A Portrait of Betrayal

That’s the thing about this city- I thought to myself as a metra flew past, whipping my hair in front of my face and stirring up the bottom of my new coat- the people who come in are not the same as the ones who come out. It changes people. 

Just like it changed him.

We moved into a small apartment with a view of Lake Michigan. Seventh floor. Room 368. 600 square feet. Quite nice, all things considered. 

We were so young- too young. And naive. But I didn’t care because I loved him. I loved who I thought he was. But he’s not like that anymore.

We met in college. I graduated from a high school in the suburbs- valedictorian. I had big dreams and what better place for dreams than the city of Chicago. I spotted him from across the room in our art class. He was good. Much better than I, which was rather discouraging considering how much I had risked in choosing to major in drawing and painting when I could have easily gotten into a program that would have provided me with opportunities for a more reliable career. I was fortunate enough to talk to him and he seemed to enjoy my company. We talked a lot. And then talking turned into dates. And then we graduated shortly before the four year anniversary of our first date. 

Things were going well and we moved in together- into that 600 square foot apartment. We were happy for the most part, and we love each other- I think. But we were even happier when he received the letter. About his internship- the one that he had a 4% chance of getting. It was a turning point for him, a real opportunity. Just not for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of him. But it closed a lot of doors for me. I had to stay back and watch him succeed and travel and meet new people and up-and-coming artists. I had to stay home most of the time. He often wasn’t offered the option of bringing a plus-one to any events.

Everything changed.

He became consumed by his work. 

I remember when he would come home and flop down on our bed without so much as a gruff hello. I remember all the times he blew me off when I wanted to have dinner with him or asked him to come to one of my new exhibitions. But I didn’t argue because some part of me still loved him. 

Or maybe I was just holding onto the hope that the person I used to love was still there. 

He didn’t compliment me anymore. He didn’t bring me flowers. Not that I expected him to I guess, but he gave me nothing- ever. He didn’t spend my birthday with me- he was in Montreal. I made him a pie for his birthday, but he didn’t come home until 3:00 am the next morning- completely and utterly wasted. 

The train stopped in front of me at the musty station with graffiti covering it’s near slimy looking off-white walls. I didn’t bother fully drawing myself out of my reminiscing as I boarded, my eyes still clouded over with the memories that faded in and out of my vision, blurring with reality. My wool trench coat weighed heavily upon my shoulders and my heavy rings clicking against the metal of the train interior, created just enough feeling for me to stay somewhat grounded in the present as my mind spun with the past. 

One day he came home, dropped his bags at the door and flopped onto the couch. I was also exhausted from a long day of doing our laundry, getting groceries, and attempting to apply for some possible opportunities online. I sat on the couch pressed up next to him, waiting for him to lean back into me like always. 

But he didn’t. And I broke. 

Right then and there, the tears stinging my dry skin as they flowed down my face. He looked at me in alarm but it was too late. He hadn’t asked what I wanted in a year. He hadn’t considered the possibility that I might have dreams too. He hadn’t thought about all that I had given up to make him happy. 

“I thought I could do this but I can’t!” I shouted as I leapt up from the sinking couch onto our patterned rug. I grasped desperately for better words, words to express what I truly meant. 

“I came here with hopes and dreams too you know! I came here because everyone always told me that Chicago is full of opportunities and it's a city filled with dreams but they were wrong! It’s where dreams go to die. It’s where you realize that no matter how much hard work you put in, someone’s always going to be better than you. And I tried and tried but everyone always picked you-” my voice broke and I struggled to find the next words. And then I watched as he got up from the couch and put his arms out. I thought he was going to hug me because God knew I needed it. But he didn’t. He opened his mouth instead.

“It’s not my fault that I found success and you didn’t!” 

“Maybe I would have found success if I wasn’t so worried about being there for you and picking a job that worked around your schedule!” He opened his mouth again but I continued.

“The person I used to love is gone. I don’t love who you are and I never will because you’re no longer the same person I fell in love with. You’re nothing but a selfish-”

He slapped me. Hard across the cheek. I instantly felt the blood rush to my face, my cheek stinging before I even had time to process what had happened. 

I pivoted and grabbed for my purse, my phone, my keys. 

“Elizabeth wait-” My eyes widened with fury, anger, and disgust and I turned to face him again.

“I don’t want to ever hear you say my name again!” I spat in his face before slipping on my shoes and slamming the door behind me. The door to room 368. The door that I would never open again because I didn’t want the rest of my stuff. 

Maybe his dreams were fulfilled. The internship was all he ever wanted, but at what cost?

Perhaps Chicago wasn’t where his dreams had gone to die, but rather, where his dreams had turned him into a monster. A silent tear slid down my cheek but I quickly wiped it away as I got off the train and my heels clacked with confidence. Things had been looking up since the sale of my recent painting: A Portrait of Betrayal. 

I have built my reputation enough that I was able to sell it for a large enough sum that I was able to pay off all my college debt and still have some left over for savings. 

I think you can guess which memory it features.