Chapter 2
But before I could bend down to pick up the pieces, someone appeared beside me and yanked me up.
"Kelly, do you not care about your hands anymore?" Jacob snapped.
I looked up and met his furious gaze.
But after he shouted that, he froze.
That was his go-to line whenever he was angry with me before we broke up.
Like that time I accidentally cut my finger while slicing fruit for him.
Or when I burned the back of my hand with splattering oil while working at the fast-food joint.
He'd always snap at me, "Kelly, do you not care about your hands anymore?"
He'd say my hands were meant for painting, not for stuff like that.
He cherished my hands, my art, just like he cherished me.
Jacob and I first met at an art exhibition.
We were in different majors, and he was a year ahead of me. We'd never interacted before.
But on that day, with crowds coming and going, he was the only one who stood quietly in the corner, staring at my artwork for a full hour.
I was so happy, buzzing around him, talking non-stop, telling him about my paintings, asking what he thought, hoping for some feedback. But Jacob barely spoke, giving me almost nothing in return.
Later, I found out he had severe depression, and that day was the day he'd just come back from his previous suicide attempt.
I didn't let any of that bother me, and we ended up becoming friends pretty fast.
And before I knew it, we started dating.
He'd show up in my classroom every day to watch me paint.
No matter how much I rambled on, he'd always listen.
Those eyes that were always so gloomy slowly started to soften, a hint of a smile appearing as he listened to me chatter day after day.
I helped him reclaim a normal life, staying by his side through it all. But when graduation rolled around, his family insisted we split up, saying we were worlds apart.
He didn't hesitate for a second, eloping with me overseas.
He promised that, no matter how hard things got, he'd make sure I became the most renowned artist out there.
He told me my art had saved him, so whatever he did for me, I shouldn't feel guilty.
To Jacob, I was the sun that lifted him out of the darkness.
But I betrayed him without a shred of hesitation.
I just got tired of waiting. I couldn't stand the thought of relying on the money he scraped together from washing dishes, just so I could keep painting.
As the memories faded, I watched Jacob pull himself together and release my hand.
"Why are you doing these kinds of jobs?" Jacob asked. "So, being a server means you have to wash dishes too?"
His voice was flat, almost robotic, like he'd gone back to the way he was when we first met, just a lifeless puppet with no feelings.
"I'm only trying to make some extra money," I said.
I awkwardly hid my hands behind my back, glanced around, and breathed a sigh of relief.
My coworkers were long gone, so thankfully, nobody would see him and me together.
"Got reckless for a few years, lost a bunch in a bad business deal, so now I'm picking up odd jobs to pay off my debts," I said.
I crouched down to pick up the broken pieces, avoiding his gaze.
"I'm lucky to run into you today. You were so generous," I muttered.
He gently brushed my hand aside.
Without a word, he picked up the sharp shards and tossed them into the nearby trash can.
Then he stood up, towering over me.
"So, are you still painting?" Jacob asked, his voice flat.
I crouched there, hands empty, my thoughts stalling for a second. Then I steadied myself, looked up at him, and said, "Of course. That's what I do for a living."
He watched me in silence.
My heart was racing, scared he'd catch me lying and decide not to let me be the wedding painter.
Thankfully, a phone call broke the silence.
"Jacob, are you almost home? I made you some soup," said a soft, gentle voice through the phone.
I took a step back, a bit dazed, and found myself repeating her name in my head.
Danielle Barnes.
Jacob's friends always said his fiancée, Danielle, was the perfect match for him,
"I'm almost home," Jacob answered, then hesitated for a moment. "You've been sick lately, so take care of yourself and get some rest. Don't wait up for me. Get to bed early."
I kept my head down, but I could feel him watching me as he said those words.
I pushed down the ache in my chest, hoping to sneak out unnoticed while Jacob was still on the phone.
"Kelly," Jacob said.
The moment I turned around, he hung up the phone.
"You've been hiding for seven years. Is there any point in keeping it up?" he said, his voice flat. "See you tomorrow."
I pretended not to catch his ironic tone, nodded, and hurried away.
The next day, I showed up at his villa just like I promised.