“What! Twenty bucks? I thought this place was free. I already paid for parking somewhere else because there was no more space here.”, Jacqueline said as she reached for the money in her name brand lilac purse with her skinny, pale-yellow hands. 

“Oh no ma’am, this place costs a lot of money to maintain. But at least you get to see Declan Mcdrew work. It’s free to enter that section of the museum today … you know … after paying the admission here.”, said a tall, round, museum staff worker. Jacqueline narrows her eyes.

“Hmm— Wait, who?” 

“Declan Mcdrew.” She puts her index finger on her lips, looking up. “I think I’ve heard that name before.” 

“Well yeah, he’s famous and is new on the scene. There’s his picture.” The staff points at a large, portable, metal framed sign with a headshot of a man with straight, short hair, slicked back, and in a tuxedo jacket with a white shirt. Jacqueline’s light brown eyes widen on her rectangular head as she looks at the photo. “He’s an art graduate who was struggling until he made his big break with one of his art pieces. That’s the one everyone wants to see. People would visit it, then go crazy and buy all of his other art. I even heard that people have gone bankrupt buying his work.”, said the staff. 

“I knew that name sounded familiar. I knew that guy!” The staff laughs. 

“There’s no way you knew him. He’s famous.” Jacqueline arches her eyebrow. 

“Yes, I do know him. We went to the same high school together.” 

“You! Pssh. Even if you did, you probably weren’t in his friend group.” 

“No, because he was a loser—” 

“Says the nobody.” The staff laughs harder. She scolds him. 

“I bet his painting is not that good.” The staff looks up, wiping the tear from his cheek. 

“I did take a glimpse at it. I personally think it’s mid. But he’s famous so there is something I’m not getting.” 

“Mmmh.” 

“Yeah, you should check out your best friend’s work.” She glares at him. “Have a nice day”, the staff giggled. She cuts her eyes and walks past.

Jacqueline walks into the nearly empty museum in her luxurious lilac shirt, custom made light blue, denim jeans, and black name brand flats. The warm, faint, but inviting smell of jasmine fills her pointed nose. She strokes her long, flowy, dark brown hair that contrasts with the pure white walls and floor of the long hallway containing different entrances ahead. 

“Who the hell does he think he is? He’s just a cashier. I should be laughing at him.” Her nose tilted up for a moment. “I have a higher job position. I’m a compliance manager. I have more value. And all this … Declan Mcdrew being a famous artist … I remember him from art class in high school. He was horrible at it. There’s no way he’s good now. It wouldn’t be fair. I was better than him. I should be the famous artist.” Jacqueline looks at the ground, off to the side. She plays with a short piece of hair near the side of her hairline with a melancholy look. “It has been years. But there’s no way he is more famous than me. What would that make me?” She twists her face. “He probably doesn’t make that much money anyways. Besides, being an artist is not a real job like a compliance manager. I spent years at school trying to get that position. He’s just someone who just happens to draw a picture after ….” She balls her fist. “The people who bought his work were probably his family. He probably has a big family and blows his fame out of proportion.” She relaxes her hands and face. She looks to the side. “Oh, there it is.” Jacqueline turns into an opening with the words, ‘Early Drawings and Prints from The 1800’s’ chiseled into a slightly elevated section of the wall, next to it.

Alone, she walks around, slowly analyzing the many works from various artists, grouped together by year and sitting in their own white tabletop display cases in a large room that’s glazed with a faint smell of sweet, earthy ambergris, and wax. She moves with the waltz music playing in the background. 

“Some of them are really … interesting looking. I would never have thought about drawing like that. Ooh, this one is actually good. Wow, even without all the modern tools these artists can really draw. I couldn’t draw that well when I could afford the good materials.” Jacqueline starts to fiddle with the same section of hair. “Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I don’t know if I can do any of these things.”.

Words from a group of people walking down the hall get caught in her ear. 

“I just can’t wait until I get paid. That’s all I’m saying.”, said a man wearing a button down, light blue shirt, and black pants.

“I know that, but I remember you hating his work.”, said a short man in a long black sleeve shirt, and acid washed jeans. 

“It’s different now. Ever since I saw this interactive piece … I-I understand it now. When I look at it, I feel safe. I need to have his work. It drives me crazy. You have to see it yourself”. A man with a brown turtleneck and glasses strokes his short beard with narrow eyes, looking off to the side. The three walk past the entrance. He looks at his friend.

“I really don’t get it. It’s weird that you’re all of a sudden obsessed with this guy’s work, even the pieces you hated …”. With her back towards them, Jacqueline’s head stays stationary as her eyes follow their voices. She whispers to herself.

“I can’t believe people are literally waiting until they’re paid to buy his work. It can’t be that good. I was better than him. They’re probably just buying his work out of pity. He did say he hated it after all. What a waste of money?”. She rolls her eyes and begins to walk into another section, the next entry way in the hall.

She continues to ponder as the chypre scent with a hint of oakmoss carves into her nose, and the sound of soft jazz lingers in her ears. 

“I wonder how much money he makes. Is it more than me? I doubt it. I have an important job, so I should be making more money than him. There’s no way.” She chuckles nervously. Jacqueline walks around the crowd-less room filled with the earliest Art Deco pieces from a variety of artists. “Oh! These pieces are filled with so much eccentricity.” She sighs. “I wish I could be artistic like these people. I won’t be seen as a weirdo if I do art exactly like them. But there’s no way I can do any of these. Look at this one!” Inches away, she looks at the white floral pattern on a black silk fabric. “How did they do it? I can never be that good.” She suddenly holds her head. “Argh! What am I talking about? This is the exact opposite reason for me to come here.” With one arm wrapped around her waist, she twirls a finger around a short section on her hair. A small piece breaks off. She continues to walk around, barely looking at the decorative art.

Her empty eyes suddenly set sight on the museum’s chief curator and director. 

“Whoa, they’re the boss here.” She shuffles closer, then giggles. “If I was in their inner circle, I’d be so famous and important. If I do this art thing, I could be even more famous than—” she frowns for a moment— “Declan Mcdrew. Even if it’s not good, I’ll be famous. Not to mention, I’m beautiful. Who can say no to me?” She smiles. “My therapist will be so proud. I will have a healthy outlet and fame. Everyone will love me. I just need to get closer.” Going back, she follows them into the ‘Early Photography from The 1830’s’ section.

She shoots through the faint, resinous, musky smell of amber, and listens in, over the contemporary folk songs. 

“He was so determined to get his art in here”, said the museum’s chief curator. The museum’s director raised his eyebrow with narrowed eyes and head tilted away from the curator. 

“Isn’t that every artist?” The chief curator raises her eyebrows. 

“Yes, but his determination is like none other. I fear he would hurt himself trying.”. The director chuckles. 

“Now that’s dedication.” 

“It was more like desperation.” 

“It looks like it’s worth it. His work seems to be the only reason why people come here.”, said the director with a cheesy smile. 

“Maybe you should have an area that only displays his work.”. 

“I just might. I already acquired twenty pieces costing over one-hundred fifty thousand dollars. I’ll feel so much safer. If I had more of his work …” Jacqueline stops following behind them and gawks. 

“One hundred and fifty K for twenty drawings! I could’ve made that much money as an artist? I could pay off most of my debt, and still afford to eat out. Frig that budgeting plan. I could draw way better than him. This is so unfair. That’s my money and fame.”

She quickly catches up to them, running past the scent of beeswax, rose, and olive oil. 

“What are you talking about?”, the chief curator asked. 

“The setting, the lighting, the sounds, the smells, it all compliments the painting. Have you basked in front of it?” 

“I did look at it for a minute or two, but not the whole fifteen minutes he recommended. The paint did make me feel something. It was strange. I couldn’t tell you if it was good or not. The picture itself is a looker. It has a … unique style.”

  “Well, when I look at its beauty, my emotions begin to stir. I become engulfed in the crevices of my mind.”, the director said, smiling blissfully.

“Huh?” 

“It-it makes me feel safe. Free from my worst fears.”.

The chief curator smirks. 

“You really love this interactive piece.” 

“More than anything. He is a great artist. He is a man that understands that art is a way of self-expression. To genuinely feel what was created on a canvas is almost rare nowadays.”

“I can concur—” 

“Good morning”, Jacqueline interjected as she appeared between them. “I overheard you talking about Declan Mcdrew.” 

“Yes we were.”, the director said. 

“Are you a fan of his?”, the museum’s chief curator asked. Jacqueline laughs. 

“God no!” The chief curator and director both arched their eyebrows. Jacqueline continues. “I knew him from high school. Back then, I was a better drawer than him.” 

“Really?”, the museum’s director said with both brows raised. He looks over at the chief curator. 

“Yes”, Jacqueline said with a smile. 

“Well perhaps you can show me some of your work?”, the chief curator said with her hands on her hips. 

“W-well I haven’t drawn anything in a while.” 

“So, what was the purpose of this conversation?”, the director asked with a stern face. 

“I just—” 

“She is one of those people who piggyback on others’ success”, the chief curator whispered. 

“No—”, Jacqueline shouted. The chief curator looks at her in shock. “I was just saying I knew him. And I was a way better drawer. If I drew right now, it would be the best thing you’ll ever see.” 

“What is your name?” the chief curator asked. She smiles. 

“Jacqueline Fox.” 

“I never heard Declan mention you before. Are you sure you knew him?”, the director asked with narrow eyes. 

“P-probably because we were never close. But I—” 

“That makes sense”, the chief curator mumbled. “Mh-hm, he is well known, and you’re … a nobody.”, she said as she looked into Jacqueline’s eyes. Jacqueline freezes. “When you do start … drawing, feel free to enter the local art fair. I may stop there in three months. Have a wonderful day.” the chief curator said with a strained smile. Both museum’s chief curator and director look at Jacqueline for a second, then leave in silence.

After a moment, Jacqueline blinks. She slowly turns red. She stomps the ground as her chest inflates with every breath. 

“There’s no way people like him more than me! I should be the famous one, I was better. Not to mention, I’m hot. He doesn’t deserve it. If I wasn’t pressured into becoming a manager, I would be more famous than him. I would’ve been more important. I am going to ruin him!”. Jacqueline marches to the nearest map, growling. “I could go through here instead. It’s quicker.”, she said, pointing at the digital indoor map. A group of artists loiter on the other side. She eavesdrops. 

“I did know the artist before he got famous, we used to hang out. I swear. He was struggling to sell his art for so long. Look at him now! He is an inspiration.”. 

“Speaking of inspiration, what was his inspiration?”, the other artist asked. 

“I’m not sure. He never talked too much about that.” 

“That’s unusual.” 

“The last time I saw him, he was obsessed with the subconscious mind and other psychological things.” The third artist interjects. 

“I have seen some of his work on his socials. It looked awful. It looked like no time was put into his latest pieces. There is no feeling other than laziness. A three year old could draw better than him. And all of his work cost over two K. You can not be serious. How come he has all this fame, for this garbage?”. The first artist responds.

“You have to have an eye for his work. I suggest you visit the famous interactive painting everyone is talking about.” 

“It’s going to be a waste of time.” 

“We have time to waste.”, said the second artist. 

“Ugh, it better be something.”. Jacqueline chuckles. 

“He seems to hate it too. Imagine becoming so famous that people hate you. He’s not as important as me”. She lowers her smile. “I wonder if I would’ve had the same opportunities if I took my art seriously.”

Jacqueline walks through the modern art section that’s filled with the complex scent of linseed oil and floral notes, with a woody undertone, but no people. She briskly walks through the instrumental pop music, barely looking at the vibrant art pieces that's on display. After a few minutes Jacqueline stops. 

“I wonder if I’m going the right way. I haven’t realized it before, but this place seems deserted. So, why are there so many cars outside?”. She continues to walk slowly, looking around. Eventually, she reaches a crowded area after several long minutes. “So this is where everyone is.” Jacqueline joins the large herd of people, funneling into a room with a red rope on one side of the long, decoration-less white hallway.

A person suddenly bumps into her. 

“Hey, watch it!”, Jacqueline shouted. 

“Oh. excuse me miss missy”, said an old woman with an attitude. “H-hey, I remember you. It’s me, Mrs. Kenson!”, the old lady said. Jacqueline turns to her. A big grin grows on her face. 

“You’re my old art teacher. I haven’t seen you in years. How have you been?” 

“I have been wonderful, my favorite student. I’m retired now. I’m just here to enjoy art instead of teaching it. How about you?”. Jacqueline fiddles with her hair and looks off to the side. 

“I’m doing okay. I’m a manager for a big company. I came here to …”, her eyes widen as she looks away for a bit. “Hm, I came to look for inspiration, and rekindle my passion for art. Apparently, it’s supposed to be a great outlet.” 

“Oh, it’s true. It can also boost one’s self esteem.” 

“Yeah”, Jacqueline murmured as she put her hand down while her face turned pink.

“So, I’m guessing you heard about Declan Mcdrew.”, Mrs. Kenson stated, looking ahead of the crowd. Jacqueline’s brows instantly draw inward. “I would’ve never thought he would make it this big as an artist. I expected this for you. But I guess life had other plans.” Jacqueline clenches her hands and jaw. “Is this your first time seeing it?” Jacqueline scrunches her red face. 

“Yes.” After a few moments of silently looking at Jacqueline, Mrs. Kenson speaks. 

“Do you still like art, Jacqueline?” Jacqueline relaxes and looks at her. 

“Well yeah. I was good at it.” 

“You’re not good at it anymore?”

“I haven’t painted or drew in a long while. I might not be good now.” 

“So, you come to look at art instead.”. 

“Yeah, for now. I came for some inspiration and figured out where to start again. Or maybe do something new like carpet design, or decorative vases. But all the other artists are so good. I don’t know if I can create masterpieces just like them.”. She looks down with a long face, playing with the same section of hair. 

“Did you forget all of my lessons?” Jacqueline looks at her. “Art is not as good if you’re just copying someone else. It’s not even your art. It’s just the artist impersonator’s copy. Your art will only become good if it truly comes from deep within. Created with your perspective, your emotions, your reality, your imagination. That’s what art is. Since you came back, there’s probably a burning desire in you that wants to express itself. Use that to create your version of art.” 

“I haven’t thought of that.”, Jacqueline said with a half-smile. Mrs. Kenson smiles back.

More people join the line. A woman with a red pencil skirt and black blouse, turns to Jacqueline. 

“Hey!” 

“Hi.”, Jacqueline responded after peaking at her. 

“Is this your first time here? I have never seen you before.”, said a woman in an orange, v-neck shirt and baggy, khaki cargo pants. Jacqueline looks side to side. 

“Yes? Is this members only, or something?” 

“No, it’s that everyone here has seen this painting like, at least five times a week. Eventually, you start to recognize faces, you know.”, the woman in the skirt said. Jacqueline sneers. 

“Why do you all come here so often?”, Mrs. Kenson asked. 

“To see it of course. We can’t afford his work, so we come here to feel safe.”, the woman in the orange shirt replied. “I heard that some people tried to plagiarize his work. But it doesn’t have the same feel as the authentic one. It’s just too good.” Jacqueline clenches her jaw as she thinks to herself. 

“Why does everyone like his painting? He was never a good artist. I even heard several people saying it’s bad. I should be the important one. I was better than him from way back then.” She aggressively takes out her nude, lipstick. Her eye suddenly meets the two women and Mrs. Kenson. “Uhh … I heard some people saying they hated his work.”, she said aloud with a smirk. The woman in the skirt replies.

“Everyone is different, not everyone will enjoy a single piece of art.” 

“That’s why art is supposed to be diverse. If someone doesn’t like an artist’s work, that artist either needs to practice more, or that artist’s work is not their preference.”, the woman in the orange shirt adds. Mrs. Kenson rests her wrinkled hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder. 

“You can’t please certain people in this world, Jacqueline. Not everyone will understand you, but that shouldn’t cause you to turn away from expressing yourself. Even if it seems like you’re the only one who likes your hard work. That’s just how the world is.” Jacqueline softens her grip. “That’s why he continues his art even if people hate it. That’s why he’s here as an artist.” Jacqueline turns around shrugging Mrs. Kenson off. 

“Yeah, okay.”, she said with an eye roll.

“He doesn’t deserve this. I should have this popularity.”, Jacqueline thought. She suddenly hears familiar voices. The group of artists from before, walks past them with messy clothes and bruises. 

“I see what you mean. You do need an eye for his work. It’s not that bad.” 

“I told you it was worth it, it’s beautiful.” 

“The name is so fitting. ‘Open your mind, let me in’.” 

“I know. I finally see how good he is. I might buy one of his pieces.” 

“Me too.” 

“Me three.” Jacqueline watches them, gasping. She fiddles with her hair, thinking to herself. 

“What if that loser is better than me? Look at all this fame. What do I have? Debt and a shrink.” Her breathing intensifies. “I’m not important. What’s the point? Forget this. Forget my sobriety. I need a drink.”

A deep voice speaks to her. 

“Stick this on your phone case. Do not put it over your camera.” She looks up from the floor. She finds herself in front of the security checkpoint. She sticks the barcode sticker on her phone. “Please look this way.” She looks into the circular camera on the white counter. They scan her barcode. “Please hand over your phone. You’ll get it back after the experience.” Suddenly, a few security guards throw out a few people with bruises on them. A security guard talks to them. 

“If you want to see more of his work, follow him on social media.” Jacqueline and Mrs. Kenson look at them with widened eyes and gaping mouths. The woman in the skirt and the woman in the orange shirt continue to chat away. Jacqueline turns to them, then at the people being thrown out. 

“Is that normal?”, she asked. 

“Yeah, this happens all the time. People would come to try to touch the painting, take a picture, or steal it.”, the woman in the skirt replied. She turns back to the woman in the orange shirt and continues their conversation. “As I was saying. What if a wicked person created something from their heart? Like portrayed their crimes.” 

“Why would you say that?”, Mrs. Kenson asked. The woman in the skirt turns to her. 

“I mean, she has a point. It’s possible. The world has wicked people. And anyone can be an artist.” The woman in the orange shirt giggles. 

“At least they’ll have an audience.” Mrs. Kenson glares at them. 

“These are things we shouldn’t talk about. Lock that thought in the back of your head.” The woman in the skirt smirks. 

“But the wicked people have hearts that can be expressed. It’s just blackened with evil.” 

“L.M.A.O.”. The woman in the orange shirt laughs.

Jacqueline looks ahead at the group of people staring at the painting with blank expression. All with tears pouring from their eyes, and some mumbling. 

“Look at them. They can’t stop watching. He is better. Everyone knows his name but not mine, even though I was better.”, She thought to herself. After fifteen minutes, the whole group was forced out. Some people fight the security, trying to get back in. A staff member with a megaphone sighs with his head tilted away from the chaos. 

Don’t forget, you can buy Declan Mcdrew’s other work online.” The wild humans stop and become nonchalant, then leave quickly after getting their phones.

The staff calls for Jacqueline’s group to come in. She looks around at everyone and the room. Slowly, everyone’s sight becomes ensnare onto the painting as they stand absolutely still.  Jacqueline glances at it for a moment. She pulls out her lipstick and shuffles forward. She eventually comes to a stand still. Her eyes lock onto it. The painting is a crack with different shades of black on the white canvas. A row of circular, dimmed light bulbs flicker every few seconds just above the painting. Jacqueline spots a black light blinking in fifteen second intervals. Some people began mumbling. Jacqueline starts to hyperventilate as her eyes dart around the increasingly cold room. 

“What’s happening? Is this what good art does to people?”.

Jacqueline eyes the painting. She then squints. 

“Are those words?”. As she reads, she hears the deep buzzing in the background. “The subconscious mind is hidden in the depth of our consciousness, along with our fears. Open your eyes. Let me in through the windows to your subconscious.” The font changes. “My greatest fear runs rampant in my thoughts. Consuming me. I will let them run wild as well as my guilty pleasures. They are free, like my subconsciousness. I will show no expression.” Jacqueline’s sight droops into the painting. “I guess the painting is not that bad. I can’t stop staring.”, she said as she started to smile. The painting seems to gradually get bigger, and everything around seems to turn dark. Jacqueline suddenly finds herself in a black room. “Where am I? I feel as if I’m not in my body. I feel … free.”.

She begins to walk. Out of nowhere, a cage falls on top of her. She runs to the bar, vigorously shaking it. Jacqueline screams and cries for help. Slowly, people start to appear. She asks them for help. The people look at her with twisted faces and grimaces. The people voice their opinions. 

“Don’t mind her, she’s irrelevant.” 

“Ugly!” 

“You’re not important.” People continue to walk pass, scorning her from the other side of the cage. Someone throws a rock at her head. She lets out a yelp. Jacqueline grasps her cranium. She looks at her blood-covered hands. She immediately holds her gushing wound. 

“Who did that?”, she whimpered. She hears laughter in the distance. Blood leaks down her face, onto the ground. Jacqueline cries for help with a broken voice. A person shaped shadow walks up to her cage and hits it with a stick. 

“Shut up, you’re not important. Look at me.” The shadow twirls around. Expensive brand clothes appear on its body. “I am better than you.” The shadow laughs. Jacqueline whispers to herself. 

“If I buy those things, I can be saved.”. The shadow bends down. 

“You have no money.” It laughs in her face then walks off. Jacqueline’s lips quiver.

Suddenly, the cage starts to shrink. She gasps. 

“I’m going to get squished!”. Jacqueline desperately screams for help. Her friends and family materialize around her, laughing. They begin to utter their thoughts. 

“Why are you looking at us? We wouldn’t waste time on you.” 

“She’s just a filthy animal.” 

“She’s so skinny.” 

“Yeah! She needs to eat.” 

“You look like a starving, hairless monkey.” 

“No, I’m not! I’m beautiful.”, Jacqueline said, as she sits in a puddle of her blood. 

“All uglies think they’re beautiful.”. The surrounding crowd laughs. 

“B-but I’m wearing name brand.”, Jacqueline said as she pulled on her shirt that’s identical to theirs. 

“So, you’re just a monkey with fancy lipstick.” 

“Here! Have something to eat!”. They all throw rotten food and scraps at her. 

“Why are y’all doing this to me?”, Jacqueline cried. She sees her parents in the background. They watch her for a moment then tilt their noses up and away from her. With tears in her eyes, she reaches for them through the slowly shrinking cage and rotten food gunk. “No! Wait, look, I’m someone important! I’m a manager. I’m sober now. I have nice things. I spent years in school to get a job you like. I work like a dog for this position, for you guys.” Out of nowhere, a pair of headlights quickly approach her with the sound of a blaring truck horn. After a brief moment of blinding light, expensive clothes rain down. Jacqueline groans as she raises her head from her bloodied, mangled body. Her parents walk pass again. Her mother looks at her. 

“Why are you following us? We don’t want to be associated with a hideous monkey. Leave us before we call animal control.”. Her brother walks up to them. Her dad turns to him. 

“Where were you?”

  “Nowhere important?”, the brother said.

“Come on son, we’ve wasted enough time here?”. Jacqueline screams for them to help her. Her brother turns to her. He reaches for her, then glances at their parents. He immediately puts his hands down. Jacqueline looks at her parents. 

“Why don’t you love me?”, she whimpered. They look back at her. 

“We never wanted a daughter. You’re nothing to us. You’ll never be.”, the mom said, staring into Jacqueline’s eyes.

In their reality, a tear falls from Jacqueline’s eyes. Other people around her start to cry, mumbling to themselves with blank expressions. 

“I don’t want to die alone.” 

“I wanted to be loved, not humiliated. Please, don’t do this to me.” 

“Get away from me! Leave me alone! Stop touching me!” 

“I don’t want to leave! I don’t know what’s out there.” 

“Spiders! I hate spiders! Oh God, I can’t escape them. Help!” 

“I will accomplish something eventually. I’m not a failure. Stop saying that!” 

“Someone please send a rescue team! I’m stuck in the middle of the ocean. I’m going to drown!” 

“I can fix this. It has to be perfect. Why can’t I get this right! It has to be perfect. It just has to.” 

“I don’t want my sick mother to die and leave me. She’s the only one who was there for me.” 

“I don’t want my children to see me as a failure. Please don’t do this.” 

“There’s so much more in this world to see, I don’t want to go yet.” 

“Get me out! I don’t want to be trapped here any longer. I can’t breathe.” 

“I don’t want to see them suffer anymore. Let my family go!” 

“Where’s everyone? Please, someone answer! Hello. Can anyone hear me? I don’t want to be alone!”

Back in Jacqueline’s mental world, she drags her mangled body onwards with a limp. She hears crying. Jacqueline looks down. A large wooden cargo box wrapped with heavy chains sits in front of her. 

“Someone please let us out!”, a voice cried. Jacqueline quickly removes the chains and opens it. She smiles and slowly turns the box on its side. A parade of liquor bottles dances out with their stick legs. They begin to talk to her from their opening on the top. 

“Thank you so much!” 

“She is so nice.” 

“And beautiful too.” 

“She could be more beautiful.” One of the bottles walks closer to her. “Just buy more expensive makeup.”, it said. 

“You’ll still be important, if you buy all the latest trends.” 

“You’re so relevant.”

“Buy more clothes, it will make you look better.” 

“You should get more friends.”. Gradually the alcoholic beverages proliferate in numbers. 

“Forget them honey. We’re the only love you need.” With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, she hugs the bottles.

“You can be even more important, you know. Just get rid of everyone who gets in your way.” Jacqueline’s lipstick from before materializes in her hand. She takes off the cover, revealing a blade. Suddenly, Declan Mcdrew appears with his back turned. She runs to him. 

“I will be more important!”, she shouted. Jacqueline then hears the voice of her therapist. 

“You only need to please yourself. You’re fine as you are. You’re doing great.” Jacqueline stops in her tracks. “What truly makes you happy, Jacquline?” Jacqueline looks at the blade for a moment. She then stabs the person, and smiles. Peeking down at her chest, she gasps. The tip of the blade pokes out of her upper thorax. She looks back at the body with the knife still held by her, in it. She slowly removes the blade from the body. She subsequently looks down as the blade in her slowly submerges under her bleeding wound. She looks back at the stabbed body. It falls, revealing a hollowed out carcass with no front. She gasps and steps back. The liquor bottles hold onto her leg and feet. She looks at them and then looks behind. She screams as she sets her sights on her missing, hollowed out back.

“Don’t leave us again”, the liquor bottles pleaded. 

“Yeah, don’t leave.” 

“We’re the only ones who love you.” 

“If you leave us, your life will be miserable again.” Jacqueline breaks free from their hold for a moment then trips. She shatters into pieces. Familiar faces from today and her parents point and laugh at her. Delcan comes by and sweeps her into a pile. She cries. 

“Stop! Stop it, it’s not fair. I have money. I can buy more stuff. I’m important.”. Her parents sneer. 

“Yeah right. You’re a broke drunk.”, her dad said. 

“You made me like this. It’s not fair.” They all take out mirrors of different shapes and sizes, showing her current state. She looks into them in silence for a moment. 

“I’m a disappointment.”, she whispered. Declan sweeps her away. He lifts up the wall of the black void, revealing a blacker void.

Back in their real world, the blinking light suddenly stops and blue lights appear. Everyone’s sights drift to the bottom of the painting with the sound of their moisten eyeballs moving in unison. They all mumble the hidden words. Back in Jacqueline’s mental world, a big head of her parents appears above her shattered pieces in the blacker void. They speak to her simultaneously. 

“You will love this painting and all of Declan Mcdrew’s other works with all your heart if you want all your fears to disappear. Do whatever it takes to be near his work.” Jacqueline’s body mends together. The painting appears in front of her. She goes to it. 

“I love it.”, she said with a strained smile. Jacqueline stares at it and speaks to herself. “I am now leaving my subconsciousness. I will love Declan Mcdrew art and be safe from all my troubles. I’m going back to reality, forgetting the words from this painting”. The room in their real world suddenly becomes warmer. 

Back in Jacqueline’s head, she glides her hand on the drawing. The world around her ripples into white. She turns and spots her parents smiling. She then finds herself surrounded with expensive material things. Her parents speak in unison. 

“You’re the most important person in the entire world.” She finds herself enclosed by a large crowd, wearing a crown. They all cheer for her. Jacqueline spins around, watching them with a toothy smile. Slowly the white sky becomes gray. She starts to notice two people standing out in the crowd. She stops spinning and looks at them. It’s herself and her therapist. She walks towards them. Her therapist and herself frown at her. The therapist speaks. 

“Spending money on your insecurities won’t make you happy, just everyone else.”.

Jacqueline suddenly snaps back into reality. She’s surrounded by people crying and fighting the security. More people slowly come to and add to the fuss. 

“I love it so much!” 

“I must have it!” 

“I need it, they’ll kill me if I don’t have his painting.” After fighting with the security, a few people on the floor cry and beg to touch the piece. The same staff from before speaks into his megaphone with the same blank expression.

“Don’t forget, you can buy Declan Mcdrew’s other work online.”. People stop and rush out of the room to get their phones. Jacqueline looks down at the lipstick in her hand. She glances at the name tag on the painting. Her grip tightens. Then it weakens. Suddenly, the security drags her out. She rapidly blinks her eyes. 

“I need it.”, she shouted. “No one will care about me. They will not care about me. I need to have his art so they’ll care.”. One of the securities looks down at her as he drags Jacqueline to get her phone. 

“You can purchase his art online.” Jacqueline quickly grabs her phone and leaves the area. She finds a quiet corner nearby. She looks at the blank screen with a toothy grin and wild eyes. Her breathing slows down then her smile drops. She looks at the bruise on her face on the phone’s inactive screen. She gently glides her hand on the darken swelling. A security officer finds her and tells her to leave.

Jackqueline quickly finds her way out of the museum as she searches for Declan Mcdrew’s online store. 

“This is it! All I have to do is pay. I’ll just use the last of my money in retirement. It’s worth it.” She submits her order. A person on his phone walks past. 

“This artist can’t be that good. I saw the art he’s selling. It looks like something only a blind person would buy.” Jacqueline’s eyes widened. “Wait! No!”. She looks at her phone. She holds her head. Quickly, she walks to her car. 

Jacqueline starts the engine. Immediately the gas gauge needle points at E. She unlocks her phone and looks at the purchase successful page. 

“No refund.”, she read. “Did this make me happy?” She drops her head onto the steering wheel. Tears drip off her nose. “That was stupid. Why did I do that? I want to forget this ever happened.” She gets an email notification from her bank. She cries even louder, holding her chest. “I can’t even afford a drink to numb this. My therapist was right. I waste my money to mask my insecurities. It doesn’t make me a better person. It just makes me broke.”.