by Nora Flite
“Haha, sorry,” I apologized, drinking from my wine, thinking it was becoming sweeter the more I had. “But yes, it really is good!”
“This burger, too,” he said, lifting up the glossy bun. “Do you want to try it?”
“Oh, sure.” I blinked, watching him hold the sandwich out to me. Do I take it from him? Would that be weird?
Deacon wiggled the burger closer, smiling playfully. “Just take a little nibble. Go ahead.”
My heart threatened to burst when I closed the gap, leaning in to do as he said. The smell of the food was fantastic, yet seeing how he studied me while parting my lips, it was almost too much. Furiously blushing, I bit into the meat and bread daintily, sitting back quick as I could. The taste of salt, the seasoning, it was a perfect blend. I covered my mouth, chewing.
“Oh my gosh, that's even better!”
“Right?” He laughed, bringing the burger back to take his own mouthful. It was impossible not to think about his lips touching the bun where mine had just been.
I'm glad we're outside, I'm melting here.
I finished my wine before I realized, my head tingling, helping me relax. Even so, I was drumming my fingers, fidgeting, having a difficult time not gawking at the hard cut jaw and soulful gold eyes of the man I was on a date with. Me, on a date. I don't think Owen ever took me on a date. I'd ended up dating him as a sort of natural progression of having no where to live after my parents had left.
We hardly called ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend. Why did I let that terrible relationship go on for so long?
“Hey,” Deacon spoke up, cutting into my depressing line of thought. “Want to go for a walk, stretch our legs?”
I did, I really did.
He didn't give my attempt to offer to split the bill a serious chance. I was grateful, my funds were still all I had to live on if I wanted to stay out here. And, well, I did want to stay.
We stood, strolling off into the night together.
For some time we just walked, going nowhere, seeming content with that. At least, I was. I couldn't speak for Deacon, especially as the night drew on. Where he had started out talkative, flirting and playful, now he seemed thoughtful as we moved down the sidewalks.
The round lights on the trees gave everything a magical aura, they made his teeth extra white when he smiled at me. “I'm really glad you're thinking about staying here.”
My voice was hardly a whisper, the two of us standing close on the rapidly emptying streets. I didn't know what time it was, I didn't care. “Yeah, me too.”
The musicians had all gone, the stores shut down with the growing night. A brisk wind rushed through my hair, lifting goosebumps with the ticklish strands. Shivering, I hugged myself, tried to smooth everything back into place.
“Here,” he said, sliding out of his jacket, offering it to me. Gaping, I flicked my eyes from it to him, then once more, licking my lips nervously.
“Oh, no, I'm fine--”
“You're clearly trembling,” he chuckled, wrapping it over my shoulders. I slid my arms through the sleeves, my fingers barely poking from the tips. It was too big on me, but I adored it. Lingering with warmth from his body, I breathed in, closed my eyes as I got a hint of his scent.
This cinnamon is becoming familiar.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, smiling uncontrollably with my nerves on edge. Together, we were so close, I wanted the moment to stretch on forever. Staring up into his tender face, I noticed his eyes seemed more green than gold at this distance. If I look closely, I can see the flecks of metallic color.
Nothing seemed to move, my attention flowing down to his lips. In the quietness of our private bubble, I thought it was impossible for him not to hear my quickening breath. Kiss me, please kiss me. This is the time for it!
On tip-toe, I started to lean in, hoping he'd catch my body language and meet me.
“You know,” he mumbled casually, “it's getting late, let's start heading back.”
“What?” I gasped, my face openly disappointed. Again, is this happening again?
“Sorry, I just need to be up early to head to the gallery tomorrow, make sure everything is fine and all. You know how it goes,” he sighed.
I didn't, I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I wanted him to finally kiss me, after everything. He'd been so close, hadn't he? Was it all in my head?
Does he really not like me that way?
My stomach and chest were aching, I pulled his jacket around me tightly. “Alright, let's go then.”
****
The ride was silent. A few times, Deacon attempted to start a conversation, but I gave brisk one word answers at most. Inside, I was furious. Inside, I was hurting.
How could this happen, what did I do wrong?
Staring out the window to my right, I couldn't focus on anything. My skin was hot, tight, my mouth numb. Constantly, I toyed with the end of my hair, wrapping, tugging it around my finger.
Why am I such a failure, why do the good guys not want me? Can he tell how messed up I am, did I say something wrong? Do something that bothered him? Shutting my eyes, I inhaled deeply. Vanessa, I think she was right. I'm not good for him, and he could tell.
“We're here,” Deacon broke into my mental tirade. The car paused beside Vanessa's apartment, I couldn't open my door any quicker. “Uh, hey,” he said, halting my escape.
I turned, half inside the car, sliding the jacket off my shoulders. “What?” My tone was biting, it made him flinch. Inside, I felt my heart throb with guilt, but kept my face emotionless.
“No, keep that, I'll get it from you later,” he said, pushing the jacket back to me before I had slid it off completely. Frowning, I tugged it back on, privately grateful for the warmth. “Listen, did I do something wrong?”
“Why would you think that?” I responded flatly.
“You're just... never mind. Uh, I had a great time tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” With that, I slid out, slamming the door behind me. Knowing he was watching me, knowing his eyes were on my fleeing back, I kept myself from running. I terribly wanted to, my gut said to hurry, to escape this painful moment.
With all my might, I waited until I got inside the apartment. Then, I finally covered my face with my hands, letting the hot tears flow. Why? Why, why am I so awful? Falling to the floor, I knelt there, shaking with my sobs. I'd messed up everything, but had I really envisioned anything else?
Holding my arms over my eyes, I gasped through my tears, inhaling gulps of air and his scent on the jacket. The sleeves were soaked, my body and mind drained when I finally got control of myself. Wiping my cheeks, I sniffled while taking my heels off. Then, I stood carefully, walking into the bathroom to get some tissues.
In the mirror, I caught my reflection, pausing. Staring at myself, my makeup dripping, smeared, my nose red, my eyes puffed around the bottom, I gave a weak laugh. Of course he doesn't want me, I'm ugly. I should have guessed, with all the girls out here who look like models, what use am I? Thinking of the women I had seen at Pale Blue, I ripped out some tissues, sat on the toilet seat.
Dabbing my eyes, my temples throbbing, I breathed in, trying to calm down. It doesn't matter, I decided, none of it matters. I don't need Deacon, I didn't come out here for him. I didn't run away from everything just to be hurt by someone else.
Determined, I set my mouth in a stiff line, bending over the sink. The cold water felt wonderful on my face, it cleared my fog away. Bent there, droplets sliding down my nose and chin, I stared into the porcelain, gathering my thoughts.
Everything is fine, everything is fine. I should have listened to myself that first time, I knew someone like him wasn't for me. Yes, everything is fine.
Despite my mantra, by the time I finally fell onto the couch, my dress cast aside on Vanessa's bed, my long shirt and pajama pants my new armor, I didn't actually feel fine at all.
Chapter 12.
I woke up before Vanessa got home the next mo
rning, but not from pleasant dreams.
Black smoke, red coals, my skin crackled and melted in my torturous nightmare. I saw my father, constantly lighting cigarettes, dropping them on our floor. Each time, I would run over, grab them, but no matter where I touched, it burned. No matter what I did, everything was still on fire. The scent of acrid clouds filled my nose, making me cough until I was ripped from sleep.
Groaning, I gripped my head and flinched. I hadn't had much to drink last night, so why did my skull hurt so much? Sitting up, I remembered the way the date had ended. Oh, that's right. My headache is from crying. Sighing, I set about making some coffee, thinking caffeine might ease the pain.
It didn't.
With no appetite, nothing but hot coffee in my belly, I glanced at the time, deciding I should clean up. I didn't know when Vanessa would be home, I just knew I couldn't handle her seeing me looking so broken up.
A long shower, long enough that it left my skin wrinkled and sodden, some fresh clothes later, it all helped me look less like I'd stayed up all night.
Frowning, I pulled down my eyelid in the bathroom mirror, knowing the dark circles would be obvious.
I wasn't a master at makeup like Vanessa, still, I was capable of covering up something like that. Eventually, I looked good enough to talk my way through a lie or two if it came to it. Standing, I headed into the living room just in time for Vanessa to jingle the door knob. “Leah!” She shouted, staring at me in surprise. “Oh, good, you're dressed. We need to get going!”
Blinking, I watched her run by me, heading into her room to change out of the clothes she had taken to Greg's. “Wait, why? What's wrong?”
“Your interview!” She snapped, tugging on a long skirt, a ruffled blouse. “We have to leave now, or with traffic we'll be late.”
“My interview? My interview!” Covering my mouth in horror, I looked myself up and down. “Oh god, I'm not ready! I didn't prepare, how do I prepare?”
Vanessa threw a pair of silky pants at me, then a long black jacket. “Shut up, put those on!”
Scrambling, I did as I was told, flustered by this sudden time crunch. I am so not prepared, oh god, oh god.
With her still brushing her hair, she shoved me out the front door. I barely had time to grab my purse.
****
The entire ride, I kept panicking. “I'm doomed, no way I can pass this interview. He'll never give me a chance!”
“Quiet,” Vanessa growled, the car taking a corner so sharp the tires screamed. “Let me just get us there, Marcus cares about punctuality more than most things!”
“This is terrible, what is he going to ask me? I don't know anything about fashion, why did I decide to take this interview?”
“I have no idea! I thought it was ridiculous he even offered it to you!” She shouted, the engine roaring down the street, weaving between cars. “Just calm down, it's only an intern position, he'll care more about you being reliable and pleasant than anything else.”
No response came to me, I was sitting with my mouth agape. She thought it was ridiculous? Vanessa sensed my silence, shooting me a look that was almost imperceptible with her sunglasses on. Turning the wheel, we pulled into the parking structure, her key jangling in the ignition. The sudden silence was heavy.
“Look, Leah,” Vanessa said, pushing her glasses onto her head, “what I meant was that, you know, you aren't into clothing or design. Marcus clearly offered you this because of me, and maybe that sucks to hear, but--”
“No.” I shrugged, my smile crooked. “No, you're right. I don't know anything about this, not like you. Not even close. But it's still a job, and honestly? I could use some kind of good news right now.”
My friend stared at me, weighing her words after taking in my own. “Things didn't go so well last night, did they?”
Grabbing my purse, I slipped from the car, shutting the door softly. “Doesn't matter. Right now, I have an interview to nail.” Walking ahead, I didn't wait for her, my pace carrying me in a rush to the elevator. But Vanessa was blessed with legs like stilts, she caught up easily.
I was glad when she didn't say anything.
The ride up was short, we stood beside each other, looking everywhere except the other person's face. The doors opened with a satisfying 'ding' and I strode across the smooth floor to Jazz's desk. The young woman gave me her widest smile, lipstick as purple as an eggplant. “How can I help you?”
“I have an interview with Mr. Sable,” I said, ignoring Vanessa as she stood just behind me in silence.
“Ah, yes,” Jazz mused, flipping through her phone, pressing a button that blinked. “He's actually waiting for you in room--”
“Leah!” The voice declared, Marcus strolling around a corner behind Jazz, his arms wide. That face was kind, perhaps a little excited. “There you are, you were dangerously close to being late,” he chided me. Motioning towards the door he had come through, I followed his hint, stepping forward in stiff legs.
“Right, sorry, I don't normally cut it this close,” I said, glancing back at Vanessa. She looked lost, unsure how to behave in her own work place. Marcus lifted his icy eyes, spotting her, widening his smile.
“Vanessa, I left some notes on your desk. Look them over, please? Thanks,” he murmured, not waiting for her response. His hand touched my shoulder, leading me down the hall, my footsteps crisp and unsettling to me.
This is happening, I'm doing this.
“So,” he said, opening a door that revealed a wide, sun-lit room that could have held fifty people for a meeting, “shall we get this started?”
“Oh, of course.” Nervously, I watched him sit down in the middle of a row of dark chairs. Following his example, I pulled a chair out, sitting across from him, mentally noting he hadn't slid it out for me. Deacon would have done that. I pushed that thought aside before it could burrow its hooks in.
Marcus lifted a pen, tapping it on a pad of yellow paper that was already sitting on the long table. “Let me ask a few basic questions. Where did you go to school?”
“Uh, well, Venti & Fallows.”
“Hmn, I've never heard of that art school.”
Blushing, I dug my fingers into my thighs under the table. “It wasn't an art school, it was a culinary school.”
He lifted an eyebrow dubiously, scribbling something fast. “Culinary? I thought you said you liked to paint and draw?”
“I do, I love doing that,” I answered quickly.
“So why go to a culinary school then?”
This felt more like an interrogation than an interview, a drop of sweat rolling down my temple uncomfortably. “I got talked into it by a school counselor, they told me there was no reason to go into art.” That's almost the whole truth. I don't need to tell him I couldn't afford the art school I wanted.
Marcus linked his fingers together, watching me with lowered eyebrows. “I see. Well, so then you graduated from a culinary institute, that's fine.”
“Actually,” I mumbled, my insides twisting up painfully with shame, “I didn't—I didn't actually graduate.”
“What? What happened, my dear girl?”
“Just, uh, things got in the way, you know... life. And that sort of thing,” I finished pathetically.
For a while, he said nothing, he only watched me while I squirmed. Then, he jotted down something else I couldn't read, speaking slowly, calmly. “So, no completed education after high school. That's a shame, mn. Well, if your portfolio is good, we can possibly look past that.”
“My portfolio?” Oh no.
“Yes, you did bring one, correct?”
My face was draining of blood, my hands coiled in my shirt hem so hard they were sending sharp twinges of pain up my forearms. I hadn't brought a portfolio, how stupid was I? “Mr. Sable--”
“Marcus,” he corrected me.
“Right, Marcus, I'm so sorry. I didn't bring anything like that, but, if you give me some time, I can put something together in a few days!”
“Ms.
Rook,” he sighed, switching to my last name. That, of everything he had done, made my mood sink fast. “I don't ask for a lot, I'm a rather flexible man. But I don't think you understand the opportunity I was giving you here. I expected you to, at the very least, bring some proof of your artistic skills.”
“Yes, I know, but--”
He lifted a hand, so I bit my tongue to silence my rambling. Inhaling a single slow breath, Marcus stood from the table, his hands folding behind his back. “I'm afraid it would be a waste of time to continue this interview. Please, feel free to go meet back up with Vanessa. You can learn much from her, even if you won't be able to utilize any of it here.”
Those words, the finality to them... I grabbed the edge of the table, using it to help me to my shaking feet. “Marcus, you don't understand how much I—I really needed this job, so please, if you'll just let me try again!”
“Calm down,” he chuckled derisively. “It's only an intern position. Surely you'll find something better... elsewhere. I'm a busy man, please, have a good day now.” With a slight smile, he walked around the table, opening the door and leaving me alone in that giant room.
With him out of sight, I fell back into my chair, my head in my hands on the cool surface. I blew that, I messed up so badly. Dammit, dammit!
Gritting my teeth, I closed eyes, fists banging on the table sharply. How had everything that seemed to be going so good, flipped around on me in such a short span of time?
Now what will I do? Can I find another opportunity so easily? I'm not... I don't want to leave this place.
Not yet, I wasn't ready to give up on what I wanted just yet.
Unable to face the chance of running into Marcus again, I quickly left the meeting room, scurrying to the elevator. Jazz shot me a giant, false smile as I passed, but I said nothing. Descending to the parking lot, I typed into my phone, planning on sending Vanessa a message about what had happened. My thumb hovered over the buttons, the sickness in my stomach catching up with my brain.
