Beauty in the Ashes

by Micalea Smeltzer

  He shrugged, my words having done nothing to faze him. “Why don’t I give you an art lesson?”

  I gaped. I hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Uh…”

  “Oh, come on, Sutton,” he chuckled, “it’s just a little paint.”

  I finally shrugged. “Okay, why not.” The worst that could happen was he’d be turned off by my lack of artistic ability. Over my shoulder, I called, “Brutus, behave.”

  Caelan’s laughter filled the hallway. “Do you always talk to your cat?”

  Tilting my head I gave him a significant look as I shut the door. “At least he doesn’t sass me.”

  I was surprised when a snort escaped him at my words. Unlocking his apartment, he waved me inside. “So, basically, you’re saying that your cat is better than me.”

  “Yep. Buuut,” I sing-songed, “he also tries to climb curtains and kill himself, so…” I trailed off.

  “Who’s a bigger pain?” He asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Who’s a bigger pain?” He repeated. “Me or the cat.”

  “You. Definitely you,” I replied, spinning through his apartment.

  It was a lot cleaner now than the first time I saw it. Either he was drinking less or he was picking up the bottles. I wished he was drinking less, but I knew in my heart that he wasn’t. There was no changing someone like Caelan. They had to make the decision to save themselves.

  It did appear that he wasn’t relying on drugs as much. At least not the heavy stuff. The other day when I’d been in his apartment, I’d discovered a needle in the trashcan, but I didn’t mention it. Some things were better left unsaid. And there were still small tiny pin sized pricks in his veins, but not as many. That was a start, right? Or was I trying to delude myself into believing something that wasn’t true?

  “So…what am I painting?” I asked as he set up a blank canvas on the easel.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to you to figure out.”

  “What if I want to paint a giant blob?” I tilted my head as he grabbed a stool and pulled it up the easel, then another.

  “Then you paint a giant blob,” he smiled, waving me over. “Art is subjective. Eye of the beholder and all that jazz. Paint what’s in here,” he pointed to my heart.

  “What if it’s not pretty?”

  “The painting?” His brows rose as he looked at me quizzically.

  “No,” I shook my head. “What’s in my heart.”

  His face softened. “There’s no one here to judge you. I have no right and I wouldn’t anyway. This,” he waved his hand to encompass the apartment, “is our safe place.”

  He held his hand out, waiting for me to place mine on top. When I did, he pulled me forward into his arms.

  I was surprised when a giggle passed through my lips. The sound of it was so carefree and happy. Genuine.

  He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my lips and directed me to sit down.

  He grabbed a wooden board and started squirting different colors of paint on it. When he was done he handed it to me, along with a brush.

  “And now you paint.”

  I let out a laugh. “Really, Caelan, I’m no artist.”

  His eyes darkened and his voice grew husky. “Then let me show you.”

  Grasping one of my arms, he reached around with his free hand and wrapped it around my wrist. His breath tickled my ear as he slowly guided my hand to dip the brush into orange paint. He then brought my hand up so the brush touched the canvas. He directed the brush down and then released my hand. “See, you’re painting.”

  “It’s just a line,” I stated.

  “Ah, but it’s your line.”

  “Technically, I think it’s your line, since you helped,” I remarked.

  He chuckled and sat back on the stool, his hands resting on his knees. “You’re over thinking it.”

  “I thought you said you were going to give me an art lesson as in teach me. So far, I’m not getting a lot of teaching.”

  “That’s because I know you’re too stubborn to ever listen to a word I say,” he countered, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “Then why offer?”

  He chuckled, scratching at his stubbled jaw. “You’re like a little kid. You know that, right? You always answer everything with a question.”

  “It’s a gift,” I winked.

  “Come on,” he rested his chin on my shoulder. “Paint something.”

  “Did you know that you can be annoyingly persistent?” I asked, arching a brow.

  He didn’t say anything, instead staring me down. I found myself squirming. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” Now it was his turn to ask questions.

  “Like you want to eat me.”

  “Well,” he grinned crookedly. “I will bite. But only if you want me to.” With that, he lightly nipped at my shoulder.

  “Stop,” I lightly pushed him away and he went with a smile—one that almost reached his eyes.

  It was like in the weeks we’d been together, he was getting better, and I was getting worse. I found myself frowning. I’d thought by moving here I could leave my past behind me, but it always has a way of catching up to you.

  “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, brushing strands of dark hair off my shoulder and kissing the skin it exposed.

  “No,” I answered honestly. Before he could question me further, I started painting. I didn’t paint anything in particular. Just a bunch of lines and colors blending together. While I was no artist like Caelan, it felt good to focus simply on what was in front of me. I was beginning to understand now why he did this. It took your mind off of things.

  While I painted, he did everything he could think of to distract me.

  “Stop it,” I laughed, pulling away so that his hand fell from my shoulder where he’d been playing with the strap of my tank top.

  “I can’t help it that you’re irresistible.”

  “You’re the one that wanted me to paint, so why don’t you let me paint.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, sitting back and watching me. It wasn’t long until he pulled lightly on my hair.

  “Caelan!”

  Finally he left, retreating into the kitchen where he poured a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, added milk, and proceeded to eat.

  The drug addict eats kid’s cereal. Go figure.

  “Want some?” He asked when he noticed me watching.

  “Sure.”

  I tried and failed to hold in my laughter at the sight of Caelan pouring me a bowl of cereal. We’d come a long way since he busted in my apartment. I never would’ve thought we’d end up here. Life works in mysterious ways like that. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been meant to be here, in this place, with him. Maybe not forever, but for now, and I’d take that over nothing.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “You.” I covered my mouth in the hopes of suppressing my laughter, but didn’t succeed.

  “Me? What did I do?” He asked, rifling through a drawer for a spoon.

  I waved my hand to encompass him standing there in the kitchen with two bowls of cereals. “This,” I laughed. “It may only be cereal, but I never thought we’d be where we are now.”

  “What can I say?” He shrugged, dropping the spoon in the bowl and picking up the box of cereal. “You’re very persistent.”

  “Me?!” I gasped.

  “Yes, you,” he chuckled, dropping some dry cereal into his mouth and crunching. “If I recall correctly you showed up here and practically mauled me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you need to tell yourself so you feel better.”

  I had turned back to face the painting when I got pelted in the back of the head with something. “What the hell?” I gasped, noticing whatever I’d been hit with was now also stuck in the paint, as well as my hair. Peering closer at the object congealed on the canvas, my mouth fell open.

  I whipped around, pieces falling from my hair, to face Cael
an with an open mouth. “Did you seriously throw Fruity Pebbles at me?”

  He snickered, batting his eyes innocently. “Me? No way.”

  Shaking my hair around me, even more pieces of multi-colored cereal fell from it. “Did you throw the whole box at me?” I asked, noting the significant pile of cereal now on the floor, as well as the bits stuck in the paint.

  “Of course not. A man’s got to eat.” He promptly shoved another handful of cereal into his mouth.

  I narrowed my eyes and chose to ignore him as I turned back to the canvas. I was almost done and I wasn’t going to let his childish games distract me.

  He sat down beside me once more and held out the bowl for me. I set the paintbrush aside so I could take it from him.

  We sat side-by-side, eating cereal as he appraised the now paint splattered canvas. We were an odd pair, that was for sure, but we were far more similar than someone on the outside would ever realize.

  “How bad is it?” I asked, when he had been too silent for far too long.

  “It’s interesting.”

  “That’s code for, ‘It’s horrible.’” I mumbled around a mouthful.

  He chuckled. “No, it’s not horrible. It’s…” He tilted his head, searching for the right word, “Abstract.”

  “I guess that’s better than horrible,” I shrugged.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to paint a masterpiece.”

  “So, you knew I’d suck?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he rolled his eyes, standing to deposit his now empty bowl in the sink.

  When I finished my cereal, he took that bowl as well.

  I looked over my shoulder at him, and the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Where were you?”

  He looked up, his brows furrowed in confusion.

  “When I saw you coming home, where had you been?”

  He shook his head and one of the bowls crashed in the sink. Looking down, he braced his hands on the counter, shoulders taut.

  “Sutton,” he growled my name, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I thought we didn’t talk about personal things.”

  “I was curious,” I squeaked.

  His knuckles turned white where he grasped the counter. “Fine,” he finally spat. “I’ll tell you where I go—” I brightened but the feeling was short lived, “but you have to tell me something personal about yourself first.”

  Fuck. I should’ve known better. Of course he’d want something from me.

  Was my curiosity so great that I could give up a part of myself to know something about him?

  Yes. Yes it was.

  “Fine,” I relented.

  “You. First.” He growled. I was trapped. I had to tell him something now.

  I swallowed thickly, my pulse jumping. I’d learned a long time ago not to let people in. Once people knew the real me, they didn’t like what they saw. I decided to settle on something safe. “I moved here because I caught my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend.”

  “You’re lying.”

  My eyes widened at the words he spat out so quickly after I told him something about myself he didn’t know. “No, I’m not.”

  “I’m not doubting the truth in the situation. What I’m doubting, is that you moved here because of it.” Tapping his fingers on the tile countertop, he said, “You know, I don’t understand why you want to know so much about me, but you refuse to let me know anything about you. You’ve let me see,” he stared into my eyes, recalling our first time together, “that you have things that haunt you, but you won’t tell me about them. How is that fair, Sutton?”

  “It’s not like you told me about your past!”

  His eyes narrowed to such thin slits that I was surprised he still saw me. “Only because you Googled me. Something tells me Google wouldn’t procure any results on you, though.”

  “You’re right about that,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You can tell me anything, Sutton. I want you to know that,” he said, his voice and posture softening. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. Anything you tell me, I’d take it to my grave.”

  I closed my eyes, my breath faltering as tears pricked my eyes. “It hurts so much,” I confessed.

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  And I knew he did. If I hadn’t found out about his past on my own, he probably would’ve never told me. But then again, watching the way he was looking at me right now, maybe he would have.

  “If-if—” My voice shook. “If I tell you everything,” I put emphasis on the word,

  “then you owe me the same.”

  All the muscles in his body tightened and his teeth clenched. I saw a million thoughts flicker through his mind. “Don’t you know everything already?” He countered.

  In a calm tone, I said, “Hardly.” Grasping his shirt between my hands, I rested my forehead against his chest. “I’ve never opened myself up to anyone, not completely at least. If I do this, I need there not to be any secrets between us. I think we both need someone who knows the whole truth and won’t judge us.” Looking up at him a sigh escaped my lips. “I think you’re that person for me, I only hope you believe that I’m that person for you.”

  A shaky breath gusted out of his lips. “I don’t know if I can,” he cupped my cheek, “but for you, I’ll try.”

  “That’s better than nothing,” I breathed.

  We were both two entirely fucked up people, who’d been dealt a bad hand, if we couldn’t trust each other with our sins then they’d stay bottled inside us until one day we exploded.

  The one time I had sought help for the damage that had been done to me, the results hadn’t been pretty.

  I was going out on a limb here, trusting Caelan with my secret after being burned, but he deserved to know what he was dealing with.

  He brushed a piece of hair off my shoulder, his fingers lingering against the bare skin longer than necessary. My eyes closed and years of pain and self-loathing flooded my body.

  “Hey,” he brushed his thumb over my lips and I forced myself to look at him, “it’s okay. Take your time. This is hard for me too you know?”

  “It is?”

  He nodded. “The intensity of my feelings for you scares me more than anything,” he confessed, forcing the words past his lips. “Not caring has become a way of life to me. I keep everyone at a distance.” He looked up briefly, taking a deep and steadying breath before letting it out. “You successfully knocked down every wall I’ve built around myself.” His hand settled at the nape of my neck, his thumb roaming in small, slow circles. “You make me want things a guy like me has no right to have.” He swallowed thickly and tears shimmered in his eyes. Seeing a guy like Caelan this close to breaking down made my insides twist together. I itched to hold and comfort him, but I knew it was best to stay quiet and let him say what he needed to. “I know there might not be a future for us, I mean,” he chuckled weakly, “we’re kind of a mess, but right now this,” he leaned his forehead against mine and lightly pressed his lips to my nose, “is enough.”

  My hands shook as I grasped the collar of his shirt. “If there was ever anyone I could trust with this, it’s you.”

  “You can,” he assured me, his voice soft—a direct contrast the harshness I was used to from him. “We all need someone in this world that we can trust with our darkest secrets. I didn’t actually believe that until I met you. I didn’t even tell you about my parents, and, well,” he shrugged lightly, “it’s not like I hide my struggles with addiction. Still, though, you never judged me. Not at all. Everyone else looks at me like I’m…tainted somehow. I guess I am,” he let out a soft chuckle. “The way people look at me…it makes me feel…” he paused, searching for the right word, “dirty and useless. Like I’m less because I turned to drugs to erase my problems. People only see addiction. They don’t see behind that, to what drove that person to destroy their life. An addict doesn’t become an addict for the hell of it,” he whispered, his eyes full of pain, “we all have a s
tory.”

  There that word was again. Story. First Daphne, then Memphis, and now Caelan had used it to describe life. I truly understood what it meant now. People tend to only look at the surface and see what’s there. If they look at a cheerleader, that’s all they see. Someone happy, peppy, and smiling. They don’t look further to notice the bruises on her arm in the shape of fingertips. If they see a kid shoplifting, he’s just a thug. But maybe he stole that thing to take care of someone. We’re all too quick to think we know everything and pass judgment when we have no right. Humans are selfish like that. We naturally think we know everything, when we know nothing. It’s our fatal flaw and our ultimate downfall.

  I stood slowly, shaking all over.

  I blocked out all thoughts of possible rejections. After all, if we spent too much time thinking of rejection, we’d never accomplish anything.

  I knew that this moment, right here and right now, could be my turning point—if I allowed the dreaded words of my haunted past to leave my lips. The thing about healing is it’s hard. Really fucking hard. Impossible sometimes. But it’s up to us to let it happen. Some of the worst scars we carry are from ourselves and our own self-doubt—we’re our own worst critic and biggest bully. We tear ourselves down over things that aren’t even our doing. It’s pretty damn sucky. I blamed myself for what happened to me—still do. It’s a natural reaction. If I had done this or that, then this wouldn’t have happened. But it’s not true. No one asks to be hurt. And I was hurt in one of the most dehumanizing ways.

  I went to the place I always felt the safest—the window. Looking out at the world below, it was easy to pretend that what happened to me was nothing but a distant nightmare.