Chapter 10; Anticipation

 

Damian's POV

I moved about the big studio I had set up, thinking about what it was going to be like having the first exhibition of my life.

I thought about my parents — my foster parents — and what it would have felt like, and how they would have felt, knowing fully well that I was flourishing and doing so well in this line of business.

I did not have to be a doctor or anything. All I wanted to do was follow my passion and become better for myself.

I looked at the whole studio with pride as I glanced around, checking my canvases as they were displayed on the wall.

I looked at every single worker I had hired running around and trying to make sure every single thing was in order.

I silently wished someone would tell me I was doing well and that they were proud of me.

A pool of tears formed at the back of my eyes as my throat tightened. I thought about every single time my parents never acknowledged me or praised me.

I thought of the times I could have heard an "I'm so proud of you" from my parents, but I heard nothing from them.

I wiped the tears that formed at the corners of my eyes because I was done being the son who always kept quiet for them. I hoped they would realise sooner that they had hurt me and that whatever they had done to me only made me stronger.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I wondered who could be calling me.

I hit the button and placed the phone to my ear.

"Damian," the thick, familiar voice spoke at the other end of the phone.

It was Bruce, my foster brother. We had been together at the foster home. He left before me and found his happy family. We had stayed in contact for some time before my parents finally took my phone and gave me a better one to help me build a better life.

Indeed.

His joy could be heard through the phone. I had been talking to him since I moved out of my parents' house.

"How are you doing?" he asked with a light tone in his voice.

The question stirred something in me as I thought about how I was actually doing.

I just wanted to break down and tell him what I was going through, but I couldn't.

How would that make me look?

"Are you there?" he called out to me.

"Yes, yes," I spoke, feigning a smile even though I knew he couldn't see me.

"Could you please send me the address to your gallery?" he said.

I had told him about my exhibition and he had said he was going to fly to London for it, since he hadn't been able to help me when I left my parents' house.

"Oh. I'll send it to you as soon as I'm done with the call," I told him, as I moved around the studio again.

"Thank you," he said and ended the call.

I couldn't wait to see him — we had a lot of catching up to do. I smiled deeply as I recalled everything we had both done in the foster home.

How we had sneaked into the adoption agencies. How we had gotten punished while everyone else went to school.

He was my friend and a brother from another mother, and I was so grateful to have him.

One of the workers walked up to me. "The waiters are here and they'd like to speak to you," she smiled at me.

I raised my eyebrows, the dark circles under my eyes a sign of how badly I needed a good sleep.

I thought of what an orgasm would do for me right now, and my mind drifted to Nickolai.

I wasn't sure if he was going to come. I had just sent him an envelope because he deserved to know, and because I needed to see him.

I walked up to the waiters, showed them what they needed to know, and explained how they were going to be coordinated.

*******

The time came and people started moving in. Everybody smiled and wished me well. People who had bought my work came and expressed their appreciation. It stirred something in me and calmed me down.

I did not feel alone. I was okay. People appreciated my work, and that was enough.

As the drinks were being passed around, I searched the room looking for Nickolai, but he wasn't there.

He had not come.

My stomach stirred. My heart ached as I thought about why he was avoiding me. I paced around, trying to stay composed. A few people bought more pieces, while others walked around admiring the items.

Derek walked into the room with his girlfriend, Amy. They smiled as they approached me, and I was happy they were here.

Finally, a familiar face. I hugged Derek and gave Amy a handshake.

"Thank you for coming," I smiled, as Derek gave me a nod.

I walked away to give them space to enjoy the exhibition on their own.

As I made my way into my office to drink some red wine and drown in my sorrow, a voice called to me from the small crowd, making everyone look over at us.

I ran towards him because I could never mistake that face for anyone else's.

I recognised him even as his features had grown sharper. He looked handsome and muscular. He ran over and hugged me tightly — like he could see right through me.

He pulled me in for a comforting hug. I wished I could just break down in his arms.

But I couldn't. Not here.

He looked at me and pulled me in again for another hug. I felt relieved.

I was happy he was here, and I hoped he knew that.

"You look so good," he smiled, looking me over.

"So do you," I smiled deeply.

I led him into my office as old memories of the foster home slid into my head — every single thing we had shared together.

We spoke for a long time, and he bought some of the canvases. Finally, it was time to close the exhibition so we could all go home.

I tapped a knife against my wine glass, the sound ringing out across the room.

Everyone looked up and focused on me.

I smiled, even as a wave of nervousness washed over me.

"Thank you so much for coming out for my first exhibition," I said, scanning the crowd.

He still wasn't there.

"I do not take this for granted." I paused, afraid I was going to start crying.

"I'm so grateful everyone came to see my artwork, bought pieces, and left such kind comments," I added.

"It's a beautiful thing when people see art the same way you see it."

"As we all go our separate ways, I want us to raise a toast — to the good life, and to more clients and more canvases."

Everyone raised their glasses, smiled, and drank, while I drained mine to the last drop.

Then I set my cup down on the table — and I saw him.

My pulse quickened, even as I reminded myself that I was angry at him.