Breathe

by Amber Lacie

  I wonder for a second, if it is because I always wear his jacket. “You could wear your coat, and I could wear one of mine. I do own winter apparel.”

  “No. I like the way you look in my jacket. Besides, when you wear it, you smell like me.”

  I can’t argue with his logic. Every time I move in his jacket, I smell his cologne. It is one of my favorite things about wearing it.

  Campus is a ten-minute drive from our apartment. We live close enough that it is convenient and yet we don’t have to deal with the frat houses. Holden talks the entire drive. I have no idea what he is saying. I am lost in my thoughts. I watch him, as he smiles and laughs at his own little jokes.

  We come to a stop at a red light. He turns to me, still talking. I listen enough to know that he is talking about the basketball team, but my focus is on his features. The sun shines against his window, creating a kind of glow around him. He smiles and all I can think about is how he is my angel. Suddenly, I get this urge to make him turn around and come home with me, so that I don’t have to share him with the world.

  *****

  We park and walk into the administration building. A lady in a pink suit jacket takes down all my information. I only register for two classes. I am still not sure this is something I want to pursue, but I would like to give it a chance. When we are all finished, she hands me a map of the campus and asks, “Will you need a tour?”

  “Nope. That’s what she has me for.” Holden flashes her one of his killer smiles.

  She laughs and plays with her hair. I wonder if he knows the effect he has on women. She stands to shake my hand. “You’re a very lucky girl.”

  “Thanks. It was nice meeting you.” I awkwardly shake her hand. Holden takes this opportunity to showcase his acting skills. He holds his hand out for me and I cautiously take it, when he gives me a subtle wink.

  “After you, my lady.” Holden sweeps his hand through the air as he bows. Seriously? I start to walk in front of him, when he rushes up behind me and sweeps me into his arms. “You are too lovely to walk. Let me do it for you.” The laugh I have reserved just for him, escapes my lungs, and my head falls against his chest. He spins in a ridiculous fashion, so that we can fit through the doorway. My eyes fall on the poor woman in the pink suit jacket. Her hand is over her heart in complete awe of this idiot carrying me out of the building.

  He slowly sets me down beside his truck. My body is flush against his. His hands fit perfectly around my waist. I lean my ear against his chest and listen to his heart thumping. It has a beautiful rhythm. My fingers trace the edge of his white t-shirt. “Was that really necessary?”

  “No, but it was fun. Let’s do it again.”

  “I think I’ll keep my feet on the ground for now.”

  “As you wish.”

  Laughing, I get into the truck. He runs around to the other side and hops into his seat. He starts the truck and I am shaking my head, as we pull out of the parking lot.

  “What?”

  “I love you too, Westley.”

  “I love you so much, especially when you know what movie I’m quoting. Do you remember when I took you?”

  “Your mom dropped us off. I saw her slip you the money for our tickets. Then, in the middle of the movie, you spilled popcorn on the people in front of us when you decided to practice your swordsmanship.”

  Holden grasps my hand and pulls it to his lips, gently kissing it. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Every time I say those words out loud, the strain of the last two years eases. I wonder if he will ever understand how much he has done for me.

  *****

  The art studio is not what I thought it would be. Holden pulls his truck up in front of a yellow brick building, with a giant, faded, red rose painted on the side of it. If I was to guess at what this building was, it would be abandoned. Art studio, wouldn’t even be an option. Weeds are growing through the cracks in the pavement along the sidewalk. The faint yellow lines designating parking spots are barely visible.

  “Holden, are we in the right place?”

  “This building is only temporary. They are redesigning a new one closer to campus. Trust me, okay?”

  “Okay.” I shake off the unease of the building’s appearance and put all my faith in Holden. We walk in and stark gray walls stare back at me. Not one piece of artwork is hanging in the entrance. “It doesn’t seem very inviting.”

  “Just go with it.” We take a couple more steps, peering around a corner, revealing more empty space.

  “Do you have an appointment?” I jump and my grip on Holden’s arm tightens. We turn around to see an older man with circular shaped glasses and extremely neat silver hair looking expectantly at us.

  “Not exactly. I spoke with Janel. She should be expecting us.” Holden fidgets nervously with his shirt.

  “But you don’t have an appointment?”

  “Not for a set time, no. I wasn’t sure when we would arrive exactly, but she knows we are coming.” Holden squeezes my hand and I give it a soft squeeze back. How can he be nervous, when he told me to trust him?

  “I see. Wait here.” The man quickly walks away in a huff. A few minutes pass until we are greeted with a very beautiful woman in a black suit and bright red pumps, which conveniently match her shade of lipstick. Smiling, she slicks back any stray hairs into her tight bun. She holds her hand out to Holden, while revealing a perfectly white smile. “You must be Holden. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is this her?”

  “Yes, this is Carsten.”

  “Hello, I’m Janel Mullins.” She clasps my hand in hers, pulls me in for a hug, and kisses me on each cheek, before finally letting me go. “I’m so excited to meet you. When Holden first told me of his muse, I didn’t think you were real. Then Lewis brought me some of your work…I was blown away. They are breathtaking. Come. I’ll show you to your gallery.”

  “I’m sorry, gallery?” What the hell is she talking about? I look over to Holden. He won’t even look me in the eye; he is too busy looking everywhere else than at me. What has he done?

  “I know what you must be thinking. I apologize for the use of this building. It’s not where we would like to be focused, but with the cost and location of the remodel, we had no other choice. Now, if you’ll follow me we can take a look at your space.”

  Spinning on the skinny heel of her red pumps, she turns around a corner with us in tow. Her soft, black curls bounce as she walks hurriedly past several open doorways. I am able to sneak a glance at a few of the rooms. Elegant statues and paintings that would rival anything I have seen before are intricately placed, filling the walls with wonder. She stops abruptly at an open doorway to her right. The room is much bigger than the others.

  “I’m hoping I have this set up to your liking. I have never had a gallery focused not just on the artist’s work, but the artist herself.” Stepping to the side, she waves us into the brightly lit room. My mouth falls open. There are literally no words I can find to describe how I feel at this exact moment.

  There are large blown up portraits of me painting, hanging on the walls. Each one is hung by the art I was creating in the photograph. I focus on the oil painting I finished the day before my mom died. The Weeping Willow is bent towards the small creek, almost as if it is bowing out of respect. The leaves gently flow into the small breaks of tiny waves, crashing against the rocky edge. Bright colors swirl up from the water into the roots of the tree, signifying the relationship between the two. Wildflowers and long blades of grass bend in the wind. Only three people have ever seen this painting. The first two were my parents, and the third was Holden.

  He had come over to see if I wanted to go to the movies with him, but when I turned him down, he sat with me while I painted. As I look around the room, I realize how often he was there in the background watching me, catching my soul in photographs.

  My fingers reach up gently, brushing the large photograph hung in front of me. I am sitting sideways in an old wooden chair with my
knees pulled to my chest. Paint is smeared across my jeans from where I have wiped my brush, before changing colors. My hair is swept over my shoulder. A few pieces are blown into my face. My bottom lip is softly tucked under my upper lip. My eyes are focused on the brush, so carefully held in my hand, as it presses against the canvas. I am a mess, and completely lost in my art. I have never looked so beautiful.

  “Holden, I didn’t…how did you get these?” I turn towards him. I feel as though I am on the edge of a waterfall. My emotions are all over the place and I am so afraid that I am going to crash into the waves below me. I try to sort through the confusion in my mind.

  I haven’t painted since my mom died. These are all paintings that I painted the year she passed away. They were hung in my parents living room. I took them down and tossed them out onto the porch in a fit of rage the day after her funeral. My heart is skipping frantically, my breaths are short and quick, as sweat beads on my forehead. How was he able to do all of this?

  “Are you mad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He nods his head and walks out of the room to ask Janel to give us a few minutes. This feels so underhanded. Everything is so intimate. My soul is out in the open for people to view, to judge. But then, I see the beauty of it. The way he captures me in the midst of creating my art. The black and white photographs contrast so perfectly with the colors boldly expressed on the canvases hanging around me. I don’t know if I should be mad, hurt, or in awe.

  I hear his footsteps on the tile behind me, but I won’t look at him. He sighs, defeated. “I’m afraid to say anything. I’m afraid to touch you. I’m afraid of how you feel. Tell me what to do, Carsten.”

  “I don’t know what to say or even where to begin. How did you get these?”

  “Your dad gave them to me. He called me after you had thrown them all outside. It was supposed to rain, and he didn’t want to upset you by bringing them back in the house.”

  I press my right palm against my chest. “I vividly remember going back outside to get them when it started to rain. I thought he had thrown them out. He looked so sad when I asked him where they went. All he said to me was he took care of it. I hated him at that moment for taking them away from me. I mean, I know I threw them out, but they were mine to throw. He gave them to you?” He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t need to.

  I sink to the floor, bending my legs underneath me. I have held so much against him. “Holden, I screamed at him. I told him I hated him. Oh, God.” My hands cover my mouth, as I recall every word I yelled at him. “I told him I wished he was dead instead of her. I have put so much guilt on him. I have held him accountable for every ounce of pain I felt, because I didn’t think he cared.”

  Holden’s arms wrap around my waist as he sits behind me, pulling me onto his lap. He is my safety net. He always catches me when I fall. “I got you. Now, tell me how to make this better.”

  “You can’t. I did this. My dad had just lost the love of his life and his only daughter hated him, wishing him dead. No wonder he started drinking. How do I fix this?”

  “Whoa. Hang on there a second. You can’t blame yourself for the way he handled things. There are other ways of dealing with death. He chose to drink, he chose to numb himself to the pain, and he has paid the consequences for those choices. Do not think for one second you are to blame for his addictions. Baby, you were hurt, too. He shouldn’t have left you the way he did.”

  “How do I make this better?” I press my face into his chest, inhaling his scent, while his heart beats rhythmically in my ear.

  “I don’t know, baby. Let’s start with this. Is this okay with you?”

  Looking around the room, I am able to get a feel for what I want in my future. Holden is in it. He was always going to be in it, but this is so much more. I want this. Not just my art on a gallery wall, but a gallery. Everything clicks into place. Holden, me, his photographs, and my art, are a perfectly built puzzle. “I want this. But I want it bigger than this. I want our own gallery with your photographs and my pictures adorned by artwork from around the world. Can I have this?”

  “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly. You want to own an art gallery?”

  “Yes.” I’m completely sure of myself. Tons of ideas rush into my head. “This is perfect.”

  “Okay, tell me where. Name any place you want.”

  “New York.” The words fall from my mouth so fast that I am not even sure I had time to think them. They fall into the puzzle, and all the edges are perfectly in place.

  “And you’re sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes. I want it for us.”

  “As you wish.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and I grin like a delirious fool.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well now, you have to hop off my lap, so we can go tell Janel how much you love it. Then we will go from there.”

  “Okay.” I stand and Holden follows me out of the room.

  Janel is standing with her hands folded in front of her. “So, tell me what you think.”

  “I love it. It’s absolutely perfect.”

  I laugh, as Janel jumps up and down, squealing with excitement. Grabbing my shoulders, she places a kiss on my forehead. “I knew it. I just knew you would love it. I have lots of things planned for you. Your first gallery showing will be smaller, obviously since it’s here we can’t hold anything in theatrical proportions, but once the new building is up in May, I’m going to show the world how amazing you are. I’m going to need a steady stream of artwork. The gallery will be consignment of course, but I already have buyers wanting new originals from you. I can’t wait to get you started. Let me show you a studio that I think you would love.”

  Holden has his arms wrapped around my waist where they belong, and I can’t contain my excitement. Janel is a ball of energy and ideas. She has me eating out of the palms of her hands, as she goes over every detail.

  We spend the next three hours touring different rental places for the studio in Bloomington. She is adamant that I start on the paintings right away. Her excitement is contagious. My cheeks become sore from smiling so much.

  We eventually settle on an old mechanic’s garage, just north of Indiana University. It is a small, two bay garage. There is a small office in the front. I plan on using that area as a combined office and storage area. Inside the garage is where I will paint. The skylight centered above the two doors gives me plenty of natural lighting in addition to all of the fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. There is a long workbench framing one of the walls. I plan on using it as an area to store all of my paints, tools, and canvases.

  I can see everything so clearly. I keep looking over to Holden, as he walks around the garage. Every time our eyes meet, he smiles and I know he is seeing everything I am. He takes me out for dinner. He says it is to celebrate our new journey. I smile the entire time, reveling in the ideas he has for our future together.

  *****

  By the time we make it back to the apartment, it is already dark. I set my jacket and purse down on the kitchen counter. I slowly turn around to look at the most incredible person I know. He closes the door and his eyes go wide, as I rush towards him, jump into his arms, and wrap my legs around him. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, baby.”

  “Thank you so much for all of this. I don’t know what else to say. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I cover his face in kisses between each thank you. He laughs and captures my face in his hands. His fingers softly wind into my hair. His lips press against mine and I lose myself to the man, who not only gives me my breath, but has offered me the world.

  He pushes off the wall and we collide into several more surfaces, including a lamp, before we land on our bed. We tried pulling our clothes off in a hurried fashion, but we end up bumping our heads together. Holden leans his head back in laughter and helps me pull my shirt over my head. Then he tosses his flannel and t-shirt on top of the pile of accumulat
ing clothes in the corner. I laugh, as he tries to pull off my jeans, but they get stuck on my shoes.

  Running his hands through his hair, he sits back on his knees. “You know I was trying to make this incredibly sexy, but I’m failing miserably here. Can you help me out?” I kick off my shoes and untangle my legs from my jeans. I slowly remove my bra, but when I reach for my panties he stops me. Leaning down he grabs them with his teeth. I lift my hips, as he pulls them from my body. I am left completely nude, breathless, and desperate. My tongue slides across my lips, trying to wet my dry mouth.

  Holden stands, unzips his jeans, and lets them fall to the floor. My eyes roam his body. “No boxers today?”

  “Didn’t feel like putting them on when I knew I would be taking them off again later.”

  “And yet, you had on other pieces of clothing.”

  “I can’t just walk around naked. Women everywhere would be jealous of you. You would be exhausted from fighting them off.”

  “Holden.”

  “Carsten.”

  “Shut up and come here.”

  “As you wish.” He does a running leap onto the bed and I bounce into the air, laughing hysterically. He is such an idiot, but I love him for it. His mouth captures mine and I give in willingly. His hands roam my body. I moan and writhe under him. Moving his focus to one goal, he slowly kisses his way down my body. My legs part, falling to the side, as his head delves between them. My fingers twist in the sheets, my back arches, as I softly moan and come completely undone by him.

  His name falls from my lips, as he climbs back up my body. “Holden.”

  “Ssh. I got you.” He bites at my bottom lip, sliding his tongue against mine, as my mouth parts. I can taste myself mixing with him. My hands run up his back, grasping onto his shoulder. I can feel the tip of his hard cock rub against me. Lifting my hips, I don’t give him time to think. I push myself onto him. The feeling is so intense. It is exactly what I need. Hissing from the shock, he rears back and slams into me over and over again, until I am carried away on pure ecstasy. He moans as he falls against me. I can feel his body quiver, as he lets go. It is incredible.