Slap

Slap

The email pinged, and I froze for a second before opening it. Almost perfect. Almost. Not quite the flawless mark I’d imagined after all those sleepless nights in the studio, the paint-stained hands, the endless staring at every stroke, trying to get the meaning just right. I let out a shaky laugh and rubbed at my eyes.
Then my phone rang. Vienna’s name lit up the screen, bright and unrelenting.
“Laura! You did it! I knew you would. Congratulations!” she gushed, practically vibrating with excitement on the other end.
I smiled faintly, but my chest felt oddly tight. “Thanks,” I muttered. There was a small sting in her cheerfulness—it always reminded me how fast she seemed to glide through life. A tiny pang of jealousy curled in my stomach, even though I hated admitting it.
“You sound weird. You should be over the moon. I mean, that piece? Fractured Bridges? Everyone’s talking about it!”
“I am happy. I just… I don’t know,” I hedged, trying to shake off the little envy that tugged at me.
Vienna didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, okay. No sad vibes, got it. But hey, we should celebrate! How about lunch? I’ll bring Jacob too—you know, the professor?”
Something in me stiffened. Not because of Jacob, but because… well, sometimes I felt like no one really told me everything. I wanted to hold the moment lightly, on my own terms. But maybe I needed the distraction, the company.
“Sure. That sounds… nice,” I said. “Actually, Cole—do you think you could come too? I think… it’d be better if you were there.”
There was a pause on the other end, and then his voice—steady, familiar, almost amused—came through. “Of course. I’ll be there.”
I exhaled, feeling a little lighter. Somehow, having him there made it feel less like a performance and more like… being anchored. Like maybe, just for a few hours, I could breathe without pretending.
I ended the call and let my fingers linger over the phone for a moment. Almost perfect. Almost. But maybe today, almost was enough.

The restaurant was quiet, just enough chatter from other tables to fill the background without intruding. Warm amber lights bounced off the polished wood, making everything feel intimate, almost like we had carved out our own little world in the middle of the evening.
Vienna slid into the booth across from me, her smile easy and bright. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this—celebrating your project! You deserve it, seriously.”
I smiled back, feeling a little surge of comfort. No judgment, no competition, just her genuine warmth. “Thanks. It… feels good to finally breathe again. After weeks of paint and panic.”
She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made the tension in my chest ease just a bit. “I remember when we were kids, how you’d lock yourself in the studio for hours. Some things never change.”
I laughed with her, but my gaze flicked to Cole across the table. He leaned back casually, one arm resting along the back of the booth, watching me like he was reading every little detail I didn’t even notice about myself. His presence grounded me in a way I didn’t have words for.
Jacob, sitting beside Vienna, shifted slightly. He cleared his throat, giving me a small, polite smile. “Your piece… Fractured Bridges, right? I have to say, seeing it in person, it carries a lot more weight than I imagined.” His eyes met mine for a moment longer than necessary, and I felt a subtle echo of the history we shared—the trust, the friendship, and all the unspoken feelings that lingered just beneath the surface.
I nodded, trying to keep it casual. “I wanted it to feel… like control is an illusion. How we build things, expect them to hold, but they break anyway.” I gestured vaguely, like the words themselves were tentative brush strokes. “And how sometimes, it’s the reaching that defines us more than what we actually get.”
Vienna reached across and lightly touched my hand. “You’ve always had this… ability to feel everything so deeply. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it’s what makes your work… you.” Her words weren’t flashy, just soft, like a reassurance whispered into the space between us.
Cole smirked, leaning slightly closer. “And that’s why people are obsessed with you. Even your nightmares turn into art people can’t look away from.”
I laughed softly, a little embarrassed, and my eyes flicked toward Jacob, who nodded respectfully, though a faint shadow lingered in his expression. Not jealousy—just a careful awareness of the dynamics around him.
The conversation floated effortlessly after that—Vienna sharing stories about her internship, me teasing Cole lightly about his basketball obsession, Jacob making quiet observations about the city skyline outside the window. Laughter slipped easily, words intertwined with the clink of glasses and the soft hum of music.
For the first time in weeks, the weight pressing down on me—the school, the projects, the fake relationship, the endless calculations of who trusts whom—lifted, if only slightly. Sitting there, with Vienna smiling across from me, Cole leaning just a little too close, and Jacob quietly holding space beside her, I realized something: these moments, unplanned and messy, felt like breathing again.
And for now, maybe that was enough.

I excused myself quietly, murmuring something about the restroom, and slipped away from the table. The hallway felt emptier than it was, the soft hum of the restaurant fading behind me. I barely noticed the cold splash of water on my hands, the quick rinse of my face—it wasn’t about washing away sweat or makeup, it was trying to scrub away the knot of anxiety that had been coiling in my chest all evening.
I exhaled slowly, letting my reflection in the mirror meet me—tired eyes, flushed cheeks, the faint tremor of nerves still lingering in my hands. For a moment, I allowed myself to just breathe, to let the tension roll off like water dripping from my skin.
Then, before I could even turn the tap off, strong hands gripped my wrist, pulling me backward.
“Laura…” Jacob’s voice was low, intense, almost trembling with something I couldn’t name. My breath hitched as I stumbled slightly against him, and the warmth of him was sudden, overwhelming.
And then his lips were on mine.
It wasn’t gentle—it was urgent, full of the kind of longing that had been simmering under every conversation, every shared memory we’d tucked away from the world. I froze, my hands instinctively pressing against his chest. My body wanted to respond, to melt into it, but my mind screamed—Cole, the fake relationship, everything.
I pulled back, heart hammering, chest heaving, my fingers brushing against his collar as I kept him at arm’s length. “Jacob… we… we can’t—” I couldn’t finish. The words felt weak, inadequate against the surge of emotions threatening to overtake me.
The frustration on his face, the way he stepped closer, it all became too much. Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped him. The sound echoed sharply in the hallway. His eyes widened, shock and hurt flickering across his features.
“I… I—” he started, voice breaking, but I cut him off with a shaky inhale, tears threatening to fall.
“I can’t, Jacob! You… you can’t do this to me!” My voice wobbled, trembling with the weight of everything I’d been holding in.
The sting of my own words and action made my chest tighten, and my tears spilled anyway. I pressed my hands to my face, trying to hide the mess of emotion—guilt, frustration, confusion—all tangled together.
He stayed there, frozen for a moment, just looking at me, the hurt in his eyes softening into something unreadable.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, voice breaking, barely able to meet his gaze.

The hallway felt impossibly long as I stepped out, each breath catching like shards in my chest. I didn’t notice where I was going until the cool night air hit me in the parking lot. The city lights stretched out below, indifferent and bright, but they did nothing to calm the storm inside me.
“Faye?”
Cole’s voice pulled me back from the edge of my own spiraling thoughts. I hadn’t realized he was behind me, footsteps silent against the asphalt. His expression was unreadable at first—concern, worry, maybe a touch of anger—but it softened the moment he noticed my trembling hands.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“Why are you crying?” he pressed gently, careful, yet persistent, like he could feel the weight of everything I’d been holding inside.
I shook my head, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s nothing,” I whispered, though the quiet only made the tears fall faster.
Cole’s brows knitted, frustration flashing in his eyes, but before he could say more, I let it all go. The tears, the shaky breaths, the confusion, the guilt. I sank into him, arms wrapping around his waist, forehead pressed against his chest.
“Shh… hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, soft, grounding, his hands sliding up to cradle my head as if he could hold my entire world together. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and unwavering, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me.
“I’m… I’m just so tired,” I admitted in a shaky whisper, words barely audible, muffled against his shoulder.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Cole murmured, pulling me closer, rocking me gently like I was fragile glass he couldn’t bear to break.
After a long moment, I pulled back just enough to press my lips to his chest, my voice barely above a breath: “Let’s go home.”
Cole tilted his head slightly, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low, steady, protective. “Let’s go home.”
And somehow, even in the middle of the cold parking lot, with the city sprawled beneath us and my chest still tight with everything unspoken, I felt a small, fragile thread of peace. Enough to let go, at least for now.