His Perfect Boy (DDLB) (ManxMan)

5.

I don't end up going back to the gallery.

There was no way I was going back there. His anger was justified and I. . .  I just couldn't.

My days were still dark and gray, whether the sun was out or not. The need to stay home became more and more but I could not. I didn't want to think about this anymore. Anytime I do, it makes me cry and I don't want to do that anymore.

It's Friday now and nearly a week has gone by. Deborah knows something is off about me but she does not bring it up. She must know though. She must know it had something to do with Harry, that's why she was not saying anything.

People all around the world would be excited for the weekend but there was a feeling of dread pooling in my tummy. Rather than stay home, I would probably end up coming to work on Saturday and Sunday. Maybe I should join a book-club or something? Maybe I could go rock climbing and spend my time there. I didn't want to sit at home alone.

Halfway through the day, I received many messages from Kenneth who keeps asking me out for dinner, over and over again. The man did not understand the meaning of no. My mother also called me twelve times today, six times on my personal line and another six through the office phone and I could hear Deborah tell her I was scheduled for several meetings today and was too busy to pick her calls.

I need to give the woman a raise.

By five, Deborah clock out, placing a large plate filled with macaroons on my table for me before leaving. I was quite literally done with work but I got off the chair and made my way to the fridge. I grabbed a chilled bottle of sweet red wine before heading back to my couch. I logged into Hulu on my pc, scrolling through the options before I picked Family Guy.

I drank straight from the bottle and snacked on the macaroons that had been given to me. Episode after episode flew by and the snacks were gone and the bottle of red wine was left empty. When I checked the time, I let out another sigh.

It was five minutes past eight.

The sky was dark and the street was illuminated by street lights. I got off the chair and ran my hand down my gown, a thin strapped, knee length red silk gown with a slit going up my left leg. I slipped on my chunky knit cardigan, grabbed my bag and phone before stepping out of the office.

I took the elevator down to the underground parking lot and got into my car. I drove out of the building and down the street, stopping briefly in front of the gallery. It was open and there was even a queue. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled into the lone space left in the parking lot beside the building.

I got out and shut the car door behind me.

I stared up at the building in front of me, trying not to sigh again. I wanted to go in so much. It hurt being this close and not being able to do anything. I know that it was me that fucked this whole thing up but I . .  . just needed.

I began to move, one foot in front of the other until I was at the end of the queue. It took a couple of minutes but I was suddenly stepping into the airy lavender space of the gallery. Some of the pieces I saw for the past week were still there but now there were sculptures. Rather than push the older pieces to the back, the sculptures were kept in-between each piece with its own lights both from above and the little ones that were installed on each side of the plaque holding the statue. The paintings seemed to compliment the sculptures and vice versa.