Lace and Paint (True Colors Book 1)

by Ally Sky

  Should I come over and let you show me what you wanted to do to me yesterday?

  19:49

  I came home safely and I’m working insanely.

  Catching up on everything I didn’t do over the weekend.

  Not tonight, beautiful. You’re too much of a distraction.

  I read his message again. He’s telling me not to come. I want to see him so badly, and he’s busy. I can’t believe it, what happened to everything he said yesterday?

  19:51

  And if I promise not to distract you?

  I can be very quiet when I want to be

  19:52

  If you come you won’t be quiet, because I won’t let you

  And I really have to work.

  So dream about me, until the next time.

  Dream about him? Until the next time? He isn’t serious. I dream about him all day long and now this? He needs to work? This is how he wants to play the game?

  I turn up the music, put a clean canvas on the easel, and smear paint in frustration. I don’t understand this game, and I don’t understand the man. Familiar fears make their way to the surface. They are in the clenching of my stomach, and the mounting suffocation in my throat. I paint furiously.

  Sunday

  June 10th 2012

  Annoying Games

  Come over; don’t come over, I don’t know what he wants. My head is going crazy thinking about him. He’s playing a game, and I’m like a pawn on his Chess board. He moves me wherever he wants me, whenever he wants, and pushes me aside to wait for his next move, whenever he feels like it.

  Asshole—that’s what he is. And if I didn’t want him so much, I’d have dumped his ass ages ago.

  I’m such a wimp, waiting for him to want me, to change his mind. I’m willing to wait for him to gather me in his arms, to kiss me and whisper enticing words to me, to send flashes of lightning through my body.

  I’m so pathetic sometimes. I’m tired of being like that. I want him but he won’t let me come to him. He invents excuses. Asshole. And now I’m alone on the small sofa in the basement, writing and longing for him.

  I wake up in a shitty mood after tossing and turning all night long.

  I light a cigarette and take a sip of my coffee. It’s Monday morning. He’s probably on his way to the office already. I take my laptop out of my bag, ready to spill my anger onto the screen.

  The responses continue to flow in. Everyone has something to say to me. Leave him, get him. My heart clenches in terrible disappointment.

  A response from Vanessa Craig: Why are you allowing him to dictate the moves? Go to him, knock on his door, and don’t take no for an answer!

  She’s right. I want him. And I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll just knock on his fucking door until he lets me in.

  Ten p.m. I knock lightly twice on the familiar white door. I don’t care if he’s sleeping. My heart is racing, I didn’t ask him if I could come, I’m here whether he likes it or not.

  I hear the lock opening. My legs are shaking. He must know it’s me. Who else would come knocking on his door at this hour? The door opens. Ben stands there wearing a black tank top and sweatpants, a huge smile on his face.

  “I was wondering what you were up to,” he says quietly and I try to maintain a calm expression. “I haven’t heard from you all day long.”

  “I wasn’t going to give you the pleasure of saying no to me again,” I answer defensively.

  “I wouldn’t have told you not to come, beautiful.” He smiles, staring at me. I swallow. “Now enough with your dramas, I want you too much.”

  He opens the door wide, takes a step back, and looks at me with satisfaction.

  It’s obvious I’m his, even if I’m angry and hurt, especially when he says such things to me. I walk inside and put my bag down next to the door. He closes the door behind me, grabs my hand, and pulls me to him. He puts his hand in my hair, pulls it, kissing me demandingly. My tongue is in his mouth, I just want to taste him. He kisses me and puts his hands under my ass and I lift myself up, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. God, he smells so good…He carries me to the kitchen and the cold marble beneath me freezes my skin as he lays me down on the black island and stands between my legs.

  I pull up his tank top exposing his stomach and he takes it off, and throws it on the floor, continuing to kiss me, sucking and biting on my upper lip. His hand slides beneath my shirt and he grabs my breast, squeezing it while his other hand embraces me. With both hands, I frantically pull down his sweatpants. I just want him inside me…

  He continues kissing me as he yanks down my pants and panties. He removes them and brings his hands up to my thighs. I spread my legs open, ready for him, wrapping them around his waist. He lowers his briefs and enters me powerfully.

  That feeling…I’m addicted to the feeling of skin on skin.

  I moan loudly and my hands dig into his short, sweet-smelling hair. He kisses me and thrusts in and out, slamming into me each time.

  Don’t stop. I want you so much…

  His breathing is loud and quick, and he quickens the pace more and more, in and out, penetrating me with all his might and then he comes, groaning my name loudly.

  I hug him and let him rest on my chest, while his breathing gets calmer and calmer. He pulls out of me slowly, lifts his head, and looks at me.

  “I missed you…” he whispers, pressing our foreheads together. My heart is pounding and I’m trying to calm my breathing. He missed me. My heart floods with joy.

  “Me too…” I whisper, forgetting that yesterday I was offended, forgetting he didn’t want me to come over. Now I’m here, with him, and I never want to leave.

  I lie on my stomach in Ben’s large bed as I type on the computer.

  “I have to go for a run.” I turn my head, smiling, and see Ben standing there in shorts, a black tank top, and worn-out sneakers.

  “I thought you ran in the morning. And you need new running shoes.” I laugh slightly.

  “Whenever I get the chance. I didn’t run this morning. Are you staying?” He’s still smiling, and I hold my breath for a moment. I have no idea if he wants me to stay or if he’s dying for me to leave.

  “I don’t know…” I try not to mumble. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m going onto the patio for an hour, and if you’re still here when I get back, I’ll take you with me into the shower, soap you all over, and touch you like only I know how.” His voice is low and seductive and my heart misses a beat.

  “Why do you think only you know how to touch me?” My voice trembles.

  “I don’t think.” He leans forward, lies on top of me, and presses his body against my back. His mouth is by my ear and his breathing sends crazy chills between my legs. “I know. And now I’m going, before I decide to skip my run and fuck you like this, on your stomach.” My jaw drops.

  “As far as I’m concerned you can skip your run…” I moan, surrendering to the wet feeling between my legs. He arouses me by words alone. It’s totally crazy.

  “You’ll have to restrain yourself for a bit.” He leaps up quickly and adjusts himself in his pants. I turn to look at him with desire, and see his erection tenting his shorts, threatening to burst out. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  He hastily leaves the bedroom. I take a deep breath and flop down onto the pillow. God help me. A pity he didn’t stay, now I’ll have to find a distraction. I get up and decide to explore the bookshelf above his desk. I can’t stop smiling—Harry Potter books, all seven of them, worn out from hours of reading. It’s not what I would have expected from him, not that I know what to expect from this unpredictable man. I go through the rest of the books, and I notice a new guidebook, which hasn’t been used. A guidebook to India. My heart sinks.

  Jenny. She must have left it behind. I pull it off the shelf and a folded piece of white paper falls out. I pick it up and without thinking, open it up. A woman’s tiny handwriting in black in
k stares back at me.

  I’m not supposed to read it. It’s personal. But my curiosity gets the better of me, and I begin to read the letter.

  Baby,

  I don’t know what more to say. The last few months have been so complicated. And now this. We can’t make these kind of decisions right now. I know you think that we can overcome everything, and I know you mean it when you say you’ll stand by me no matter what. But I just can’t be a mother. Not yet, not like this, so unplanned. I can’t look at you when I tell you this and hurt you so badly. I know you think we’ll manage, but I don’t want to manage. I want us to be happy. And you’ve been so unhappy in the past few months. I can’t have the baby and I can’t stay with you, knowing what you think about the situation. I think we need to take a break, put some distance between us and think about what we want.

  I have to go. Please, try to understand me.

  I love you and will always love you as you love me. Don’t forget that, ever. Even if you can’t forgive me for what I’m about to do.

  Yours,

  Jen

  My head spins as I read those terrible words once again.

  I can’t have the baby…

  Oh god. She was pregnant. Jenny was pregnant. And he wanted the baby. And she had an abortion and ran off to India and left him heartbroken.

  I close the book, my hand shaking, and return it to the shelf. The white note is back inside, folded carefully, and I feel nauseous. I have a terrible urge to get dressed now. I feel uncomfortable sitting naked with all these thoughts running around in my head.

  I get dressed quickly and sit down at the edge of the bed. I can’t think clearly. I put my head down between my knees and run my shaking hands through my curls. I wasn’t supposed to know. I wasn’t supposed to see it. And now I’ve seen it and I know and I can’t say anything to him.

  …It really hurt him...and Ben was pretty crushed afterwards…

  John’s voice comes back to me from the park, echoing inside my head.

  The past few months have been complicated… I can’t be a mother...

  An awful pain overwhelms me, an ache for my green-eyed man. I can’t imagine what he went through, is it any wonder he’s afraid to get hurt? Is it any wonder he’s confusing me? He must be confused himself. I can’t stay here. When he comes back, he’ll take one look at my face and he’ll know something is wrong, and I don’t want to have to explain. I wasn’t supposed to see—and certainly not to read—that personal letter.

  I slip my feet into my flats, pack my computer, and leave the bedroom hurriedly, before Ben returns, before he sees me running out of his house. The terrible nausea doesn’t leave me. I can’t believe it. She was pregnant.

  Ben Storm: Beautiful, you disappeared without a word. I was already thinking about our shower together and of me being inside you…Hope everything’s is okay. Call me.

  Nothing is okay. I read the message Ben sent me on Facebook shortly after I ran from his house. I’m sitting in bed, my legs folded to my chest, and I’m trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

  What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to pretend nothing has happened?

  Tormenting thoughts overwhelm me.

  Ben’s not looking for anything serious… well, after what happened with Jenny…

  What have I gotten myself into? I fell in love with this man without knowing a thing about him, and now I do. He doesn’t want a girlfriend and I can’t blame him. Now he won’t let anyone get close. I don’t even know if I’m the only woman he’s with, he could be with other girls and I wouldn’t even know. I can’t say anything to him. I can only love him as I do and hope my love will be enough.

  In the morning, I operate on autopilot: shower, coffee, and cigarette. Phone call to Sarah. She sends me to a gallery close to Earl’s Court, not far from my house. I still haven’t answered Ben’s message from yesterday. What am I supposed to say to him? I found out the secret you never told me?

  I try to put it out of my mind as I wander through the gallery, pretending to laugh with the owners, but it’s all so forced, so fake. I feel my throat closing up.

  He wanted the baby. I don’t know what hurts me more—the fact he was almost a father to her baby, or that he wanted the baby and Jenny had an abortion and ran away.

  I find a chair under an umbrella in one of the cafés and order a cup of strong, hot coffee. I know when it’s a good time to replace my weak coffee with something stronger and today is definitely one of those days.

  Tuesday

  June 12th 2012

  Fracture

  Now I know. Now everything is clear. All the hesitation, all the running away. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s running from me or from himself. He almost had a child. He was ready, but she wasn’t. She ran off and left him to deal with what she had done. And he’s probably doing a shitty job dealing with it.

  Okay, relationships are complicated, but avoiding them is silly. And now I understand. At least, I think I understand. He’s simply afraid to get hurt, to fall apart. It probably wasn’t so great when it happened the last time. I know what it’s like to crash and burn. I know what it’s like to hit rock bottom. And now I’ve found out he also knows and has been there as well. God help him. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if my love will be enough to dress the wounds, which, without doubt, have not yet healed. I just want to hold him tight and stop the pain, but he doesn’t let me get close. He keeps me at a safe distance from his heart, from the fractures. Will he ever let me in? Will he ever open his heart again and dare? Am I willing to sit and wait for that moment to arrive?

  I’ll wait for him. I’ll wait for him as long as it takes. Because my heart is captive, addicted, yearning. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t imagine anyone else, ever. Only him, forever.

  I close my blog and my mobile beeps.

  He’s sent me another message. Fuck! What do I do?

  Ben Storm: Is everything okay? You haven’t answered me since you disappeared. I missed you this morning on the patio with your coffee and your cigarette and your taste…

  Why does he say those things? He says he doesn’t want anything more and that it is what it is, and then he sends me these messages, filled with longing. I can’t ignore him, but I can’t tell him what I found out.

  Talia Blum: Wandering around Earl’s Court, on your behalf. I miss your taste all the time, in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the evening…Sorry I disappeared yesterday. Something came up. We’ll speak tonight.

  I turn off my mobile, so he won’t start chatting with me. I still don’t know what to say to him. And I’m certainly not going to say anything through Facebook.

  I’m painting. Trying to pour the mess I have in my head onto the white canvas, smudging the paint with my fingers, knowing it’ll be almost impossible to get it all off afterwards. But I don’t care. I’ve been walking around dizzy and queasy since yesterday. I don’t hear the door opening or the footsteps coming down the stairs, but someone turns down the volume of the music. I turn around, startled, and bump into a pair of green eyes. My heart drops. What is he doing here? I’ve tried running, tried avoiding him, but he won’t let me. And now he’s standing in front of me, and the smile that was there a moment ago disappears when he sees the look on my face.

  “What’s going on?” I try smiling, but in vain. I bend down to close the paints, hoping this way I won’t have to look at him.

  “I don’t know. What is going on?” He sounds troubled. I stand up and he stares at me.

  “Nothing,” I lie with a straight face, but my heart is pounding. “I need to wash my hands.”

  I slip away to the small bathroom and open the tap. The last time we were here, he found out about the marks on my wrist, and he didn’t care. And now I understand why. Because he just doesn’t care about a thing. He’s hurting too much. I scrub my hands under the cold water and see Ben standing at the entrance, leaning on the doorpost, looking worried.

  “Talia,” he say
s quietly.

  “What?”

  “Who are you kidding? What’s going on?”

  “I told you, nothing.” I swallow hard and turn off the tap. Ben closes the door. Now he’s in the tiny cubicle with me, standing so close.

  “Romantic…” I raise an eyebrow and wipe my hands on the towel.

  “Don’t start with your cynicism now,” he grumbles. “Why aren’t you speaking to me?”

  Is he kidding me? I’m not speaking to him? He’s the one who hasn’t told me a thing. His last sentence makes me angry.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask vehemently. Why did he come here?

  My back is pressed against the sink, and he takes a step further into the tiny room, so that now he’s right beside me. Familiar feelings of temptation mix with anger, frustration, and hurt for my tormented man.

  “Talk to me…” He presses his forehead against mine and his breath fans my face. I know that if I don’t say something, in one minute he’ll touch me and take me to places the way only he can. And I don’t want that. Not now. Not after what I found out.

  “I know about Jenny.” The words fly out of my mouth. He straightens immediately and looks at me, alarmed.

  “What do you mean, you know about Jenny?” He can’t meet my eyes.

  “I know everything,” I say quietly. He takes a step back, and I take advantage of the distance to quickly open the bathroom door and slip into the basement. I go to the stereo and search for songs, looking for something to keep me busy.

  “What do you think you know?” I hear Ben’s troubled voice behind me.