Chapter 82: ONE NIGHT WITHOUT HIM?

Arianna

“And you’re okay with being ‘safe’ to the point of virtual house arrest?” Nicole pressed, her voice laced with genuine concern now, underneath the sarcasm. I heard it, that underlying worry for me. And it tugged at me, a gentle reminder of the life I was letting slip away, the friendships I was neglecting.

“It’s not house arrest!” I protested, perhaps a bit too vehemently. “It’s… comfortable. And I’m getting so much work done. My muse is practically on steroids these days.” I gestured dramatically around my studio, at the canvases leaning against the walls, filled with the dark, disturbing creatures Vincent seemed to inspire within me.

Creatures born of shadow and light, of desire and fear, of the unsettling beauty he brought into my life.

“Your muse is on steroids?” Nicole snorted again. “Right. I bet his name is Vincent and he smells faintly of sandalwood and danger.”

Correction. Citrus and danger. Too close for comfort. “He… might have contributed to the artistic atmosphere,” I admitted, hedging. “But honestly, Nicole, it’s not like he’s chaining me to my easel. He just… prefers me here. With him.”

“Prefers?” Nicole’s voice rose slightly.

“That’s… concerning, Ari. Really concerning. ‘Preferring’ you to be isolated from your friends? That’s not healthy.”

“It’s not isolation!” I insisted, feeling defensive now, not just of Vincent, but of my own choices, of the thrilling, forbidden path I had chosen. “It’s… intimacy. We’re very close. We spend a lot of time together. We… connect.”

The word felt hollow even as I said it. Connection? Or capture? Were they really so different in his world? In my world, now?

“Right,” Nicole said, the word dripping with skepticism again. “‘Connect’. Like, through telepathy? Because you certainly haven’t been connecting with me or anyone else we know. Even your family contacted me because they didn’t know what are you doing in your free time. Your parents miss you and I get it that you’re always working on your art but for them to call me about your whereabouts…it’s concerning.”

Guilt pricked at me. She was right. I had been distant. Evasive. I’d cancelled plans, ignored calls, offered flimsy excuses. All to stay within Vincent’s orbit, to bask in the dizzying, overwhelming sensation of his attention. Even neglecting my own family, always declining calls and just sending always that one excuse of a message that I’m busy, working on my art, like always.

“I know, I know,” I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “I haven’t been a good friend lately. And I’m sorry. That’s why… that’s why I’m saying yes to Sunday. Coffee, bowling, karaoke, sleepover. The whole shebang. For you. To prove that I’m not… under some kind of spell.”

“Spell?” Nicole echoed, her voice softening slightly. “Is that what you think this is, Ari? A spell?”

Was it? It certainly felt like one. A dark, seductive enchantment that had wrapped itself around me, binding me to Vincent with threads of desire and fear. And a strange, intoxicating sense of belonging.

“Maybe,” I murmured, more to myself than to Nicole. “Maybe it’s just… intense. He’s intense. And… I’m drawn to it. But it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you. Or about… normal life.”

“Normal life,” Nicole repeated, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “Remember normal life? Where we worried about things like what shoes to wear to the club and whether my cousin Liam from the art gallery was going to ask you out but you were too shy to say yes?”

A faint smile touched my lips. Liam from the art gallery in Brookville. He seemed like a character from a distant, faded dream now. So ordinary. So… safe. And so incredibly dull compared to the storm that was Vincent. I had rejected all of the men who asked me out because I craved more than normal, that’s why nowadays, I feel complete. Like I finally belong somewhere. To someone who understands me as much as I do.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Normal life. It feels like a long time ago.”

“Well, let’s get you back to normal then, even if just for one night,” Nicole said, her tone brightening. “Next Sunday. Coffee at ‘Delicately Roasted’ at ten? We’ll grab those ridiculously overpriced but delicious croissants. Then bowling – prepare to be humiliated, by the way, my strike percentage has improved dramatically. And karaoke at ‘The Velvet Note’ – they have happy hour cocktails until eight, crucial for Dutch courage before belting out power ballads.”

“Sounds… perfect,” I said, the word catching slightly in my throat. It did sound perfect. A slice of the life I’d almost forgotten I missed.

But a sliver of unease snaked through me. Sunday. Vincent had plans for Sunday. Or rather, I had plans for Sunday, plans he had orchestrated, plans that involved staying in, late breakfasts in bed, lazy afternoons painting together – or rather, me painting while he watched, his presence a heavy, comforting weight in the room. Sundays were ‘our’ days.

“Perfect?” Nicole echoed, catching the hesitation in my voice. “But…?”

“No buts,” I said quickly, forcing a cheerfulness I didn’t quite feel. “Perfect. Just… perfect. Ten at ‘Delicately Roasted’. Croissants. Bowling humiliation. Karaoke courage. Got it.”

“Good,” Nicole said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. “Because honestly, Arianna, I was starting to worry about you. This Vincent guy… he sounds… intense, as you said. But sometimes ‘intense’ can be another word for… controlling.”

Controlling. There it was, the word hanging in the air between us, the word I’d been carefully avoiding, the word that resonated with a terrifying, exhilarating truth.

“He’s not controlling,” I said, the denial automatic, instinctual. “He’s… protective. And passionate. And… he cares about me.” And loves me - in an obsessive way - “A lot.”

“Caring about someone doesn’t mean isolating them from their friends,” Nicole countered, her voice gentle but firm. “Caring about someone means wanting them to be happy, and healthy, and… themselves. Not just… existing in their studio, painting shadow monsters for his amusement.”

Her words hit home, sharper than she probably intended. Shadow monsters for his amusement.

Was that what my art had become? Just another facet of his control, another way to keep me tethered to him, to his world?

“They’re not for his amusement,” I said, a flicker of defiance sparking within me. “They’re… my expression. My art. He just… inspires me.”

“Inspires you to paint unsettling creatures in increasingly dark colours?” Nicole asked, her tone laced with dry humour. “Right. Well, maybe a night out with your best friend will inspire you to paint some sunshine and rainbows for a change. Or at least remind you that sunshine and rainbows, and off-key karaoke, still exist.”

“Sunshine and rainbows and off-key karaoke,” I repeated, grinning. “Okay, Nicole. You’re on next Sunday—Operation ‘Arianna Gets a Life Back’ commences.” Nicole laughed, agreeing but insisting, “No Vincent. This is a girls’ night—he stays home, guarding your studio.” I echoed her—no Vincent—feeling both exhilarated and uneasy. Just me, Nicole, and a night of freedom.

But as I hung up, a shiver ran down my spine. Would Vincent really let that happen?