Hit and Run

Chapter 9: Art Museum (Bethany's POV)

A date with only Evan is what I always wanted, but now that it's here all the cold feet I've shaken off has set in. I am dreading the museum one one-on-one time. Perhaps it's the mark on my arm talking or that moment back at the diner where his anger hung in the air. He's turned into such a jerk around me. Our kisses feel like unwanted obligations, but that's just because we need to rekindle something right?

Evan has been stressed at work lately and I owe it to him to keep the peace. It's like my head is spinning out of control and my self-worth is wrapped up in the words he says. Walking on eggshells that's what my life boils down to.

My emotions are out in the open even when I try to hide them from his tiger-like wrath. He prowls on emotions, the only ones allowed to date are his and his alone. He operates somewhere between aggression and robot. His aggressive side has gotten worse over the years. He can relabel it and blame shift me for it all he wants, but the truth is our relationship isn't healthy. Some might call it toxic but I don't share my turmoil with anyone, until Malcolm Wolfe discovered the truth bruised on my arm.

Is there such a thing as a breaking point? Evan usually tells me I'm overreacting. But what gives him the right to own my emotions? He can never take ownership of his but gets to justify everyone else's as the self-appointed judge and jury that he believes himself to be. I tune him out during those long lectures on why my writing career isn't worth it and that it's all a waste of time. Sometimes I think this relationship is the real waste of time, it drains me. I just want to be rescued. My parents are far away, and I would be homeless without Evan around footing the bills. He often reminds me of his economic status like a badge of arrogant honor. He's not who he was in college and I feel emotionally duped by him. Perhaps he always out a show on for me and I'm only now seeing it for what it truly is....controlling as fuck hell.

"Are you ready for a museum? Which one do you want to go to?" Evan asks as he hands me my favorite beverage, sweet tea. I'm not a true Southern girl, I only pretend to be. After Evan and I have arguments I blair country break-up songs and sweep up the kitchen for hours. He hasn't caught on at my inner singing rebellion.

According to Evan anything I like has to be justified, even the drinks I crave. Sweet tea and French fries are luxuries only and he only ever gets them for me if there is a hidden secret agenda behind his alleged nice guy act. I suppose I've noticed his asshole side breaking through the cracks of our relationship for a while. I didn't know how bad it's gotten until it manifested into physical bruising.

"Let's go to the art museum. I know how you enjoy classical music. They always play it there. It makes the art pop out more. Don't you agree?"

Most of our conversations are me searching for Evan's approval. He never seems to care what my real opinions are, unless they benefit his status in some way. That's all it's ever been for Evan. He's a showboating peacock and now I'm suck playing the future wife for his fragile ego. I'm not sure what's triggered Evan's ego to show more, but something has set him off and it's only a matter of time before his inner cave troll has another temper tantrum. Whose to say where his hand will fly when that happens? I never had to worry about Evan's aggressive extending out into the wrath of his hands. But they always describe this type of relationship being like a frog in boiled water. They put the frog inside and turn the dial slowly and let the temperature rise slowly to the point where the frog isn't even aware what's happening to him. By the time the frog notices he's cooked all the way through and is the ghost version of himself looking at his cold corpse.

"Yes, classical music is far superior to that country shit you're always listening to."

I could sure listen to some Bailey Zimmerman right now. He has loads of break up songs and broken relationship ballads which describe exactly how I feel about Evan.

We get to the museum and I'm already missing the double dates with Wolfe. They felt easier when Wolfe was around. Wolfe always kept Evan busy and focused on me. Maybe that's been his plan all along, to lessen the blow of Evan this whole time. Is it possible to be engaged to the wrong man? Am I allowed to walk away?

I don't let Evan see my face. Lately, I've avoided eye contact with him as a means to let him not have control over me. It's soften the blow of what he will say next.

We walk into the museum and the paintings hang from the wall. Amateur painters with their amateur dreams dangling there. Evan laughs at a piece done by a college student, it involves wires and tires. The wires stick up through the tires, and a paragraph explains the student's pain about losing his brother in a car accident. Modern art isn't for everyone and with a proper explanation on a sign, I can appreciate what the artist is trying to say.

"What a waste of perfectly good tires. His brother died and he can't just paint about it? How wretched."

We get to a room of more abysmal paintings. They are all about pain and loss. Some pains involve cancer and others drug problems. The piece about suicide catches my attention. I gaze at the man in the painting and think of Wolfe. The night sky in the painting has vivid black and dark blue hues.

All I can think about is Wolfe. The night we had together lives in this painting. I know I can't tell Evan about it, he'll only make mean comments.

He waltzes over and instantly plays art critic like he has earned the right to do so.

"Why are you so fascinated by this suicided painting? Anyone who thinks of suicided is weak-minded. What sort of fool is weak enough to even consider ending it all? Life's not that hard, just go live it and don't be an ass about it. God artists are the dumbest people ever. They don't make very good decisions either."

I doubt Evan knows about Wolfe and his attempted suicide. Would he be saying what he is now if he knew his best friend hating breathing?

I don't argue with Evan and his overly opinionated opinions. His opinions when challenged are viewed as a challenge. He raged and bitches like a bull in Spain challenging a matador. If I waved a red flag next to him he would likely charge.

We continue to tour the art galleries. We find a painting called 'The Cheater.' A woman is caught kissing someone else and I read about the story. She too is being mistreated, and I understand how she feels. I can relate to a woman who puts her emotions on hold for so long that she needs someone else to see her, appreciate her, and love her. The painting is me finding comfort in Wolfe. The desire for the comfort again arises and I can't wait for this date to end.

"Look at the way she cheats on him. She deserves to rot in prison," Evan says without any remorse for the pain the man caused her. The lack of empathy he has for the hurt woman tells me all I know to be true. Evan really is a robot.

"But it says here he harmed her. Who can blame her for running away if it was that bad? Maybe he was a monster who hurt her somehow."

I don't touch my arm, but I think about it. My long sleeves continue to cover the bruise brought on by Evan's hand.

"She probably deserved it. He had to keep her in line somehow. Then she shows her loyalty by betraying his trust. What a slut."

He doesn't know it but this painting represents us and the comfort I experienced with Wolfe.

Our date ends and the unemotional Evan and his art criticisms are over. It was a terrible date. There was nothing romantic about it. Nothing redeeming. It just needed to end.

In the car I don't talk to Evan. I don't hold his hand until he holds mine.

"I had a great time. We should have more one one-on-one dates. I forgot how fun you can be. I do love you, you know Bethany. Next week, I'm leaving on a three-day business trip and it might lead to a promotion. Don't worry Wolfe will take good care of you. At least he can cook breakfast and clean up if anything else."

Evan announcing his big leave is a relief. I will get a break from judgmental eyes, critical words, and the best part is I can have a real conversation with Wolfe. Even if we are just friends, I need to talk to someone. I need to get someone on my side who really knows Evan.

"Good luck with the trip. And I know you'll land that promotion you always do."

I end our conversation holding his hand and stroking his ego. There's no use to try and convince him that our future together isn't happening. He will only convince me to stay, and what if in the end he really does know best? As for me, I hardly know who I am anymore.