Never Truth

4

For as long as I could remember, I’d felt like an imposter. I looked like Sofia Genovese, and everyone believed I was her, but only I knew that Sofia had died many years ago. Perhaps that was a little dramatic. A part of the old Sofia was still present—she showed herself in every conversation I had with my parents—but she didn’t feel real. She was the mask I wore to cover up everything else I hid inside. But with each passing day, every birthday and milestone, she made fewer and fewer appearances. As I stepped out of The October Company art gallery where I would be working at my first real job, I could envision the day when I might be free to be myself around the people who were supposed to be closest to me—my family. The thought had me smiling as I greeted the familiar face waiting for me outside. “What are you doing here?” I asked Michael as I approached where he leaned against his parked car. “Just because you helped me get this job doesn’t mean you need to follow me to work. I’m a fully capable adult,” I teased wryly. Anyone else probably would have slunk away from the man, let alone teased him, but I’d known Michael for years. The menacing glare and tattoos creeping up from beneath his collar didn’t scare me. Quite the opposite—the sight of his ripped jeans and scuffed boots made me feel at ease. When he was near, nothing and no one could hurt me. He raised one of his brows, then snagged my wrist as soon as I was within reach. Wrapping his solid arm around my neck, he put me in a headlock and tousled my hair to total disarray. “Such a gracious and humble adult, aren’t you?” I wailed playfully, pinching his flat stomach through his fitted T-shirt. “Okay, you’re right. I give!” With my cry for mercy, Michael released me, and I lifted my head to find his face lit with an infectious grin. “That’s better. Now, tell me how it went.” “It went really well! Miles seems like he’ll be wonderful to work with, and the part-time schedule gives me plenty of time to paint.” I was offered the administrative position a week before but had needed to fill out employment paperwork and discuss job duties more thoroughly. My short visit with the gallery owner had confirmed my initial impression that the locally owned operation was going to be a perfect fit. “I’ve known Miles for a few years now. I knew you’d like him.” “Yeah, and working in a gallery—seeing new exhibits, meeting the artists, and planning events— doesn’t even sound like work. The only thing better is painting itself!” He gave me a smirk and a flick of his head. “Let’s grab some coffee, and you can tell me all about it,” he said, motioning down the sidewalk. “Actually, I have to run over to campus to get my last couple of boxes.” I smiled up at him and gave a soft punch to his shoulder. “I really do appreciate your help with the job. The gallery is amazing. I can’t wait to start next week.” “You know I’m always happy to help. Speaking of, you need a hand with boxes?” “Nah, I only have two boxes left. They didn’t fit in the car on the last trip. Once I grab those, I’m all moved out of the dorm.” “Your dad and his ridiculous rules,” he scoffed. “There was no reason you had to stay all four years in the damn dorm.” “I know, but that’s in the past. Good things are on the horizon … I can feel it.” Michael huffed out a laugh before wrapping me in his arms. “Alright, you little ray of sunshine. Your optimism is hurting my eyes. Go get your boxes and let me know if you need help.” “Will do. Thanks again!” I waved as he slid into his black Mercedes, then pulled away from the curb. Michael was amazing. He was the big brother I should have had— protective, indulgent, and honest to a fault. He was there for me when I needed him, and that had meant the world to me. He was also gorgeous, but our relationship had never gone down that particular path. Right at six feet tall, he was a dichotomy of striking features and an intimidating countenance, making people unsure if they should stare or look away. His disheveled hair was almost black, and his deep-set eyes were equally as dark. With full lips and hardly any facial hair, he could have been an emo model or a bad-boy musician covered in angry tattoos. To me, he was just Michael. He was the boy who was so fascinated with fast cars that he snuck out to watch illegal street races when we were in high school. He was the person who copied off my homework and met me at an all-night diner when I’d had a bad day and needed a plate of pancakes with hot chocolate. Michael was my best friend, but nothing more than friendship had ever developed between us. He never made a single move to change the status of our relationship. It was hardly an option early on. When we met, I had been devastated after a brutal breakup with a boy who had owned my heart since I was five years old. Nico had broken my heart so thoroughly that I wasn’t sure it would ever work properly again. Michael helped me see that life would continue even if Nico wasn’t by my side. Once I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, a platonic dynamic had been established between us. I cherished our friendship and had no desire to risk losing it. Michael was the one good thing that came from that time period. If it hadn’t been for Nico leaving, I probably never would have met Michael. For the past seven years, he’d been my closest confidant and friend. He had given me so much, and now I could add my job to the list of ways he had made my life better. I glanced back at the vinyl lettering of the gallery name plastered across the window above the door. My lips pulled back involuntarily into a wide smile as warmth flooded my chest. Things were going to be different from now on. I could feel it in every cell of my body. I had seized the reins to my life and would steer myself in the direction I saw fit, rather than be subjected to the back seat and chauffeured to places I didn’t want to go