Jonathan shoves my wrist away and steps closer, his eyes narrowing. "Don't twist this around, Tori. You know what I'm talking about." His voice is sharp, cutting through the tense air between us. Behind him, an eerie watercolor painting of three cloaked skeletons tending to a garden looms, its dark imagery distracting and unsettling.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "Jonathan, I belong here just as much as you do,” I say, though my voice isn’t as firm as I wish it could be.
He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is just sad. You really need to move on." His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see the strain and anxiety behind his anger. It dawns on me that he has more to say, a lot more, but he’s holding back. This isn’t the place for it—people might see, they might hear. And God forbid Jonathan Canes lets anyone see the cracks in his perfectly curated life.
“What?” I sigh, tired of this exhausting dance around our issues. “I can’t just leave now.”
“This is so like you,” Jonathan snaps, throwing his hands up in the air, his face flushed with anger.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, feeling my pulse quicken, all my hurt bubbling to the surface.He wants me to just leave?
“You do whatever you want without thinking about how it might affect anyone else. This is just one of the many reasons...” His voice drops, but his anger doesn’t. His face gets even redder,and he mutters, “You’re just so... hard to be with. Everything is always too much with you. You—you’re just too much.”
I feel a sting in my chest. So you chose someone who was less?
“Go ahead, Jonathan.Pleaseenlighten me on what I’ve done to you without considering your feelings?” My voice rises, caught somewhere between a scream and a sob.
He leans in, whispering harshly, “You being here. The way you drink.”
“What way do I drink?” I ask, though I can already sense where this is going.
“It’s too much. You…black out all the time.”
Yeah, that’s called sleeping. I stare at him, disbelief mixing with hurt. I drink the same amount as everyone else, and he knows it.
He scoffs, lowering his voice into a harsh whisper, “Then there’s your job.”
“My job?” I repeat, confused. This is news to me.
“Oh, you knew it always made me uncomfortable!”
“Really? So I should just quit because it made you uncomfortable? It’s figure modeling for art students, I’m not doing sex work.”
“You were supposed to be making art, not letting men see you naked in obscene positions all day long!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over.
I step back, struggling to find my voice. Where is this even coming from? I don’t understand why he’s so angry right now. “It was just art?—”
Jonathan’s eyes blaze with fury as he steps closer, closing the distance between us. “Yeah, you called it art,” he spits, his voice laced with bitterness, “but all I saw is you parading yourself for attention. It was humiliating.”
I wince, the words landing with a harsh sting.
"And you know what else?" Jonathan's voice grows colder, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to slice me with his words. "You need to work on getting your head straight, Tori. You're stuck in this delusion that we had this huge relationship and I had what everybody else had of you.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words die in my throat. My mind races, but I'm too shocked and hurt to form a response.
“That’s enough,” a harsh voice cuts through the tension. “Leave her alone and go deal with Marissa, Jon. She’s looking for you.” Hayes steps between us, his broad shoulders blocking Jonathan’s view of me, waving him back like he’s swatting away a fly.
Jonathan’s face shifts back to that wide, charming smile, his laugh deep and husky. “I guess we got a bit lost, huh? This place is huge.” His gaze snaps back to mine, his eyes hard and calculating. Whatever he’s thinking, he keeps it to himself, but the intensity of his stare makes me flush and look away.
“Lost? Sure, Jon,” Hayes says, dripping with sarcasm. He crosses his arms, muscles flexing like he’s ready to bench press Jonathan out of the room. “Yeah, because that’s definitely what you were yelling about—navigational difficulties.”
Jonathan's smile falters, replaced by a challenging glare. “Maybe you should mind your own business, Hayes,” he snaps, trying to sound tough but coming off more like a petulant teenager.
Hayes doesn’t back down. He steps closer, his presence dominating the space between them. “Or maybe you should learn how to treat women with respect,” he growls, voice low and steady, like he’s daring Jonathan to keep pushing his luck.
I find myself hoping he would.
Jonathan tries to stand his ground, but Hayes’s stare is unyielding, and you can see the confidence drain from Jonathan’s eyes. “It’s all good here,” he mutters, stepping backlike he suddenly remembered he’s got somewhere better to be. “I’ll go find Marissa.”
