The Half That You See by Rebecca Rowland (best summer reads .TXT) 📕

and books. Not a single person seemed to notice me that day. I’m fairly certain it’s because the owner had forgotten about me. I was always his least favorite. Usually, he covers me up with a large darkening blanket before anyone comes, but today, he forgot, leaving my golden frame out just long enough for a simmer of gold to catch your eye. You pushed your way past the statues and knick-knacks and uncovered my sheet.

There, you became fascinated by me, ignoring your friend as she called your name. I saw a spark in you, the way your fingers traced the outside of the frame, the look you had when you saw my deep red hair. How fast you picked me up and brought me to the store owner. The kind old man greeted you before looking down at your potential purchase, his eyes filling with horror and disgust. His brows furrowed, and his old, wrinkled eyes darted back and forth between me and you, trying to comprehend why you picked me out of the thousands of much prettier paintings. The question danced on his lips before he let out a sigh.

The old man was exhausted and I could tell he just wanted me gone, so he gave you a fairly cheap price, maybe underselling the value I was worth. Amanda helped you take me back to your apartment, keeping her annoyance at your impulsive purchase hidden. You didn’t thank her after she hung me up in the living room. She waited for those two words like a starved puppy waiting for food, but you were so enraptured by my portrait that you never heard her start to leave; she was hesitant but not willing to stand the awkwardness of just standing there while you ignored her. She left the apartment as if to give a newlywed couple privacy. I could sense jealousy coming from her; a silly notion, really: I would have rather her stay and pry you away.

There you were, admiring my hair. It was a shade of red you couldn’t quite place. You spent that night trying to find it in one of your art books. You saw every shade of red but not one of them came close to the color of my hair. I watched you as you tirelessly tried to find the name before passing out on your couch.

Even when you attempted to sleep, you tossed and turned, waking once in a while only to fall back into the couch. I wondered what you were dreaming about? What haunted you that night? I might have an idea of what that was, but I don’t think it matters now.

The first couple weeks we settled into a routine. You wouldn’t leave without a loving glance at me, examining every feature of my white face, from the blue of my eyes to the blush of my cheeks and the red of my lips. You would begin to spend more and more time just looking at me. Entranced would be an understatement for how you studied my portrait, searching my frame and looking longingly at my face. No one else ever looked at me the way you did.

It disgusted me.

Unnerving, your friend Austin called me. You kicked him out after that. A powerful and dangerous aura, another friend, Matilda, warned you. You threatened her and she left crying. They called to try and speak with you, but you never answered. Eventually, you silenced your phone and locked the door, telling me about how your friends just didn’t seem to understand me, how they didn’t see the beauty that I was. Only you did: only you saw my worth and value and no one else deserved to look upon me. You pulled up a chair and sat there, looking at me, every so often telling me how perfect I was, over and over, with little variation like a skipping vinyl disk forgotten on a record player.

I was actually relieved when Amanda came to get you. She managed to pick the lock and open the door, despite her eyes puffy from tears and face flushed a familiar shade of red. I was especially impressed when she picked you up by the collar to yell at you, to snap you out of my gaze. You gave her nothing and weakly pushed her back.

What started as scolding turned into fighting. The two of you screaming at each other, calling each other vile things. Amanda was a smart girl, but she thought you wouldn’t fight back when she grabbed my frame and ripped me from the wall.

You retaliated, attempting to tackle her. She was a fighter. She punched you in the face and you went down hard, so frail at that point that I thought you were going to break into pieces like glass thrown to the floor. Yet as soon as you hit the ground, you were up again and grabbed me. She pulled against you as she yelled about your obsession. You claimed to not know what she was yelling about. What an awful liar you were.

You said it yourself, you needed me. You needed me. If I could laugh, I would do so, right in your face. There would be no pleasure greater than watching you crumble right then. Instead, I felt the two of you pull and pull me until you pulled me back as far as your weak arms could go and smashed the edge of my frame into her face, shattering her glasses and creating a large gash between the temples of her forehead.

Blood trickled down her face as she staggered back out the door. Anything she wanted to say was lost at the sight of you inspecting me, making sure nothing was broken or torn. You picked me up gently as Amanda stumbled down the stairs. You closed the door to your apartment as she reached the bottom steps. You locked the door permanently when she fell to the floor.

You ignored the sirens and the ringing