Learning to Live

LIAM

~Their choice is to leave.~

The words radiated through my core, filling each and every empty space inside of me. In the past few days, it felt like I was ~only~ made of emptiness—I was a counterfeit, hollow on the inside.

~HER choice is to leave.~

My heart was no stranger to loss, but never before had I felt it breaking in quite this way.

Shattering into thousands of tiny pieces that never had hope of being whole again.

As I traced the outlines of her room, which suddenly felt like a mausoleum, I felt the loneliness begin to spread like an infection.

I was used to being alone. In fact, in the last several years of my life, despite being surrounded by people, loneliness had been my loyal companion.

But now, after everything—after Freya—I needed to feel what I felt with her again.

I supposed the age-old saying was true.

~You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.~

And she was utterly, irreversibly gone.

FREYA

“This is…” I waited for the curator’s scathing assessment.

~Amateurish.~

~Not good enough.~

The curator tapped her fingernails against her chin pensively, then stared up at me through her bangs.

“…different.” She took a step closer to inspect the canvas in greater detail. “It looks like the work of an entirely different artist. Your other pieces were so…”

~Could you finish your sentences, please?~

The curator straightened suddenly, turning to me.

~Shit. She doesn’t like it.~

“It’s brilliant. Whatever you’ve done, it looks like you’ve found your muse. Do you have any more like this?”

***

I watched the people and buildings grow smaller and smaller, like tiny figurines in a model town as the plane ascended.

And then the land disappeared entirely, replaced by an ephemeral blue.

Much to my disbelief, the gallery had commissioned my work and sold four of my paintings in just two weeks.

It was enough money to get me out of the living, breathing tomb that New York had become to me. Enough for me to start a new life somewhere else.

I’d treated myself to a first-class seat and my flight across the ocean was calming.

It was if I could take a break from the chaos and heartache of the world below and live inside of my own head.

I didn’t have to think about ~him~, or the other men in my life who I’d left behind, or even where I would go once I landed in London.

It wouldn’t last.

As soon as I arrived, the big screens in the airport would be reporting the latest headlines and photos captured by the paparazzi who followed me to the airport.

Liam would know.

Everyone would know.

I was gone.

And it was my intention to stay that way…at least until I sorted my own life out.

For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.

***

^THREE MONTHS LATER^

“Wow, I love it,” Anna murmured in her thick Dutch accent, peering over my shoulder to inspect the painting that I was currently working on, which was only in its early stages.

“Thanks.” I smiled, wiping my paint-stained hands on my apron. “I still have a lot to do.”

I took a step back to inspect the work myself. So far it was just an odd collection of sunflowers overlooking the silhouette of a man.

“Well, you’re a lot further along than I am.” She grinned, casting a weary glance to her own canvas in the corner.

I’d met Anna at the Van Gogh Museum a week after I arrived in Amsterdam with nothing but the clothes on my back and few thousand dollars still in my checking account.

She was a student of Impressionism—an artist like me. And, like me, she spent an unhealthy amount of time roaming the halls of the museum.

This was our biweekly tradition: Anna brought her current projects to my tiny apartment, which doubled as my studio, and we would drink espresso and paint together.

“What’s it called?” she asked.

“I’m thinking of calling it ~Beastly Lights,~” I replied.

“~Beastly Lights…~” she mused. “Does that mean something?”

As my eyes traced over the familiar figure, I felt a pained smile reach my lips. “I guess it does,” I murmured, almost to myself.

“Well, Aleida’s going to love it, just like the rest,” she said, smiling. “You’re going to be making ~all~ the money.”

Aleida was the co-owner of Onbekend, the fine art gallery that had already taken several of my paintings. They started off buying them from me outright, but then they began commissioning me for more.

The last few months had been a whirlwind, and never in my life did I think that someone, or ~someones~, would actually pay top dollar for my work.

I had somehow stumbled into success.

No longer did I struggle to infuse my paintings with purpose or emotion.

While part of the raw feelings that fueled my work were no doubt the product of Liam Henderson, I was able to channel them into a style that was distinctly my own.

LIAM

~Blinded eyes. Silent…~

~Silent…~

I stared at the empty sheet of paper, willing the words to write themselves.

We’d been home from the tour for three weeks now, and it was time to finish up the new album.

Listening back to the tracks we’d worked on before Europe, I was convinced we had to start again from scratch.

But, no matter how many hours I put into writing, no words seemed to express what I was feeling.

What I was enduring.

Our last album, which went Double Platinum, had been full of crowd-pleasing anthems that brought stadiums to their feet but did little for the soul.

Relics from the party days, when I could find happiness at the bottom of a bottle.

This time around, I was determined to write something with actual heart, closer to the stuff I’d recorded earlier in my career.

Music with ~feeling~.

And these days, there was no shortage of those ravaging my mind.

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of my phone.

Jeb

what up

Jeb

let’s go out tonight

Jeb

i hear some of the VS models are going to be at avenue later

Liam

Not tonight. I’m writing

Jeb

lol

Jeb

i’ll believe that when i see it

Jeb

come on bro…you’ve been MIA for weeks

Jeb

get over that bitch already

I was halfway through typing out a text telling Jeb to go fuck himself when I threw the phone down instead.

The more time I’d spent around Jeb on our tour, the more I realized I couldn’t stomach being in the same room as him.

Being around Jeb invoked the blurry jumble of memories from that night.

That night had been the beginning of the end.

I didn’t blame him for Freya’s leaving.

That was my fault.

But every time my mind relived the petrified look on her face—the look of someone who was utterly broken—I couldn’t quell my thirst for retribution.

Freya deserved it.

She deserved so much more than I had been able to offer.

~At the very least, I can right this wrong.~

I picked up my phone once more.

Liam

Hi Mason

Mason

What the hell do you want

Liam

I need your help…

Liam

Please

Mason

You are seriously deluded.

Liam

Hear me out

Liam

I want to do something for Freya

Mason

How many times do I have to say it? I’m not giving you her number

Mason

Stay the fuck away from my sister.

Liam

I’m not trying to contact her. I swear. I just need to make something right on my own end.

Liam

Please. Just come over to my place and I’ll explain everything

Mason

I’ll give you 5 minutes.

I set down the phone and returned to the blank page of my notebook.

So far, all I had was the title.

~Final Goodbye.~

I had this idea in my head of what I wanted to say to her, but the moment my pen hit the formidable paper, it was like an invisible barrier came crashing down.

~Will I ever be ready to say goodbye to Freya?~

The sound of the doorbell stirred me from the dismal thought.

Much to my surprise, Anthony was at the door.

“Hey, Liam,” Ant said quietly. “Mind if I come in?”

I took an awkward step backward, opening the door wider. “No—of course not.”

Ant followed me into the living room and took a seat at the opposite edge of the couch.

“So, uh—what’s up?” I asked, closing my notebook.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he replied. “Luce was—we both were—a little worried about you. I mean, you’ve barely left your apartment in weeks, Liam.”

His gaze was penetrating, though less accusatory and more imploring. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…”

How could I put into words how I was doing?

~Surviving?~

~Hanging by a thread?~

That seemed to be the closest assessment.

In truth, I was struggling to live with myself.

Once or twice a week, I was drinking myself practically to death, then going cold turkey for days, wallowing in my self-loathing.

Sleeping for entire days…or not at all.

Hardly any contact with the outside world.

It was harrowing.

But I was determined to face myself…to face this creature that I’d become.

My eyes finally found Anthony’s.

“I’m not alright,” I admitted. The moment the words left my lips, it was like an enormous weight had lifted off of me.

“I’m ~not~ alright,” I said again, reveling in the sound of those three terrifying words.

“I miss her,” I continued. “And I miss the way I felt when I was with her. Like I could be a better person.”

Anthony rose from his seat at the edge of the massive couch and crossed the room, planting himself beside me.

“You can be that person, Liam,” Anthony replied, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You just have to see that you don’t need anyone else to bring him out. ~You~ have that power.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek, which flushed initially with embarrassment—but then I realized that Anthony didn’t care.

He wasn’t judging me.

I’d never cried in front of him before—or anyone else, except for Freya—and the feeling was completely liberating.

And then the dam burst. “But I love her,” I sobbed, feeling my entire body shaking.

“Liam…”

“I’m IN love with her,” I continued, feeling the power of the foreign words.

~Is this what real love feels like?~

It felt as if I was being consumed by a gut-wrenching disease of the mind.

But in its peak, it was an incomparable, all-consuming high.

And I’d lost it.

Anthony was speechless for a moment, allowing me to expel my tears. “If you love her, Liam…”

“What?” I demanded, turning my shielded face to gaze into his eyes for guidance, for truth, for any way to make this feeling of utter demolition go away.

“You have to let her go,” he replied.

~I can’t.~

~I won’t.~

“If you ~actually~ love her, Liam, if you would do anything to make her happy, then you have to respect her wishes,” Anthony continued. “To think of what’s best for ~her~.”

~What’s best for her…~

My thoughts roved over those two euphoric nights with Freya and what it felt like to have her, ~all~ of her.

And then the darker memories came crashing in, overwhelming our brief moment of heaven entirely.

I pictured all of the pain I’d put her through.

The truth was that we were both fragile, searching for ourselves, or for meaning in our lives.

And while we clung desperately to each other, we’d stunted the chance of either of us finally learning to stand on our own.

“Do you love Freya that much?” Anthony asked. “Enough to let her go?”