, so I was always prepared.

When I reached the paint room, I set up a flat canvas on the floor and opened a series of green, blue and yellow non-toxic oil paints. The room was already lined wall to wall with layers of mess sheets and in the corner of the room, my paint robe hung on a tiny wall hook next to a small side table. A docking station that held my iPod, also sat on the table which had two drawers nestled underneath next to a large bottle of water. There was also an extra hand towel on the table in case I needed to clean up additional splatter and mess.

I hit play on my iPod and immediately, guitar riffs, drum solos and bass guitar from various rock music artists began filling the room. The raw rock music ignited my creativity like fuel and I began to strip off all my clothes, tossing them into the corner near the table. Carefully, I positioned the colored paints on my naked body. Down my bare chest, on my stomach, the low of my back, my shoulders and heels. I stretched my entire body in one long drawn out movement and then listened as the music filled my soul, enveloping the emptiness in my heart that I ignored daily with forced confidence and enthusiasm. They were shields I used as a coping mechanisms for the inner hate I had towards the world and my past.

I lay down, and then with the music and my own angst bubbling inside me, I began to bend, twist and maneuver myself along the flat canvas. My body was now the brush, gliding and working its way as emotion and effect was created in a twisted stream of shapes and colors. This was me, raw and naked, creating my vision of the world. I worked through my entire playlist, and by the end, the room seemed to spin as I lay breathless and naked, covered in paint on the mess sheets on the floor, next to my completed work of art. The silence stretched for many minutes and soon, I felt relaxed and satisfied. The darkness creeping inside me had faded. I had a sense of peace for the time being.

There was pounding on my front door again. I rolled my eyes, stood up and grabbed the hand towel to wipe down my feet so I wouldn’t get paint on the floor. Then I grabbed my dressing gown, and wrapped it quickly around my body. I had no idea what my face and body looked like, but I was too annoyed by the disturbance to care. I couldn’t believe I would have to get rid of Josh for a second time. 

Reaching the door, I was all but ready to give Josh another mouthful, but when I opened the door, it was Clint Weston who stood before me. I blinked twice and pulled my loose dressing gown tighter around me. Clint looked completely shocked, his mouth gaping open. We were both taken aback at seeing each other in those first few seconds.

Taking in his appearance, I noted he was dressed stylishly in faded blue jeans and a black button-up long-sleeved shirt, his dark blond hair combed back. He had a faint smell of expensive cologne and soap. I did have to admit to myself, he was ridicously handsome,
but I was sure he knew it.

“Can I come in?” he asked, looking very unsure. He eyes swept over my body, bewilderment clear on his face. “Are you OK?” he questioned, thinking something was wrong. I must have looked a sight. He stopped looking so shocked and then leaned up against the door, waiting for me to give him some kind of answer. 

I hadn’t made up my mind about Clint yet. He was Josh’s group leader at the Lappell, and he probably played a big part in putting together that twisted de-virgin party, but he had not been the one to take me there under false pretenses and he had also tried to get me to leave before anything happened. That action alone already told me I shouldn’t make any snap judgments about Clint. 

“What are you doing here Clint? And how did you know where I live?”

He grinned, trying to make me feel more comfortable. “Josh put your address on the list when we needed details about the extra guests for last night. Can I please come in?”

I debated slamming the door in his face, but I was curious as to what he had to say. I was sure he must have come here to protect the Lappell and confirm I wasn’t about to go on a media tour about the ‘types’ of parties that are thrown by them. I pushed the door open further and nodded my head, gesturing him to come in.

I remembered my manners,
yes, I had manners
. “Would you like a glass of water or something to drink?” My tone was rigid.

“Thank you Norah. Water would be nice.”

I could feel his eyes follow behind me as I walked away from the door and towards the kitchen. I had to go over to one of the higher set kitchen cabinets for a clean glass as my other glasses were all dirty and still sitting in the sink. Reaching for a clean one on my tippy toes, I felt my robe ride up. I pulled it down quickly, spinning around after clenching a glass from the high wall cabinet. As I turned around, I stumbled into Clint. He was standing right behind me.
Why was he standing so close to me?
In the moment of collision, I dropped the glass and it shattered everywhere on the kitchen’s hardwood floor. I couldn’t move. I was barefoot and surrounded by shards of glass.

“I’m so sorry Norah.” His voice was uneasy, which sounded out of character for him. When he saw how still I was standing, he looked down at my feet, took in the situation at hand, and in one swift movement, scooped me up in his arms, our faces only inches from touching. Our eyes met again and instantly I felt transported back to Chagall’s
Three Candles
when we were completely lost in each other’s stare. My breathing quickened as he carried me. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he walked down the corridor.

“Last door on the left,” I said, giving him directions to the bathroom.

As he gently placed my feet on the tiles of the bathroom floor, I noticed the paint from my arms had rubbed off all over his shirt. “I’m sorry too,” I said and he narrowed his eyes at me, confused. I looked at his shirt and then his cuffs and he followed my eye line until he saw the smudges of green, yellow and blue all over his clothes. The strangeness of the moment caused us both to laugh.

“Why on earth do you have paint all over you,” he finally asked. I knew it must have been the first thing to spring to his mind the moment I opened the door.