"Cielo, hoy volví abrir la puerta del corazón."

SOFÍA REYES | LLEGASTE TÚ

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o c t a v i o

Four months and twenty-three days—that's how long it took me to master this goddamn lighting.

By the third month, I was fed up trying to figure out the physics of it and pretty much decided that I was tired of being blissfully sleep deprived.

I just hope it worked. It would be awkward if my four-month-old project failed in front of a hundred rich people and their expensive wine. Maybe a few more glasses and they wouldn't even know the difference between a good piece of work and a half-assed one.

Not that my work was half-assed. I stand by being a full-ass kinda man.

"Mano." Giaro Tiziani smacked my shoulder and shook me aggressively. "How are you feeling?" He rubbed the mustache that I always told him to shave. What woman wants to kiss a guy that has a squirrel on his face?

"Like I'm gonna shit myself," I admitted, threading my fingers together and rubbing the silver on my knuckle.

"Tranquila, tranquila. If you were shit this gallery wouldn't even have looked at your work in the first place," he said and grabbed a drink from a waiter's tray. Whiskey neat. "They would've tossed it out, like last time."

Tossed out was an exaggeration. Then again, everything with Giaro was an exaggeration. He was as Italian as it could get, but possibly a thousand times worse because not only did he pick up on the Spanish language, but he's been hanging out with an Argentine for the past decade.

It was me, I was the Argentine. And I take partial responsibility for his dramatics.

"We'll see about that," I mumbled, fidgeting with my hands and bouncing my foot on the ground.

Yet, here it was. The glass figure at the center, my first showcased artwork, spinning and roaring with belligerent color, and lights reflected off the audience's faces as they watched in awe.

It was nameless—as most of my artwork was. How could you possibly name a sculpture of an ageless human? With every turn, it intensified in kaleidoscopic patterns. Quarrels of thunder barreled through the speakers, after all, art was an experience not just a visual. My sculpture whirred faster and faster, building up in tension before it all went black.

When the gallery lights turned back on, the sculpture's glass exterior had cracked, revealing muted grey clay underneath.

Thank God it worked.

The statue represented a human reaching its prime years, its most chaotic years, but at some point in our lives we crack under the pressure of time. It was inescapable.

Awes littered the room before the gallery lights came on and applause ricocheted off the walls. I heaved a sigh, unable to wipe the smile off my face as I strode to the center of the circle.

I threaded my fingers together, my thumb rubbing the silver on my knuckle. A whiskey brown gaze met my eyes for a second from across the room. Quickly snapping them away, I returned my focus to the crowd analyzing my work.

I could ignore her for an eternity if I had to.

Once again, Giaro grabbed my shoulder with a deathly grip and pointed at a tall red-headed woman hovering my sculpture.

"You see that woman over there? Red. She's one of those big publicists from Grey & Reynolds—I overheard her talking about wanting to represent your work," Giaro said, and then shook me. "You gotta open yourself to these opportunities mano!"

"I don't know, man. You know those guys are huge rip-offs. Timadores (conmen), all of them," I scoffed and ordered a scotch on the rocks from the short dull-looking bartender.

"Octavio." That voice had rung plentiful of alarms in my head, one told me to run and another urged me to face her. When I turned to the source of the soft-spoken voice, a breath escaped my lips or I'd explode into fuming bits.

"That was amazing! Congratulations on your work," Mariana pulled her plump pink lips into a smile. She was far shorter than me, yet I hated to admit that even now—months after our horrendous breakup—she still wielded power over me. It wasn't because of her heart-shaped face, the chocolate waves of her newly trimmed hair, or the dark red dress that clung to her curvaceous figure. It was the manipulation, the deceit, the lies, the betrayal.

"Thank you," I uttered, and clenched my jaw as I attempted to refrain myself from rolling my eyes into another universe.

"How long did this one take you?" Mariana's fingers played with her dangly silver earrings.

"Four months," I replied curtly, hoping that if my answers were short enough, she'd get the memo and move on.

Mariana pursed her lips and nodded. A flash of realization overrides her features as she cast her eyes to the ground and sucked her teeth.

"Oh, well I see the inspiration," she released a dry laugh to which I held no reaction.

"It's probably not what you think," I deadpanned. "Not everything's about you. You know what?" I pretended to look around the room. "Actually," I continued. "Nothing here is about you."

Mariana's eyes drifted away. She had that same look six months ago — not an apologetic one, but embarrassment, and searching for an emotional escape.

"I know you don't want to, but I still wanna talk—"

"That's a spot-on prediction," I interrupted with a snicker. I breathed through my nose so all of that resentment I had built up over the past few months didn't spill over right then and there.

She huffed, scanning the room to check if anyone was overhearing our conversation.

"Octavio, how long are we going to do this? It's been six months, and I get that you want to ignore me, but you can't avoid me forever," she said, shaking and tilting her head.

"There is no we, and I don't need to talk to you so that you can quickly victimize yourself and pour all the blame on me," I lowered my voice, almost into a whisper as a group of people moved beside us.

"You're petty, you know that?" she spat with a glare.

A dry laughed tumbled from my mouth. "Of course I'm petty, and how could you fucking think that I'd be unbothered after what you did? I guess you were just too busy being between Sienna's legs to notice." I downed the rest of my drink and flashed my eyebrows up. "Thank you by the way, for ruining my night."

I placed my empty glass on a waiters tray and turned on my heel, walking in the direction of anything else. A sense of relief washed over me from escaping her suffocating grasp which was her presence. I licked my dry lips and tried to rid myself of such intrusive thoughts.

How could I purge the images of all the times she lied to me, used me, and humiliated me? It what world was I going to forget the things she didn't say. No apology, no closure.

My words fell to her deaf ears. But of course it did, since when would Mariana Parker prioritize anything or anyone above her own self-interest.

No goddamn way.

She was going to feel the same way she made me feel: one way or another. I would make sure if it.