Artgirl

9//car radio

There was something in his hands, a small Tiffany's box. I took it and opened it, face void of emotion. If I showed emotion, I would've broken into tears right there and then. Because if all had gone well, we'd be celebrating our anniversary.It was a necklace, one embedded with silver. The first letter of my name was represented with more grace and elegance than I ever mastered throughout my life.

I had an urge to take it out of the blue box and wear it around my neck and never take it off. But I shoved it back in his hands. "No. You can't buy into a good relationship with this. Did you actually think that when I saw this, I'd be all happy and shit and forget?"

"No," he said. "I got it because it's our anniversary. Because a year ago, I got the balls to ask you to be my girlfriend. Because a year ago, I made a promise to love you and take care of you."

"Is kissing someone else considered taking care of me, James?" I said, calmly, my head falling a little to the side."Hell, how do I even know you didn't sleep with her?"

"Because I wouldn't lie to you," he said, looking at my forehead instead of my eyes. He shoved the box back in his pocket. "I wouldn't lie to you."

I was grateful for high heels, because I couldn't afford looking up at him.

"What exactly happened?" I asked him. I grabbed a clean rag from one of the counter's drawers and tried to gently clean the paintings' edges. "What did you do?"

He opened his mouth and closed it. Then again, "I . . . kissed someone else. I was drunk and stupid. I don't know what I was thinking back then. I don't know why I was dumb enough to even think about it. I don't even remember any of it."

"You kissed her?" I stared at the abstract painting, called ERASE.

"Yeah." He couldn't look at me in the eye.

I lowered my arm from the wall of paintings."That's all?"

James licked his lips, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that you didn't only kiss her. You made out with her. You fucking gave her a hickey. You kissed her neck and kissed God knows what else. You had lipstick on your neck," my gaze dropped to the same spot, covered with a scarf. "Right there."

"I—" his voice fell.

Don't lie to me. Don't lie to me. Don't lie to me.

"Well?" my voice unwillingly squeaked. "Is there more to tell, James? Are you hiding shit from me, now? You kissed her, that's all, right?" I mocked him, "but your neck was filled with red lipstick. Red fucking lipstick on your neck that wasn't mine. That's just kissing, to you?"

"That was all, Zoey. I swear, it was it. I don't even remember what happened. How am I supposed to tell you every detail of it?"

"Because drunk people remember what happened," I declared. "Everyone lies about it but the alcohol wears off. The last time I got drunk you and I made out, no? Wasn't it at Joel's birthday or something? I woke up and remembered every second of it. You can't tell me that you don't remember, because that's bullshit, you and I both know it."

His eyes seemed set on something, but his figure was giving up. "Well, I don't! I messed up. I know that, I messed up. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen. If I could go back in time, I would've never even gone to that damned party! You know how much I love you, Zoey!"

"Let's imagine you had never even gone to the party," I paced around, getting nauseous from looking at him, "how do I know this wouldn't have happened at another party? How do I know," the sudden realization made my stomach squeeze, "that this hasn't happened before? If there wasn't a picture, would you have told me?!"