Strings and Schemes

Chapter 20

I scowl. "It's about me."

"Oh, sure," Louis drawls, plucking a sketch off my worktable and waving it at me. "That's why this one is literally titled Tightrope?"

I burst, "Fuck you, Louis. I know you helped him write that and I know you knew it was going to be released."

Louis shakes his head, "No, this isn't about that, Rain. You're mad not because I was there for my friend, you're mad because you couldn't be."

I want to punch him, want to make him eat shit. But I don't. Because he's fucking right.

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at the name of Zayn's song. "That song is about more than just us."

"Uh-huh." Louis tosses the sketch back onto the table. "So what's next? A live performance where you stare longingly at a blank canvas while his music plays in the background?"

I groan, rubbing my temples. "Why are you even here?"

"Because someone needs to make sure you don't fully descend into madness before this exhibit opens." He lowers his sunglasses just enough to look me dead in the eye. "I'm all for a little dramatics, babe, but even I have limits."

I sigh, exhaling slowly. "I just—I needed to do something, Lou. I couldn't sit in that apartment, staring at my phone, waiting for something that wasn't going to happen."

Louis softens slightly. "So instead, you made an entire sculptural diary about the man who ghosted you?"

I glare at him.

"Sorry, sorry," he lifts his hands in surrender. "Poor choice of words."

I run a hand through my hair, exhausted in every possible way. "I don't know what I'm doing, okay? I just—I needed to make something real. Something that felt real."

Louis watches me for a beat, then sighs. He walks over, plopping down onto my worktable like he owns the place.

"You want my two cents? Pence?" He questions, "you know, like the British sterling.." He trails off.

"Do I have a choice?" I snip.

"Not really," he grins. "Look, babe. I think what you're doing is brilliant. It's raw. It's gut-wrenching. And, if I'm being totally honest, I cannot wait to watch Zayn walk into this exhibit and have his soul ripped out of his chest when he sees it."

I shake my head, fighting a smile. "You're terrible."

"I know." He smirks. "But I also know this: You're not just making this for him, or to get some kind of reaction. You're making it for yourself—to finally own your story."

I exhale, my shoulders slumping. "What if I don't like what I see when it's finished?"

Louis reaches out, tilting my chin up so I meet his gaze. "Then we smash it all to bits and start over. Just like you've been doing your whole life."

I blink at him, something catching in my throat.

Louis lets his hand drop, standing up and stretching. "Now, if I promise to let you keep working, will you at least let me order us some food? Preferably something that won't give me immediate regret?"

I laugh under my breath. "Fine. But no fish and chips. I swear to god, if you bring that grease into my workspace—"

"Yeah, yeah," he waves me off, already pulling out his phone. "Pizza it is. Ever the American." He grumbles.