Her blue eyes watched and waited, curious as to what I would decide.
Screw it.
The pad of my thumb gently tugged the fullness of her mouth away from the sharp edges of her teeth. Performing light swiping motions, I soothed until the quivering stopped. Once her mouth was calm and still, the pad of my thumb rested at the center for long moments until I reached up to palm the side of her head.
Ivory surrendered to the light pressure I applied, her body lowering into the pillow. Lying on her side, knees still pulled in, she focused her eyes on me, never once looking away.
The weight of her attention was heavy. It muffled everything else as if this fish had been tossed back into the sea. But instead of rushing away, she’d brought me along. The water swallowed both of us, muting anything and everything, making it feel as if we were the only fish in existence.
Unable to deny the urge, I stroked the side of her head then tugged the blanket up around her shoulders.
Preparing to crawl back to bed, I rotated. Small, cold fingers closed around my bicep, making me turn back.
Her eyes pleaded.
I was in no position to deny.
Scooting close, I leaned my weight into the side of the couch. The hand around my bicep extended for something her small arm wasn’t long enough to reach. I offered my hand, and she clasped on, tugging most of my arm into the cocoon of the blanket around her.
When our fingers linked intimately, her eyes drifted closed.
15
Ivory
* * *
The scent of coffee wafted into my dreams, promising something wonderful the minute I opened my eyes.
Imagine my surprise when I got a face full of nostrils.
“Agh!” I exclaimed, trying to move away. The weight lying across my body prevented the escape.
Snort, snort, snort. The dog’s heavy breathing puffed in my face, and along with his nostrils, I got a good view of his crooked teeth.
“Oh, ew,” I said, pushing away his snout.
His tail wagged, and it made me smile. The dog nudged my hand, and I scratched behind his ears, enjoying the softness of his fur.
Over his heavy breathing, the sounds of people moving around filtered in from what I assumed was the kitchen. I took a deep breath, wanting to appreciate the coffee scent that first enticed me to awake.
My nose wrinkled. It smelled burned.
“That’s not the coffee, right?” I asked Snort.
He sneezed.
“Good boy,” Earth said, appearing over the couch and praising his dog for blowing snot on me.
I snarled at Earth and patted the dog.
“Sun’s up.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the door.
“Guess that means your personality doesn’t improve with daylight.”
“Breakfast!” Beau yelled from the kitchen.
Snort leaped off me at the promise of food and tugged half the blanket with him. Air brushed over my legs, and I gasped, at first not remembering I had on shorts. Nearly rolling off the sofa, clutching the blanket, I tried to spread it over my bare legs.
Looking to where Fletch and Neo slept last night, I saw the mattress had already been put away.
How did I sleep through that?
Aware of the glare still being cast down at me, I sighed and sat up. Holding back a wince, I took stock of my body. I was sore in places I didn’t even know existed. I couldn’t tell if it was from what I went through yesterday or sleeping on this couch.
Probably both.
My neck was especially stiff, and when I reached around to rub it, breath hissed between my teeth as my hand closed over the bandaged cut.
Earth made a sound. Quickly, I glanced up to see if he’d noticed.
Oh, he had. Probably nothing got by this guy.
“I’ll change and go,” I said, my voice hoarse. My throat was sore.
He patted the top of the cushion, so I glanced over my shoulder.
“Breakfast,” he grumbled and then went toward the kitchen.
I blinked. Blinked again. Did he just invite me to eat breakfast?
Rubbing my eyes, I looked around as if I were seeing this place for the first time. The room was brighter now. The rain had finally stopped, so sun streamed in through the windows. The floors were scuffed, worn wood. The furniture was at a minimum, but the electronics around the room were all top-notch.
But what drew my eyes most, what I couldn’t believe I’d actually not even noticed last night, was the walls. The brick walls were filled with color.
Actually, graffiti.
It looked as though some deviant snuck in and splashed paint all over the loft walls. Some of it was completely abstract, large pieces of color and shapes that all fit together to create movement and shape. The colors were electric, loud, and at times chaotic. Then my eye moved farther down and stopped at a giant dinosaur wearing headphones and a backward hat commanding a turntable.
Random words floated around the room. The corner was painted to look like the room cracked open and different-colored skeletons peered out.
I’d never seen anything like it.
Untangling from the blanket, I wandered around the space, staring at it all again, knowing that even if I stared for an hour, there would be something new to find. As I looked, my heart rate actually elevated as though the passion the painter put on these walls had the palpable ability to inspire.
Pulling my eyes from the dinosaur, I turned.
My heart slowed. Everything in me focused on the new piece of art that covered the entire wall the door was located on.
The vibrant color was gone as if a moment of sorrow leached away everything, leaving only black and white. Melancholy swelled inside me so thick my chest turned tight and a lump formed in my throat.
Moving closer to the canvas, my steps were hushed just like my breathing.
I felt as though I stood in front of a vast ocean; that’s how greatly the sentiment in this piece moved me. That’s how thoroughly swallowed up I was.
The edge of the wall was a bright garden, blooming and promising. The vibrant color that was everywhere else in the room was here, but very quickly, it faded away, the garden turning dark and overgrown. Prickles of wickedness crawled over my arms, and I tried to rub away the chill. Closer to me, something burned, something I should recognize, but it was being eaten up by flames that felt hot despite their cool color.
The fire was violent and greedy, destroying the sad and depleted garden. As if this evil were so greedy it wanted even the things that had nothing to give.
Tears swam at the edge of my vision as I forced my eyes to turn away from the fire, away from the destruction, and toward the white feathers that were painted so realistically I felt as though I could reach out and take one. They floated down from the ceiling against a sky so dark there weren’t even any stars. The feathers trailed all the way past the frame of the apartment door, raining down to a portion of what they used to be.
A broken wing.
An angel wing lay torn in half, the feathers ruffled, the white turning gray. Or maybe, I thought, looking again, the wings were covered in ash from the fire blazing so close by.
The tears swimming in my eyes spilled over, trailing untouched paths down my cheeks. The center of my body tugged toward those feathers, toward the wings and that midnight sky. My stomach felt pained, and my fingers quivered.
It felt as though I’d floated close enough to finally touch, but when I did, something stopped me.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t bother to hide my tears when I turned to Neo. Like magnets, our stares attracted, the pull so strong I wouldn’t have been able to move away.
For a moment, the emotions inside me, the emotions reaching out from this wall enclosed us like we weren’t viewing this art. We were living it.
His fingers tightened on my wrist, an anchor in this strange reality.
“What are you doing?” he repeated.
“
This painting,” I said, finally able to break the spell cast over us. Pulling free, I backed up so I could look again. “I didn’t notice it last night.” Gesturing to all of them, I added, “Any of these.”
“You were distracted.”
“They’re incredible.”
His surprise was so pungent it was jarring. It was enough to pull my sight away from the art and focus on him. Dark hair was tousled, the shadow on his jaw shaved away. Paint splattered his jeans and speckled the shoulder of the black T-shirt he wore.
I’d just thought he was dirty last night; I hadn’t realized the dirt was paint.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Did you…?” I gestured around the room. “Is this your art?”
“You’re surprised?”
“Well, yes.” Realizing how rude that came out, I quickly said, “No, I…” My voice trailed away, and I gazed at him for help, hoping he would fill in the sentence.
He didn’t. He stared arrogantly, watching me fumble.
I didn’t know what to say. I was caught off guard, turned emotional by paint on brick walls. But it was more than that. Placing my palm against my chest, I rubbed. “I can feel it,” I whispered, gazing back at the feathers. “This isn’t just a painting. It’s emotion.”
The arrogance was gone from his face when I glanced back. Prickles of awareness and excitement skittered along my spine. Intensity radiated from the endless depths of his obscure stare. How eyes so dark could blaze with light was a mystery to me.
Without thinking, I rubbed at my chest again. The pressure there was stronger than before.
I didn’t know how much time passed or how long I was lost and found in Neo’s infinite stare, but coming back from that place he’d taken me was startling.
His hand was so warm it almost felt scalding when it wrapped around my forearm. “Breakfast,” he insisted, tugging me along.
“But I was still looking—” I protested, trying to turn back to the painting.
“That’s enough.” His words rang with finality.
Maybe I was still spellbound by the art and its creator. Maybe his touch muted my desire to talk back. Maybe my body wanted coffee more than an argument.
Regardless, I surrendered to his demand.
16
Neo
* * *
She felt my artwork.
I felt her.
It had been easy enough to ignore until the lights went out. Until I crawled across the apartment floor to make sure she wasn’t afraid. Her hand was so small when it beckoned me to stay.
Her trembling stopped.
She fell asleep.
And I sat there with nothing left to distract me from the way she made me feel. When the sun came up and life restarted, I thought perhaps I could go back to ignoring it.
I couldn’t. Not when I saw her reaching out toward the painting as if she’d finally found a missing piece of her soul. A piece I created. A piece she seemed to need.
My mind reminded me I didn’t need this. There was no room in my life. My heart whispered something else entirely.
“Sit.” My voice was gruff, but I didn’t bother to correct it. She made me feel entirely off balance, so she deserved to feel that way too.
Ivory hopped from foot to foot, staring at the chair I pushed her toward, and I wondered what made her hesitate. I wondered what this place looked like through her eyes. I couldn’t imagine because honestly, wherever she came from was probably somewhere I’d never been.
“Do you drink coffee?” I asked.
Her little sniff was followed by, “Are there people who don’t?”
I made a sound.
“Where’s the espresso machine? I can make it myself.”
The fork Fletch was holding clattered against his plate. Earth turned from the stove, and Beau poked his head up from rummaging in the fridge.
She blinked. “Why are you all staring?” She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt she wore. My shirt.
Earth tossed the spatula down, abandoning the eggs he was scrambling. Coffee sloshed around in a half-empty pot when he grabbed it out of the machine. The sound of the liquid pouring into a mug filled the space, as did the sound of the ceramic plunking down on the wooden tabletop in front of her. “Drink it or don’t.”
Ivory leaned over the cup, sniffing.
Beau left the fridge door hanging open and carried a bottle of creamer over to set it next to Ivory’s cup. “You don’t seem like the type to drink it black.”
“I’m not a psychopath,” she told him.
All of us suppressed a snicker, and Earth made a rude sound.
Ivory pointed to his back, which was turned away, and we nodded. Understanding lit up her face. “That explains a lot.”
“Real men don’t need creamer,” Earth announced like he knew exactly the conversation we all had behind his back.
Sitting at the table, Fletch paused in reaching for the creamer. His lower lip stuck out in a pout.
“Except for you, kid,” Earth announced, again not even having to turn around.
Fletcher was pacified, smiling while adding more creamer to his cup than he had coffee. He held the bottle out to Ivory. “Here you go.”
Wrinkling her nose, she took it and glanced down. “Do you have organic heavy cream?”
“That tastes like vanilla!” Fletch declared.
“Carbs and sugar.” She corrected him.
“I like it,” Fletch told her.
Beau grabbed the bottle from her and added some to her cup. “Try it.”
Ivory was skeptical, but when Beau stirred it, then lifted the cup for her, she relented. She was definitely a snob, but she was polite.
“Thank you.” Her prim voice was quite the contrast to this shabby mismatched kitchen and the clothes swallowing her body.
We all watched curiously as she sipped the coffee, waiting for even the smallest of reactions. After her second sip, she noticed the three of us staring.
“Well?” Fletch asked excitedly.
“Not bad.”
“Sit, sit!” Fletcher insisted, pointing to a chair beside him, not the one I’d pushed her toward. Ivory sat, and Beau pulled up his chair to the opposite side so she was sandwiched between the two.
A plate hit the center of the table, making what was already sitting there rattle.
Fletch and Beau attacked the platter of scrambled eggs and bacon with their usual gusto, reaching across each other, arguing over who got the best piece of bacon, and threatening bodily harm.
Just a typical morning.
Blue eyes wide, Ivory sat back while they clambered around her, clutching the mug like a shield and watched them.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, grabbing a cup.
Beau and Fletch stopped what they were doing and turned to her.
Her smile was weak. “Don’t mind me,” she told them, lifting the mug to her lips. Lips that were still rosy red. I’d never seen anyone with that natural shade before. “I’m good with this.”
They went back to being savages, and I poured some coffee for myself.
Turning from the stove, Earth dropped a plate in front of her. “Eat.”
Her eyes rounded anew. “That’s for me?”
Everyone stared in shock, Fletcher with bacon hanging from his lips.
“If you don’t eat, you’ll just pass out again and use it as another excuse to park it on my couch,” Earth announced.
Life resumed around the table. I grabbed some food and sat down.
Despite the plate in front of her, Ivory remained pressed into the back of her seat, grasping the mug. A shiver shook her slight frame, and I squinted. Her arms and legs were covered with goose bumps.
Abandoning my food, I went into the living room and grabbed a few items, carrying them back to the kitchen. Without a word, I took her mug, giving it to Beau to hold. “Here,” I said, thrusting out one of my flannels.
She practically grimaced at the red fabric. “I don’t usually wear plaid.
”
“It’s better than being cold,” I barked.
She pushed her arms in, and I tugged it around her body. Next, I draped a blanket over her lap.
Her soft thank-you made me embarrassed, so I hurried back to my seat and avoided looking at her.
We all ate in silence. Well, except for the sound of Snort breathing under the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ivory slip a piece of bacon off her plate and under the table to the bulldog.
When she reached for another, Earth’s voice was like a whip. “Do not feed the dog bacon.”
“But he’s hungry,” Ivory protested.
“He has food.”
“He told me he wanted bacon.”
Earth dropped his fork. “You talk to dogs now?”
“No. I just listen.”
“Well, stop listening to Snort.”
“Whose mug is this?” she asked a minute later.
I couldn’t help but grin at the chipped mug featuring a giant green Care Bear on the front.
Beau laughed. Fletcher groaned. Even Earth, who was sitting there shoveling eggs into his mouth, cracked a smile.
“Not one of these mugs matches.” Ivory went on when we all just laughed and said nothing. “So they must be specific for each of you, right?”
“All right, princess. Enlighten us.” I encouraged.
“Earth has a black mug because it clearly matches his soul.”
Earth glowered, which just made her point more valid.
“Beau’s mug has an emoji smiley face on it because he’s the friendliest.”
“Hey!” Fletch took offense.
Ivory glanced at him, pointing out, “You got me arrested.”
“On accident!”
“Actions are still actions!” she retorted, turning away.
Fletcher rubbed his head, frowning.
“Your mug has smudges all over it because you never wash your hands after you paint,” she told me.
My mug was definitely splattered with paint.
“Your mug, though,” she said, looking at Fletch, “all white…”
Ivory White : A House of Misfits Standalone Page 8
