Kaleidoscope Hearts

by Claire Contreras

  “Okay. Look at each other again,” Mia says. “Same pose and hold it.”

  His hand goes back to my hair, mine goes back over my boobs, and we look into each other’s eyes again.

  “I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he whispers against my lips.

  “Don’t,” I say in a breath. “That’s a rule.”

  “I don’t like rules.”

  “Oliver, please don’t.”

  “I love it when you call me Oliver,” he says, his bottom lip settling between both of mine. He doesn’t move though, just stakes out there until I have to close my mouth over his lips. Then he groans and moves his mouth against mine, and before I know what’s happening, I’m on my back, and he’s on top of me deepening the kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen. But when his tongue touches mine, and his fingers thread into my hair, I can’t help but reciprocate, and we end up in a tangled mess of sheets and tongues and rough hands down my sides, and mine down his toned back. It isn’t until we hear a loud cough that we snap and tear away from each other.

  “Well . . . that was . . .” Mia says, fanning her face with her hand. “I can honestly say that I’ve seen a lot of shit happen in shoots, and that was by far the hottest. Okay, lovelies, we’re all done here. Go get dressed. Elle, we need to talk.”

  Oliver pushes himself off me and brings me up with him. We’re both still catching our breaths from the kiss, but now that the lights are on again and the moment is broken, I feel the weight of what just went down, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. Instead, I look around, trying to locate my robe, which I wrap around myself as I stand up. Heading to the bathroom, I refuse to turn and look at him. This is what we do, anyway. We have our moments and then nothing. And this wasn’t even supposed to be a moment, so I have nobody to blame but myself for the way my heart feels like it’s going to break at any moment.

  In the bathroom, I look in the mirror and bring my hand to my lips. Why does he make me feel this way every time? I close my eyes, think of Wyatt and his lips . . . his touch . . . and I feel guilty for having this moment with a man he would never approve of. Not that Wyatt knew Oliver, but he knew of him. He got an earful from me about Oliver when we first met, and after that, he just never liked him. He was furious when he found out I extended an invitation to the grand opening of the gallery to him, because he said Oliver didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as me. He said that I was too good for somebody like him. At the time, I believed it. I believed it because when we want to believe something, that’s what we do. Wyatt loved me despite my brokenness. I loved him because of his. But now I’m back at square one, and I can’t figure out if there’s anything really left of me to love.

  I WALK OUT of the bathroom and find Mia and Oliver engrossed in a quiet conversation. From the look on her face, I know she’s telling him to stay away from me, as if I’m some damsel in distress who can’t fend for herself. When they hear me approach, they stop talking and turn their attention back to the camera in her hand.

  “The pictures look incredible,” she gushes, turning it so I can see the little screen.

  “Wow. I can’t even believe it’s us. We look so . . .” My eyes snap up to Oliver, who’s staring at me with a look I want to get lost in forever. I look away quickly, back down at the rest of the pictures.

  “Won’t this be bad for you?” I ask, looking at him again. “I mean, for work. For your residency or future work.”

  He shrugs and looks at the pictures. “I want copies.”

  “For what?” I ask a little too defensively.

  “Your faces aren’t going to show all that much,” Mia says, interrupting us. “Trust me, when I’m done editing these, you’re both going to want to frame them.”

  “What magazine did you say this was for?” I ask.

  “V!”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe, looking at Oliver, who looks impressed.

  “I know. I’m so excited!”

  “Yeah. Exciting. I feel like I might throw up,” I say quietly.

  “Why? They’re beautiful pictures.”

  “Yeah, but I’m posing half naked with Victor’s best friend!”

  “And?” she says.

  I look at her like she’s crazy and turn my attention to Oliver, who’s looking the other way now. Of course, he hadn’t thought of that.

  “When does this come out?” I ask.

  “In . . . a month? Right before Thanksgiving.”

  I nod. I guess if I tell my parents and Victor about this before they have a chance to see it, it won’t be so bad. Victor will definitely need time to process it.

  “Okay. What else do you need?”

  Mia looks at Oliver. “I need to talk to Elle. I can take her home if you want.”

  He looks at me, scratching the back of his neck. I shrug, he shrugs back and then says, “Sure,” before giving us each a kiss on the cheek and leaving.

  That’s when I start to feel murderous. How can he just leave?

  “Can you believe this shit?” I say after he’s out of earshot. “We just did all of that.” I signal to the bed. “And he still leaves in the middle of what was supposed to be our date, right after my brother and these pictures being viewed by the public is brought up. I don’t even know why I bother.”

  Mia rolls her eyes. “You know exactly why you bother. He’s like your drug. No matter how far you go or what crazy measures you take to stay away from him, you always end up back where you started.”

  “Not this time,” I say with finality. “Nothing has really happened this time.”

  Mia laughs. “Elle, what I just saw, I mean, what I just captured, says otherwise,” she says waving her camera around. “You can’t make this shit up.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You said you needed to move on.”

  “Yeah, but not with him. You said so yourself, it’s a bad idea.”

  “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s not a bad idea.”

  “Oh, really?” I roll my eyes. “You got all that from a few pictures?”

  “No. I got all that from talking to him. I think he’s grown up.”

  I wave frantically in the direction of the door. “He just left! Again!”

  Mia shrugs. “Yeah, because I asked him to. Do you feel guilty for entertaining the idea of hooking up with someone?”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s just him I’m afraid of.”

  Mia leans forward and gives me a hug. “Love is supposed to be scary.”

  “Love is supposed to be comfortable,” I reply.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Wyatt was comfortable.”

  “Wyatt didn’t make you go on tantrums and break your brand new Isaac Mizrahi Target plates because he didn’t call, or go into seclusion for weeks on end when you heard he was going to be living four hours away.”

  I drop my arms and stare at her, feeling like she just said the most significant thing in the world.

  “Do you think it’s possible to have different kinds of love?”

  “You mean like head over heels in love and then just in love?” she asks.

  I shrug, following her out the door. “Yeah, like soul mate love as opposed to just regular love.”

  “Soul mate love?” she asks, laughing. “As far as I’m concerned, the only soul mate I have is you. And maybe Robert, since he’s my twin, and you know how we twins are.”

  “I don’t think . . . I mean, I don’t want to think that I didn’t love Wyatt with everything I had. That makes me feel so bad, you know? He died so young, and to think I wasn’t the love of his life makes me sad.”

  “Oh, honey,” Mia says, pulling me to her as we walk side-by-side to her car. “You loved him so much, though. You gave up so much for him, Elle. Dance, your friends, time you used to spend with your family . . .”

  “Yeah, but he gave me a lot too. The studio . . . he taught me how to hone my craft . . . and he left me his house.”

  “I’m not saying
he wasn’t a good guy for you, but was he your forever guy? You know I can’t agree to that.”

  We drive in silence, only singing along to her Taylor Swift CD when a song we both like comes on. When we get to my brother’s house, I’m a little sad that Oliver’s car isn’t there. He really ran off. Again. Unbelievable.

  It isn’t until after I shower and climb in bed, that I decide that I can’t leave it alone. Not this time. I send him a text message and look at my phone until he responds.

  I can’t believe you left.

  Mia said you needed to talk. I would have stayed if you wanted me to.

  I wanted you to.

  Why?

  I stare at the phone as if it’s going to explain why men are so stupid, and when it doesn’t, I decide that I can’t give him an answer either. I toss it on the nightstand and pull the covers over my head. The sun is just going down, so it’s still early, but I feel drained. I sleep until something wakes me . . . a whisper on my face . . . the caress of a hand on my head. My eyes pop open, and I push myself to sit quickly.

  “It’s just me.”

  I gasp and look at Oliver beside me.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, looking from him to my slightly open door. “Where’s Vic?”

  He shrugs a shoulder and puts a finger over my lips to silence me. “He passed out already. Can I stay?”

  I frown. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

  “You’re not in it.”

  I push aside the way my heart is thundering inside me. “I’ve never even seen your bed.”

  “Would you like to?” he asks, dropping his voice.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what, lovely Elle?” he asks, trying to smother a smile.

  “Like you want to swallow me whole.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you, that maybe I do?” He moves closer, and I hold my breath. “But no funny business tonight. I promise. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a Boy Scout.”

  He grins. “Okay, but I promise I won’t try anything. I just want to be with you tonight.”

  “The last time you said that—”

  “I was an idiot.”

  I close my eyes. “What about my brother?”

  “What about him?”

  “What if he comes up here and catches you?”

  Oliver’s hand grabs my waist, and he pulls me to him so that we’re nose to nose. “What would you want me to do if he does?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, my breath catching at the dark look in his eyes.

  “Do you want me to tell him that you’re all I think about?” he asks, matching my whisper.

  I shake my head, and our noses kiss. I’m not ready for Victor to know about whatever this is yet.

  “Tell me why you wanted me to stay.”

  “Because we weren’t done with our friend date.”

  Oliver chuckles. “That friend date had me going home and taking the longest shower of my life.”

  “I took one too,” I say in a whisper, my cheeks burning as I look at him through my lashes. His face turns completely serious, and he groans.

  “God, Elle, why’d you have to say that to me?”

  I laugh. “Say what? That I touched myself thinking about you?”

  His eyes hood a little. “If you want me to keep my word, you need to stop talking about that.”

  “Okay.” I grin and turn around so that my back is on his chest. He snuggles me close, creating a nook for my body. “Tell me a story,” I say, yawning.

  “About what?” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on my head.

  “Anything. Like the ones you used to tell me when we were young.”

  “Okay.” He pauses and holds me tighter. “Once upon a time, there was this little girl named Cassia. She used to walk around talking to herself.”

  I nudge him. “To the plants, not herself.”

  He laughs. “Oh, that’s right. She used to talk to the plants. One day this little boy named Jeter asked her—”

  “Jeter?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. “Like the baseball player?”

  Oliver laughs and shakes his head, snuggling into me. “I forgot how many interruptions these stories lead to,” he says against my neck.

  “Well, you’re always talking about how weird I am, but listen to your stories.”

  His sigh sends a shiver down my body. “Okay, let’s move on to joke time then.”

  I groan. “I hate your jokes.”

  “You’re not supposed to tell me that!” he scoffs as his hands trail down my body. “What are you wearing anyway?”

  My eyes snap open, and I’m glad we’re cloaked in darkness. “It’s one of Wyatt’s shirts,” I whisper.

  Oliver’s hands stop moving over my stomach. “Did you keep a lot of his things?”

  I turn around in his arms and prop my elbow up on the pillow. He does the same. “Only his shirts. I gave his parents back his pictures and a couple of other things I didn’t want. But I can’t seem to get rid of the shirts.”

  “Is it because you miss him?” he asks.

  “Is it bad that I was wondering the same thing the other day? That all these questions are suddenly popping up in my head?”

  Oliver brushes my face with the back of his hand. “Like what?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course. I want to know everything you want to tell me.”

  I stay silent a moment longer, and once again wonder why he really took Marlon’s spot in the photo shoot. Maybe he was just protecting me from a creeper, and it wasn’t really his way of marking his territory. This is Oliver, after all. He doesn’t really mark territory; he just goes over it on a bulldozer and leaves before he can even notice the damage.

  “Okay. Well, when he first died, I felt like I couldn’t breathe—especially at night when I was alone—but as time went on, it got better . . .”

  “And now?”

  “And now sometimes I don’t miss him at all,” I whisper. I feel ungrateful . . . un-loyal. Like it’s a disgrace for thinking it, let alone voicing it aloud, especially to Oliver. I turn back around and settle into Oliver’s warmth again.

  “It’s okay for you to find happiness after him. You know that, right?” he says, his voice on my neck again.

  I swallow. “I guess so. Sometimes I feel guilty about it though. We lived together. We were engaged. It was a big commitment.”

  Oliver stays quiet for a long time before speaking up. “For a long time, I couldn’t imagine myself ever getting married. It’s no secret that I’ve always had an aversion to commitment,” he says quietly. “Unless you count school and work—those things I can commit to—but women . . . growing up, I never found one I wanted to commit to.” He whispers the last part, and my heart lodges in my throat before he continues. “Except this one girl. She always looked at me like I was somebody, even though I wasn’t. And of course, my luck would have it that the one person I feel like I can actually commit to is the one person I can’t have. I tried so hard to stay away from her.” He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “I kept reminding myself what would happen if my best friend were to find out about my feelings. I kept them to myself for so long, even after the girl asked me to kiss her. And after I asked the girl to let me kiss her. And after she let me touch her in the bathroom of a party. And after she touched me in a stranger’s bedroom.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell her how you felt?” I whisper. He tucks his face into my neck, and I close my eyes when I feel his breath on me.

  “Because I was an idiot.”

  “Hey, Oliver?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think I can sleep with your shirt tonight?” I whisper.

  If possible, he squeezes me tighter and buries his head further into me. I’m about to take the words back and say I was just kidding or something, when he pulls his arms away and sits up. I follow his movement and watch through the darkness as he pulls his shirt over h
is head. I do the same, slowly pulling mine over my head and tossing it to the furthest corner of the room, by the closet.

  “Hey, Oliver,” I whisper again.

  “Yes, Elle?” he whispers back. I can make out the way his chest rises and falls, but not much else, so I inch closer.

  “I want you to touch me.” I screw my eyes shut. Not because I’m shy by any means, but because I haven’t had this in so long. So, so long. And I’m scared at what his reaction will be. Worse, I’m scared of what mine will be if he gives in.

  He throws his head back and exhales. Just when I think he’s going to tell me he can’t, or that my brother will wake up at any moment, or that he needs to go, his hands reach out and graze my arms.

  “Only if you want to,” I add when his hands stop moving.

  His deep chuckle vibrates the bed. “Only if I want to,” he repeats, leaning closer, his hands splaying over my ribcage on either side. “God, Estelle, you don’t know how bad I want to.”

  Pushing my body forward, I brace myself on his shoulders. His thumbs brush just under my breasts, so I lean in a little more, hoping he gets the hint. His laugh lets me know he totally gets the hint and is purposely ignoring it.

  “Bean, please,” I whisper-pant as my hands grip him tighter.

  “Bean isn’t in right now,” he whispers, dipping his head and plucking tender kisses from my neck to my clavicle, over my shoulder and back in.

  “Oliver, please,” I say, throwing my head back when his lips reach the hollow of my throat.

  “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me where you want me to touch you,” he murmurs against me in a voice that sets me on fire.

  “Everywhere. Just . . . anywhere.”

  His hands finally move up so that his thumbs brush over my nipples slowly, causing a shiver of pleasure to rock through me.

  “More,” I say, pulling him down on the bed so I can straddle his legs. I rock against him as I bring my lips to his. He groans against my mouth, plunging his tongue into it and exploring like a starved man looking for his next meal. The pressure on his hands doesn’t increase though. He just continues to softly explore my body as if I’m made of glass. His fingers feather up and down my sides, over my breasts, along my neck, down my stomach, and stop right above the elastic of my panties.