23. Never Whole

23

Never Whole

Teal

Music hums through my veins as my paintbrush sweeps over the canvas. A sea of darkness has taken hold, and yet, I find myself reaching for a shade of tangerine. I paint with gold and amber.

Happy colors.

Light that blooms against the gray and draws hope into the painting.

There was a time when I could only create nightmares. Twisted faces. Tormented figures. Haunted hearts.

For three years, figures crept around in the corners of my mind, tainting every work of art I’d create. But now, a light sweeps the canvas. Music floods my bones, and I find something buried in the darkness.

A whisper.

A flicker .

Headlights.

Sunflowers.

A loud buzzing rings out in my studio, and I jump back so I don’t mess up the thin lines I’m painting on the canvas. I pull out my earbuds and reach for my phone as it rings again.

I thought I set it to silent as usual, but I must have forgotten.

Picking it up, I see the administrative office is calling.

“Hello.”

“Tealene Donovan?”

“Yes.”

“You’re needed in art suite seven.”

“For what?”

“Umm…” Whoever is on the other end of the line must be searching for something on their computer because their keys clack with every strong hit of their fingers on the keyboard. “It doesn’t say.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I hang up.

I submitted a piece to one of my professors for the exhibit at the local museum next week, and he probably needs something for it.

On the top floor of the art building, Briar Academy houses a hallway of private art suites. A few are used by professors, while others are reserved for students to rent out, which is how I got mine. It’s one of the few ways I don’t mind my father spending his money.

I’ve never been in suite seven, so it must be one they use for exhibit storage .

I quickly cover my paints and rinse my paintbrush, then leave my studio.

Since the studios are on either side of the hallway, it’s not well-lit. The small window at the end barely lets in more light than the bulbs overhead.

I walk to suite seven, knocking on the door, but no one answers. When I try the handle, I find it unlocked, so I let myself in.

“Hello?” I swing the door open, stepping inside.

It takes me a moment to process what I’m staring at as I close the door behind me and look around. I’m standing in the middle of a metal wonderland with pieces filling almost every corner of the studio. Some are abstract, while others are figures. And they’re all crafted from different forms of metal.

Copper pieces, metal rods, gears, and so much more.

There’s a clear path down the center of the room, but even overhead, pieces are suspended from the ceiling.

I step deeper into the room, taking in every detail.

There’s a body with a fragmented chest, pieced together with bullets and shell casings. Above is a head that drips down to a heart made of gold coins.

To my left are two right feet crafted from silver strands, sitting on a bloody welcome mat.

Some items are tall sculptures that remind me of trees and flowers, while the piece on the far wall feels like an ocean current.

It’s one of the most incredible displays I’ve seen at the Academy .

“Boo.” Declan’s voice coming from my right makes me jump, and I spin to see him standing with his back to a workbench, holding onto a pair of pliers.

“Declan?” I glance around at the room again. “What are you doing here?”

He sets down the pliers and walks in my direction, cutting through the metal jungle as he approaches me. Seeing him in this chaos of iron and gold feels like he’s somehow climbing out of the artwork. Fragments of his demons coming to life.

“Wait.” I hold up my hands when he approaches. “Did you do all this?”

He looks down at me, framed by the brutal and sharp metal forest. He might as well be a piece of the angry, cold works of art.

“I told you I was an artist, Teal.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. “You just never believed me.”

My gaze moves around the room. “This is how you got into Paris.”

It makes sense now—why I’ve never seen him in any of my art classes. He doesn’t paint or draw. Or, if he does, that’s not his preferred medium. This is the type of art he creates.

And it makes sense. Crafting and creating. Working with his hands and manipulating the environment around him. Nothing has ever felt more like Declan Pierce than standing in this room.

“I told you I was artistic.”

My mouth is still hanging open in shock. “You did. ”

I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time as I look up at him. A scalpel has been taken to the cast of clay that hardened around him over the years, and I’m once more seeing the boy who spent that night talking to me in the garden. A boy with real feelings and vulnerability. A boy who told me his mother was the only example of love he’s ever known, even though she cared about his father’s money more than him.

He reminds me of the boy who pointed to a wilting sunflower and said to wait for morning because it would bloom and be beautiful again.

Before the twelve-year-old boy became the monster I’ve grown accustomed to dealing with. The one who took my sunlight away.

“Why don’t you let anyone know about this?” I ask, my eyebrows pinching. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not for them.” He shrugs.

“It should be for everyone, Declan. You’re really talented.”

He smirks. “You think so?”

“Well, yeah, look at it.” I wave my arms out, and his grin widens. “Why do you look so surprised when I say that?”

“I’m just not sure what to do with the first compliment out of your mouth, Tealene. Maybe you should say it again so I can record it.”

“So you can post it on your socials or use it as blackmail?”

“And here I thought you didn’t follow me.”

“I don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Patience showed me. ”

He hums, not believing me.

It’s true that Patience is the one who first notified me that Declan was posting about me on social media, but that’s not how I know he’s continued to do it. I might not follow him, but it hasn’t stopped me from spending an embarrassing amount of time scrolling his page.

“You know you don’t have to stalk me to get a piece of your boyfriend, Teal.” He smiles, pushing his hair off his forehead. “I’m all yours.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass.”

“Can be.” He winks, and blood rushes to my cheeks, realizing what he’s insinuating.

“Not like that.” I turn away from him, trying to hide what the thought of Declan defiling me surely shows on my face. “So tell me about all this. What is it?”

“A mess.” He follows me as I slowly navigate through the studio again. “I had to move some of the pieces out of storage for the museum exhibit.”

“So you’re going to show it off now?”

“No choice. It’s part of the internship requirement.” He rests his forearm on a tall pillar in the center of the room, watching me.

“I guess you care about the internship for real then.”

“As opposed to…?”

“I thought you might just be going to torture me.”

He grins. “That’s just an added bonus.”

“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes, stopping in front of a figure that is half-human and half-shards scattering out like they’re breaking apart. “None of the people are whole. ”

“No one is.” He hums.

I suppose he’s right; it’s just interesting to see it displayed in a way that actually makes sense to me.

“So why am I here?” I turn to face Declan. “You had the administration call me?”

“You wanted proof.” He walks over and takes my hand.

My face pinches when I look up at him, confused.

“That this was real for me from the beginning.” He glances around the room. “I told you I’d prove it.”

I glance over at a curtain of chains. “This is incredible, but I don’t see how this proves anything.”

Declan hums, turning to walk toward the opposite corner of the room, and tugs me to follow him. The studio is filled to the brim with pieces, so I have to turn my body sideways just to get around a few of them.

Circling a tall pillar of gears, he finally stops at a piece in the corner.

The shape is feminine, with only the bust fully formed and a hole where the belly button normally is. Metal shavings are carved in the shape of flower petals, and they dangle from where her hands should be, falling to the ground like she’s wilting.

She feels familiar, and when I focus on the mangled mess of a partially formed head, I realize it’s the pieces of a sunflower blooming.

“What is this?”

“Remember that night I found you in the courtyard?” He looks over at me. “The little show we were wat—”

“I remember,” I cut him off, not needing the reminder of what he caught me doing .

Since I’ve adjusted to my new prescription, I’ve been feeling a little more levelheaded, and the thought of the twisted highs I was chasing not that long ago is embarrassing.

“Well, that night when you left, I came up here and made this.” He motions to the piece.

“And this is…”

“You.”

“Me?” My heart hammers as I stare at the figure.

She’s broken. Hurting. Carved out in the middle and struggling to bloom.

“You were an asshole to me that night.”

“I never said I’d prove I’m a good guy, Teal.” He leans against the wall. “Just said I’d prove this was real.”

“And how does this prove that?” I take a step back, my instincts fighting my heart the harder it beats in my chest. “How does this prove anything? You made some art for me, and that’s supposed to make me think you care?”

“No.” His gaze narrows the more I back up. “But I do.”

“No, you don’t.” I step back again. “You hate me. And we can’t do this.”

I turn my back on him, weaving out of the mess of art. Lost in his metal wonderland and trying to find my way out.

My palms sweat, and the room has me burning up. I twist my hair off my neck to wipe the sweat that’s covering the back of it.

“Teal.” Declan follows me through the studio, catching my hand when I reach the empty path in the middle .

But I pull out of his grasp as soon as he makes contact. “You can’t just change how you are with me. We had an agreement. You can’t just start caring when you never did.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” I push my hair back, shaking my head. “I hate you for a reason. You hurt me, Declan. You’re horrible. Cruel. You hurt me .”

I grab my stomach and step back.

“I know.” His jaw ticks.

“Then how do you expect me to believe that all of a sudden this has changed?”

He takes a step. “It’s not all of a sudden.”

“You hid it well,” I scoff.

“Have you considered that maybe that’s because I was still figuring it out?” He holds my waist, pulling me closer. “You think this is easy for me either, Teal? I was raised to hate everything about you, and you were the sweetest fucking thing to me. You irritate the hell out of me. But that’s the whole point. You dig, and you dig, and you find this person that no one else knows exists. You see what a fucking disaster I am, and you’re still here.”

“So, you need me to validate you?”

“No. I just need you.” His fingers grab me harder. “And don’t ask me why because I don’t fucking know. You drive me out of my mind. Control is the only thing that’s ever mattered to me, and you’re all over the place. I couldn’t contain you if I tried. But I need that. We crossed that line, and now…”

He releases me to wipe his palms down his face .

“You need the crazy chick,” I finish his sentence.

“Don’t call yourself crazy.”

“It’s what I am.” I shrug. “Ask anyone. Ask your father, who probably told you to stay the fuck away from me all those years.”

He frowns. “I’ll deal with my father.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask me for anything. Just stop fighting this for one second and stand still.”

“Still?” I roll my shoulders back, and he nods.

“With me.”

“I can’t be with you, not really.”

“Because of Jase?” His jaw tightens.

“Him… and so many other reasons. I can barely be with myself half the time, Declan. I’m broken.”

“Not to me.”

“I—” I can’t finish my sentence.

Looking up into his eyes, I actually believe him. Standing in the middle of his partially formed metal forest, we’re two people with so many pieces missing from them that we might as well be a part of his artwork.

“What are you asking me to do, Declan?” I dip my thumbs into my pockets, watching him. “I already submitted to this. I gave you every part of me.”

“Physically,” he says.

“Yes, physically. Which if you’ve listened to my sessions, you know that’s a lot for me.”

He reaches for my hand. “I do know. And I gave myself to you. ”

“That was about exclusivity. Or possession. Or control. But what you’re asking for is…”

“Everything.”

I swallow hard, looking up at him. “Yeah, everything. I don’t know how to trust you with that. I don’t know how to make this real.”

He tips his head back, closing his eyes. And when he looks back at me, all the tension rolls off his shoulders.

“You do know, Teal. But people have brainwashed you to always second-guess yourself. You want this as much as I do, and that’s proven with every bit of your resistance. You’re scared, and I get it. I’m an asshole, and that won’t change. But you can trust me when it comes to you. I’ll protect you from your father. I promise.” Declan steps toward me. “I need to make this right. Trust me to do that.”

I don’t know whether he’s talking about making us right or fixing my issues with my dad. Or maybe he’s referring to something going on with his.

It doesn’t really matter because, with a final squeeze of my hand, I can’t deny him.

He reaches for my jaw, and I swear I feel the seams in my chest tear open.

“Okay,” I whisper.

The moment the word is out, he leans down and claims my mouth.

He overwhelms all thoughts. Steals all defiance. He becomes everything I’ve ever needed when I didn’t think I needed him at all. Because he’s right; I want this to be real. I want to be his .

Declan’s hands would inevitably be the ones that destroyed me. At least now I’ve accepted it.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, picking me up to carry me to his workbench at the far end of the room. And even if I told him I submitted to this when he tested me with Cora, in this moment, I actually believe it.

I surrender.

Declan sets me on the workbench, widening my legs with his stance. His fingers grip my ass, and he tilts my hips, grinding my pussy against his hard cock.

“What are we doing?” I tip my head back, and he sinks his teeth into my neck as he bites a path down, breaking contact only to rip his shirt overhead.

“This might be my studio.” He kisses the center of my throat. “But you’re going to paint these walls with your screams. Aren’t you, pet?”

“Yes.” My fingers trace the letters carved in his chest, and it’s how I feel in this moment.

Eternal .

Like whatever sparks inside me has always been there, but I’m just now feeling it.

He unbuttons my pants, dropping to his knees as he strips them off. And when his mouth finds my clit, the back of my head hits the wall, and my eyes slam shut.

His tongue makes art.

Soft but strong.

Pleasure in a metal forest built for pain.

Light in the darkness .

A tear slips down my cheek, but it’s not sadness. It’s my resistance melting. It’s paint spilling. It’s the art we’re creating when I thought we were already finished.