Spaces in between (Stockholm Syndrome: Extended chapters)

January 2018

~Felix~

Artists weren't the easiest people to deal with. If you thought musicians and actors had the biggest egos, you had yet to meet Francesco Mariano. He was a painter. Admittedly he was a good one.

Quite expected, he had an ego bigger than Mount Everest. He thought the person willing to part with thousands of dollars should wait for him. He hadn't met me. I didn't wait for people, especially people I was going to give money to. Especially not that day.

When Francesco didn't pitch up for our scheduled meeting on time I told him not to bother. He could go display his masterpiece at some gallery and get peanuts for all I cared. The private sale was more beneficial for him and I'd told him that.

I had plans for that day. Archer was going to play his first soccer game after Christmas break. He'd gained some weight stuffing himself with Christmas cakes and cookies over the break so he was eager to prove it didn't slow him down.

I told him I'd be there and I wasn't going to miss the game over some egotistic artist. Okay, I was overreacting a bit. I was losing something I really liked. Francesco's painting was just exquisite. I'd been in the business for long. The trick was to not show just how much you wanted something or the price went up.

I shoved the painting at the back of my mind as I entered the stadium. I spotted Stella, Clark and Alex in the stands. They waved to me. I smiled and made my way up to where they were standing.

"Hey guys", I said.

"You made it!" Stella said.

I raised a brow. "Why did you think I wouldn't?"

"Because you are always so busy. Archer said that's why you didn't go home for Christmas", she said.

I suppose Archer forgot to mention that it was because he spent the entire break at his grandparents' house. I didn't see the point of going "home" as Stella called it. There was nothing there for me. Instead I spent Christmas' day sleeping and New years' eve with Marx and his friends.

Think of the devil...

"Hey guys", a tall brown-haired guy said as he neared us.

"Greg", Stella said.

Everyone else said their greetings. Stella's was worth mentioning. Everyone else called Greg Marx "Marx". Stella was the exception.

"Seriously Marx, this is a sports game. Why do you look like you are going to arrest someone?" I said shaking my head in disapproval.

He shrugged. "I just got off work".

"Lose the damn jacket", I said.

"Will you give me yours? I feel cold".

"At least you are not wearing a bulletproof vest", Clark chimed in, causing us to laugh.

"I hope you are going home after the game. No way you are hanging with us", I said.

He looked at the boys. "You won't be getting up to no good, will you?"