Let Me Be Your Truth

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘Like what?’ I asked, interested to hear his response.

  ‘You care deeply about people but to the detriment of yourself. You’ve always put others first. You don’t share your true thoughts and feelings. That’s the biggest fear behind the smile.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  He understood me.

  ‘Don't let the fear hold you back,' he said, staring, trying to catch my reaction. ‘You must have a lot of questions about your birth family.' He looked at me again. I saw it this time, bold and bright. Genuine concern. Genuine curiosity.

  ‘So many questions,' I nodded. ‘My mind wanders sometimes. I don't think you can help it. Take Christmas just gone; I found myself sitting at the table taking everything in, appreciating how lucky I've been but still wondering what they would all be doing at that exact moment. Would my birth mother be sharing a meal with her family, happy and surrounded by gifts and decorations, or would she be sitting by herself with no one to share the day with?' His head bowed as I carried on talking. ‘Sometimes I wonder if she's even still alive.'

  ‘If I’d been adopted, I would want to know everything about my birth family. It would be a need. Something I couldn’t switch off. It must be hard for your mind to rest knowing that there’s another life out there that you were once a part of but know nothing about.’ He held out his hand and spread his thumb and finger in front of the canvas, changing the angle, dipping his head and getting up close before selecting another shade of yellow, so much deeper and more vibrant than the last. I was beginning to feel conscious of the silence and wondered if I’d said something wrong or touched a raw nerve until he spoke again, bold and loud. ‘Did you ever experiment?’ he asked. ‘Like your parents? Did you ever wonder what it was like?’ I wondered if he let his questions get more daring the more he lost himself in the process.

  ‘I've never touched drugs if that's what you're asking.' I sat down on a stool at the side of the easel. Alcohol was as far as I went regarding experimenting, and I only got into that when I met Elle, Abi and Gem. Those girls knew how to drink. I, on the other hand, only really did it to fit in and make myself feel part of the group. Elle and Gem had known each other years, and Abi had already become a firm fixture. I was new to the friendship loop, and I wanted to be like them. Most of all, I wanted them to like me. I had never met women like them before. Abi was feisty and totally at ease with herself. She frightened me to begin with, and I found myself matching her level of swearing in the hope that she would find a kindred spirit. That wasn't me and she soon found me out. Elle was the voice of reason. Sensible and focused. Always there to provide a listening ear. Gem was as tough as nails but that hard exterior hid a heart beating so fast with so much promise and capacity to love that I wanted to be like her the most. ‘I guess I went the other way. I was too scared,' I continued.

  ‘I wasn't scared. I fucking embraced it.' His strokes were hard and intense. He seemed uncomfortable but at the same time, it didn't stop him from talking. ‘For me, drugs were normal. I didn't fear them because I'd grown up with them. My family led me to believe that life was better when you were high. I started when I was thirteen.'

  It was just a small breakthrough but I was grateful that he had finally started to offer me something more personal. It was only a glimpse but I’d take it. ‘That’s young. Really young,’ I replied, still hesitant to question further. He’d settled on the tightrope and I didn’t want to force him off.

  He had a brush between his teeth and he was alternating between the heavy palette knife and soft strokes of a thick brush. Everything was so dynamic and quick. I felt the sweet lull of relaxation start to send tiny prickles down my spine and across the back of my head the more I watched him. I held my hand there hoping to get control of the feelings I was beginning to like too much. ‘What made you give up?'

  His hand stilled and the tension returned to his shoulders. ‘I…overdosed,’ he replied, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. Once he cleared his throat, the bravado was back. ‘Almost didn’t make it. I ended up in rehab where they had an art therapy programme. I’d not painted in a while and I loved it. My recovery went from there.’

  My throat felt tight and I immediately settled my hand there. He watched it before skimming his gaze down my body. ‘I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you,’ I sighed. ‘I know a little bit about withdrawal—’

  ‘You don't,' he said, cutting me off. ‘You have no idea how hard it is, so don't try to tell me that you know. Don't bullshit me, Kate. Don't talk your social work bullshit. I thought we were past that.'

  ‘I'm not…' I was hurt that he was making assumptions again. ‘I have a small idea…'

  ‘You had a drug problem?’ he asked, disbelief threading through his voice.

  ‘Once.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘As a baby.’ A flash of understanding passed across his face.

  ‘You were addicted when you were born?' he asked as the penny dropped harshly. I nodded. ‘Fuck.'

  ‘I know it's not the same. I don't have any memories—’

  He dropped his head and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. ‘I made a judgment and shouldn’t have,’ he said. After a few seconds, he smiled cautiously and held the palette knife out in front of me. It was shaking slightly. I followed the shake from the tip of the knife up to the strong curve of his thumb. ‘Want to give it a try?’

  ‘Oh no, not when you’ve started. I could mess it up.’

  He jerked his head, telling me without words to come closer. ‘Just listen to your instincts. Show me what you’ve got,’ he said as I took the knife.

  We stayed silent as I started to add more colour. He didn't offer any tips or suggestions. He just watched as I let my instincts take over. He folded his arms and tipped his head to the side as if he finally appreciated my work. His eyes didn't leave my hands and I could feel his gaze burning across my skin. His presence was swarming around me like a storm just waiting to take hold.

  Oh God, what was happening to me?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Painting lessons with Danny were becoming a familiar weekly ritual. After a couple of weeks, he finally stopped asking if I wanted to stay behind after a Thursday art therapy session and just took it for granted that I wanted to stay. Because I did. More than anything. I was becoming a frequent visitor to the centre and would have stayed with him every evening if I could, but his work was starting to pick up and he never really knew what his schedule was going to be from one day to the next. It became a beautifully anxious game of wondering when I would see him again. When I spotted his bike in the car park or saw him standing in the art room head and shoulders above everyone else, I could finally settle down again.

  I drank every bit of him in. His artistry was breathtaking; everything he touched danced and swirled with vivid imagination. I wanted to steal a piece for myself and force-feed it into pieces of my artwork. I could feel his influence in everything I did. My strokes became larger. My colours became more defined and confident.

  I couldn’t seem to get enough.

  He was looking particularly gorgeous wearing a white T-shirt and dark denim jeans with his trademark rips and frays showing just a few hints of tanned skin underneath. His hair had grown longer and flopped down over his big brown eyes. He had taken to pushing it back with his fingers, and I couldn't take my eyes off him when he did. He would hold his fingers against his scalp, his hair still threaded through each one until the brown strands flopped adorably back down when he needed his hands to paint.

  He strolled confidently to the easel. He was always so in charge, so present and in the moment entirely. Maybe he was influenced by his previous lifestyle. Knowing that there were no guarantees in life when drugs and alcohol clouded your system obviously provided absolute clarity.

  ‘You said you’ve been clean for two years.’ I wanted to know more about him, so knowing he was starting to relax, I took my chance. Putting a paintbrush in his hand made the tension quickly flow aw
ay from the muscles in his back.

  ‘Two years, three months and thirteen days.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’ I glanced behind and found his eyes weren’t searching the painting as they were before; they were now searching me, across my body, down my legs and finally coming to rest on the curve of my behind. ‘You don’t drink or use drugs at all now?’ I asked, trying to ignore the heated look in his eyes.

  ‘I can’t. I had to cut them out completely. It made it easier if I just stayed away. I didn’t know when to stop.’

  ‘So you have your addictions controlled apart from one,' I said, trying to continue painting but finding it hard when I knew where I wanted this conversation to go.

  ‘What do you really want to ask, Kate?' His voice was low and thick. ‘Go on,' he goaded. ‘Ask me.' I shook my head, and he smiled. ‘All my addictions are controlled but sometimes I find it hard to reign in one.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘No matter how hard I try, I still crave sex. Drugs and alcohol don’t affect me as much now but I will always enjoy a quick, dirty fuck.’ He watched my reaction and smiled at my blushes before continuing. ‘I have a thing for women. Beautiful women, fascinating women, women who intrigue the fuck out of me, women who have major talent but don't have a clue how good they are. Women who wear skirts every day simply because I’ve asked them to.'

  I had no idea what to say. I struggled to find the words. I grasped for an appropriate comeback. Anything. ‘I like skirts. I always wear skirts. I wear skirts for me, not for a man. Certainly not for you as a man who…likes skirts.’ I looked up and met the smirk, looking away quickly to hide my embarrassment. His mouth crinkled with amusement and I heard the smile. I sighed in defeat. ‘I intrigue you even though I’m a nervous mess most of the time?’

  He ignored me.

  I knew I shouldn't have been going down this road, but every part of me was pushing us down there. I needed a reaction. I needed more.

  ‘Are you really addicted to sex?’ I asked. I heard him take a ragged breath as he stepped behind me. ‘Or did you just say that to shock the princess?’ His quiet laugh caught in his throat.

  ‘No, Kate, I didn’t say it to shock.’ He smirked. ‘I like to fuck. Gives me an even bigger high than drugs ever did.’

  ‘So you just sleep around? One night stands? That type of thing?’ I asked, my voice laced with arousal. There was something about this man that made my body want to dance. I was starting to crave the smallest touch even to the point where I fantasised about him dragging the tip of his thumb down my naked spine.

  Answer the question. Answer the question.

  ‘I fuck, Kate. I don't stay the night. I don't cuddle. I don't do lovey-dovey shit. I get what I need, and I go.'

  I cleared my throat. ‘Just come and go?’

  ‘Nice way of putting it,’ he laughed.

  ‘Better than saying I fuck and leave.’

  ‘Only when you say it,’ he winked. He only bloody winked.

  I needed to clench. This guy was a sex machine. He probably had when I fuck… tattooed directly underneath No mercy.

  ‘Don’t you ever feel the need for more…I don’t know…connection?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘I normally just take an opportunity when it's thrown at me, and that normally involves a hard surface and a woman who knows the deal,'

  I almost breathed out a deep groan.

  ‘I bet you’re all about the after sex cuddle,’ he joked. ‘Or a bit of spooning in the wet patch?’

  Chance would be a fine thing.

  ‘I do like a cuddle after sex.’

  ‘I’ll make a mental note,’ he smiled.

  Ignore him.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you because I want real love. The type of love that’s all wrapped up in epic proportions of romance and sexual chemistry and you can’t get enough of each other. I want full on kidney shivers.’

  What happened to ignoring him?

  He laughed and settled his gaze on my face. ‘Kidney shivers? I think you’ll find that you’re mixing up love with symptoms of an irritating infection.’

  I cocked my head and gave him a wobbly smile. ‘No, it means full on love with a capital L.'

  ‘Can’t do kidney shivers.’ He looked at me deeply, seeing through to what was underneath, his confident gaze never faltering. The way his eyes were bright and mischievous, I noticed the scar above his eyebrow. ‘But I can make you come so hard that your pussy will be pulsing for days.’

  His words were like a fire over my body, not flickering gently, but raging harshly. Everything he said and how he said it felt like he was calling me home, like a siren call but a hot, alpha male equivalent with a deep voice and tattoos. And an erection that was now poking into my stomach as tall and strong as the coral on the ocean floor. Jesus, what was happening to me? I was comparing him to sirens and coral rock. It must have been the artist in me. I'd never be able to let such a stellar erection rest without naming it and comparing it to nature.

  Reality crept back in before making its presence known by slamming itself into me.

  What was I doing?

  ‘I have a boyfriend. I’m not looking for anything. Not love. Not a fuck. Well, love I want. Desperately. I want it all. Fireworks, the lot.’ Nerves appeared to be in charge of my mouth. ‘No. Wait a minute. I have love. I’m happy. Sort of. I’m not looking for anyone else.’ I could still feel his erection straining against me. The heat of his fingers clasping onto my hips was making my skin vibrate.

  Oh God, I needed help.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything to make you shiver, princess.’

  ‘He’s not that type of man.’

  He practically choked on his laugh.

  I was now sitting on the table after making a half-hearted attempt to move away from his straining erection because I couldn’t trust myself not to reach out and touch it. I was now trapped between his legs and the need to touch it only increased in depth and size.

  ‘He’s not the type of man to give you kidney shivers or not the type of man to give you pussy shivers?’

  ‘Stop saying pussy,’ I breathed out on a shallow whisper.

  He moved forward and I felt his smile against my neck. ‘Is cunt better?’

  ‘No, that’s not helping me at all.’

  ‘Let me see what I do to you. Don’t fucking hide it from me.’

  ‘Oh, heck, stop.’ I pressed his head harder to my neck, betraying everything I was saying. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.

  ‘Oh really, you want me to stop? Then what is your hand doing holding me closer to you?’

  ‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘I’m seeing someone.’

  ‘That's a shame, princess,' he said, stepping back. I tried to look anywhere but at the prominent erection in my eye line. It was a challenge. ‘I'll just have to carry on thinking about your tight little cunt when I make myself come.' A juddering breath left my mouth before I even realised the noise belonged from somewhere deep and lost within me. I should have slapped him. I should have thrown him out, but he had made me so wet I was afraid to make any sudden movements.

  ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’ I whispered.

  ‘What shouldn't I say?' he asked, pulling me to stand. My hands found their way to his chest. ‘I shouldn't say that I want to fuck you so hard that I can guarantee your pussy will throb whenever you think about it, every day, for the rest of your fucking life?' His hand moved to my behind and settled just under the curve.

  ‘Oh God. No. You have to stop. This is too much. You can't say those things to someone. Not to me…not to someone…not to someone in a relationship.' I stuttered through my words and pushed him away. I wiped my hands on a discarded cloth before grabbing my coat and bag from the corner of the room. I was on automatic pilot. No rational thoughts came. All I was thinking about was how much I wanted him inside me.

  ‘If you're going to walk out of here, at
least leave with shaky legs and smelling of me. Inside, outside, every fucking where. Right here. Right now.’

  ‘Danny. Stop. I can’t. I don’t cheat.’

  ‘Let me fuck you, Kate. No strings. No questions.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?' Steve asked with a genuine look of bewilderment. He was shaking his head and his lips had curled up in the corner. It was like I'd just told him I was leaving everything behind, moving to Vancouver and opening a nudist hotel. No, the only piece of information I'd told him was that I wanted access to my social care records.

  I sighed, needing desperately to ignore his tone. ‘I want to find out more.’ I tried hard not to grimace as I took a sip of the mixed berry and spinach smoothie Steve had ordered for me before I’d made it to the restaurant. His favourite vegan restaurant. As if the night couldn’t get any better.

  ‘I just don't get it. Why would you want anything to do with your birth family? They're all drug addicts, aren't they?' I opened my mouth to speak, unsure of what to say without going down the road of calling him something awful. ‘Knowing you, you'd have them staying at the flat, and while you're sleeping, they'd clear you out.' He carried on eating until he poked his fork towards me. ‘You know, you're too nice for your own good.'

  ‘I’ve been told that before.’ By Danny. Sex on a stick. The finest specimen of manhood I'd ever seen, but it sounded so much sexier coming from him. ‘Steve…' I didn't know where to go next. I wanted to say, ‘Don’t you realise how that sounds?’ I wanted to scream, ‘You’re talking about my birth family! A part of me!’ But as I watched him stuff a forkful of roasted butternut squash into his mouth, I felt…nothing. Steve had already left my body, heart and soul. I seriously doubted he had ever even been there in the first place.