Spring Sunshine After Leaving

At a college reunion, my boyfriend, Rhys, called me a worthless idiot in front of all our friends. My best friend, Zoe, couldn't take it anymore and pulled me aside.

Look, Ava, she said, her voice low and urgent, Everyone in our friend group, since we were kids, has thought Rhys treats you like crap. Why are you still so desperate to cling to him?

Huh? Is that really how they all saw us?

A torrent of comments flooded my mind, a phantom stream only I could see.

Don't listen to them, Ava! He's just all bark and no bite. He's totally, completely in love with you!

Classic tsundere. He'll regret losing his temper in a second, but he's too proud to apologize. He's probably curled up in a corner somewhere, hating himself right now.

Zoe pressed on, her words tumbling out in a rush. "He painted a portrait for that protge he's known for three months. He takes shots for her at parties. He even knows her damn period schedule, the difference between daytime and overnight pads..."

Her eyes locked on mine. "And you? You drove thirty miles through a storm to get him the wrong kind of paintbrush, and this is how he treats you?"

In that moment, I finally ignored the screen.

And I was certain. Rhys didn't love me.

Returning home, I found Rhys waiting, his eyes red-rimmed. The moment I walked in, he hurled the paintbrush at my face, his voice a raw mix of anger and hurt.

"Are you blind? You can't even tell the difference between a long-handled and a short-handled brush? Are you good for anything besides causing trouble?"

He spat the words out. "You're pathetic, Ava."

The hard edge of the brush split the skin on my forehead. A drop of blood trickled down, and when I touched it, my hand came away stained crimson.

Rhys froze. He let out a sharp, cold huff and turned away, his back rigid as he fumbled through the medicine cabinet.

Watching his frantic movements, my heart gave a familiar, foolish flutter.

Aww, he's definitely panicking inside. The genius of the art world, helpless against his clumsy girl. I'm shipping this so hard.

See? He was mad, but the second he saw her hurt, he softened. Its so cute.

But the fragile moment was shattered by the ringing of his phone.

It was his protge, Faye. He dropped the first-aid kit without a second thought and grabbed his paint case.

"Don't worry, I'm bringing the pigments over right now," he said into the phone, his voice suddenly gentle. "You'll definitely make it for the competition tomorrow."

Before leaving, he tossed a cup of instant noodles onto the counter without looking at me. "Here. Eat this and go to bed. Don't wait up."

I stared down at the cup. The noodles were a swollen, sticky mess, a few sad, rehydrated carrot bits dotting the congealed surface.

I hadn't eaten all day, my stomach aching with hunger after the long drive to that century-old art supply store thirty miles away, but the sight of the noodles turned it.

"I'm not hungry. You should go."

Rhyss brow furrowed into a deep line. His voice rose, sharp with frustration. "Now you're playing the victim? Ava, are you a child? Can't you just make my life easy for once?"

I can't with this heroine. She's supposed to be the one saving him, but all she does is create drama. Does she have any idea what's actually important?

Seriously. Thank God he's patient enough to deal with her tantrums. This is getting painful to watch.

I ignored the swirling text.

I watched him smooth down his clothes and hurry out the door, his figure shrinking into a small black dot before disappearing at the end of the street.

On the easel was an unfinished painting.

I used to be the subject. But with Faye's birthday approaching, he had hastily painted her over my half-finished form.

The cut on my forehead throbbed.

But I didn't bother to clean it. I let the blood blur my vision, and then I picked up the brush Id driven thirty miles for.

And snapped it in two.

Rhys was never one for words.

But the comments told me it was a form of deep, repressed love, and that I was his only salvation.

It started in our first art class together. He glanced at the clouds Id painted and scoffed.

"That's hideous. It looks like a caterpillar."

I was about to snap back when the comments erupted.

Thats our male lead! A born critic, even as a kid, hahaha.

He's just got a sharp tongue and a soft heart. He fell for her at first sight, you know. He's dying to grab the brush and teach her himself.

I blinked, then glanced over at Rhys. He was peeking at me from the corner of his eye. I pouted.

"I just don't have as many supplies as you."

His handsome brows knitted together in a show of impatience. He shoved his palette of expensive paints toward me.

"Take them all. It'll still be ugly."

His harsh, moody behavior continued for years, and for years, it grated on me. Until I was sixteen.

I was walking home alone when a stalker lunged from the shadows, his hand clamping over my mouth.

I thrashed wildly, but my limbs grew heavy, useless. I felt the rough tear of fabric as he ripped at my dress.

Just before I blacked out, I saw a figure fly past. It was Rhys.

He threw himself at the attacker. I was safe. When I woke up, I was in a hospital, and he was in the bed next to me. Hed been stabbed in the stomach and had two broken ribs, the bandages stark white against his skin.

But his first thought was of me.

I started to panic, but he cut me off, his face a blank mask.

"Don't get all sappy. I was just passing by." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And you should think about why you were targeted. Always trying to look pretty. Maybe now you've learned your lesson."

His words were so ugly they stung more than any wound. I froze, a hot prickling behind my eyes. I looked down at myself.

It was my birthday, and my mom had bought me a new floral dress. The teachers had even given me permission to wear it instead of my uniform.

Was that my fault, too?

The comments rushed to his defense.

He only followed her home because he heard there'd been trouble in the neighborhood lately. He was secretly protecting her.

Totally! He was so jealous earlier when he saw the other guys telling her how pretty her dress was.

He's the strong, silent type who shows his love through actions, not words. I'm crying. When will she finally open her eyes and see how much he adores her!

I looked up, but all I saw was his averted gaze.

And the terrible wounds covering his body.

From that day on, I set aside my resentment. I started searching for his love in the spaces between the lines of the comments.

And occasionally, I thought I caught a glimpse of it.

It felt natural when I started to fall for him, and just as natural when we got together.

But Rhys was, without a doubt, a genius.

He was a once-in-a-generation painter. Geniuses speak to geniuses, and I was just ordinary.

Then he met Faye, his new protge, and the delicate balance of our relationship shattered.

When inspiration struck, he no longer shared it with me first; hed rush off to find her.

When his depressive episodes hit, he'd smash his canvases rather than let me into his studio, yet he made an exception for her, letting her sit with him, comfort him.

When he won an award, he would embrace her first, then toss the trophy into my arms like an afterthought.

I complained, countless times, but the comments always insisted he only saw her as a kindred spirit. A rare connection between two artists, a meeting of the minds.

I wanted to scream, to demand, "What does she have that I don't?"

But that would be undignified. Humiliating.

So I struggled, and I swallowed it all, trying to accommodate his moods, his closed-off nature, his rage.

But this time, I was just so tired.

Staring at the two halves of the broken paintbrush, a symbol of a past we could never return to, I picked up my phone and began to type a text.

One text. I wrote it, deleted it, and wrote it again. My fingertips trembled, and I realized my eyes were burning.

Just as I was about to hit send, a call came through. It was Rhys.

"Ava," he said. "It's raining."

He's not talking about the weather, he's offering an olive branch! Clumsy girl, you have to see it!

Oh my god, for someone with his issues, this is a huge step. Hes really trying, I'm gonna cry.

The comments seemed to think it was an honor for him to even ask me to run an errand for him.

In the past, no matter how late, how tired, or how far, I would have dropped everything to go get him.

But not this time.

"It's not that bad," I said, my voice flat. "I'm tired tonight. I don't feel like picking you up. You can get upstairs on your own."

A few minutes later, I heard a key in the lock.

"Don't just stand there." Rhys was half-shielding Faye with his body, carefully dabbing the rain from her hair with his sleeve. "Go get a hairdryer. Got no common sense?"

Faye tugged on his shirt and offered me a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry, Ava. Rhys is just blunt, he doesn't mean it. You don't have to trouble yourself, really, I'm fine."

She continued, her voice sweet and gentle. "We were at the studio so late, and my place is too far to get to before the competition tomorrow. I hope it's okay if I crash here tonight. I heard you hadn't eaten, so I brought you some sushi. I hope you don't mind."

I forced a tight smile and held up a hand.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

The bento box suddenly clattered to the floor, spilling sushi across the wood. It was a chaotic, sticky mess.

"Ava, have you had enough?" Rhyss eyes went cold as he grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin. "Faye was being nice. What the hell is your problem?"

Faye's eyes welled with tears as she whispered, "Rhys, it was my fault, I dropped it..." But her voice was thick with a theatrical sob, as if she were the one deeply wronged.

Rhyss anger flared. He shook my arm off, sending me stumbling backward. I coughed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Rhys. We've been together for seven years. Don't you remember what I'm allergic to?"

He flinched, but his gaze only hardened. He kicked the crushed sushi, sending a piece skidding across the floor to my feet.

"You're just being dramatic, Ava. No princess is born with a princess complex like yours. When you're hungry, you eat what you can get. You're just looking for a fight."

The sushi didn't hurt when it hit my shoe, but I couldn't stop the tears that threatened to fall.

Hes dying of guilt right now. He was worried she wouldn't like the instant noodles, so he specifically asked Faye to bring her dinner, and this is the thanks he gets.

This redemption-arc heroine is just an entitled brat. A good partner would be supportive. I feel so bad for him.

He's not good with words, he's always been like this! Can't she stop pushing him?

The comments were a blur of accusations.

Ignoring them, I used the sofa to pull myself up and silently started packing a suitcase.

Rhyss fists clenched. He took two steps toward me, but stopped short when Faye let out a small gasp.

"Rhys! Your paintbrush... it's broken. I thought... I thought I was going to get my portrait as a birthday present..."

Rhyss gaze darkened. He lunged forward and seized my shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully. He backed me against the wall.

"Ava, what is this supposed to mean?"

"There are seventy-nine paintings of you in my studio. Seventy-nine! Why did you have to destroy this one? The one for her birthday? Were you trying to humiliate her?"

"First, you buy the wrong brush on purpose, and now you break it. You're suffocating me, Ava."

My hands stilled. I lifted my head and met his furious eyes.

"Is that who you think I am? Sensitive, fragile... petty?"

Rhyss lips formed a tight line. His eyes flickered away for a second, and he took a quick step back, creating distance between us.

His gaze fell on the first-aid kit on the floor. He hesitated, almost moving toward it.

He's so sweet. Even in a fight, he's still worried about her cut.

His voice is cracking. He regrets what he said. I feel like he's about to shatter. Can't she just hug him? Give in a little?

But I couldn't understand it anymore. And I didn't want to.

I quietly zipped up my suitcase. "Rhys, let's break up."

The air in the room went still.

Rhyss back stiffened. He turned his head slowly, his expression one of disbelief. "...What did you say?"

A flicker of triumph crossed Fayes face before she hid behind him, her voice a fragile whisper.

"Was it me? Am I making you angry by staying here? I'll leave right now, I won't be a bother, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be scared. You're staying. This has nothing to do with you," Rhys said, his hand automatically going to her hair to soothe her.

Then his face hardened as he turned back to me, his voice low and dangerous.

"Ava, you know I don't like jokes. And I hate it when people use 'breaking up' as a threat. If you walk out that door, there's no coming back for us."

My nails dug into my palms. I nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over me.

"Okay. This is it, then."

Rhyss pupils constricted, his shoulders trembling slightly. "Then you'd better have some pride. Get out. And don't come crawling back when you're lost in the middle of the night, begging me to pick you up."

The comments went into a frenzy.

This is killing me. Stop saying the opposite of what you mean! You're begging her to stay!

Hello? A difficult person needs a partner who won't be pushed away. This is all Ava's fault for not being the 'little sun' she's supposed to be.

Their accusations felt like a physical weight, pressing down on me.

But I still didn't understand. How could love be this cold? This volatile? How could it be built on insults and disdain?

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, pulled open the door, and shut it firmly behind me, leaving Rhys on the other side.

I can't take it anymore. What kind of redemption-arc heroine is this? She's dancing on his grave.

Right? She knows all his triggers and pokes them just to hurt him. What's the difference between her and some shrew from the market? Can we tell the writers to replace her with Faye?

I second that. Faye is sweet, obedient, and she actually understands him. They're soulmates.

I ignored their condemnation.

Dragging my suitcase, I walked down flight after flight of stairs, and finally stepped out into the pouring rain.