by Nora Flite
Breathing from my nose, I lifted the canvas, holding it on my lap, sitting my blankets. The mattress sank down, deeper when I fell backwards, the painting lifted over me. With the ceiling framing the square of dark swirling designs, my brain began working quickly.
He's right, I don't exactly know much about her. It's obvious she doesn't like talking about herself, getting information from her is like building a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded. Tilting the painting, I studied it with interest, shifting it so that the bottom half was now the bright splotch of white, the rich purple and blacks capping above. There was also a dab of muddy yellow curling like smoke, a color that called forth the bruising I had seen on Leah's back.
It looked big, how did she get that? I hadn't exactly had the best timing to bring it up, the memory made my face warm. Still, I couldn't get the sight of her smooth shoulders out of my head, nor the ugly, partially healed blemish. She'd said she cut her hands up when she was down near Greg's workplace, is it possible the bruise is from that? Shutting my eyes, picturing her face, those wounded, anxious orbs of rich brown and thick lashes, my mouth became a hard line. No, that doesn't make sense. Those cuts were recent, but that mark was... older.
Asking her about it felt futile, since the first night I'd met her she'd managed to dodge my questions about where she was from, her family, everything and anything each time I'd probed. At least, until she'd blown up on me last night, anyway. Then she let me know, she had no fear in that moment. Just sadness. Did she really expect me to reject her, was she ready to walk away?
My chest flexed with a deep breath, I looked at the painting again. She didn't go to art school, she didn't finish any college at all, apparently, yet she made this. She made it in just one night. It amazed me, her brush strokes and ability with color were just born from natural talent. Imagine if she had gone to school with me. I wonder if we would have gotten along, or... or more. My memory of college was filled with an odd tension, Bethany's face always coming forward.
Rolling onto my side, I set the canvas beside me, rubbed my fingers over it, the texture raised, rough. It was only ten in the morning, but I wanted to call her already. Carlo is right, this is going too fast. With everything happening, I'm forgetting the risk here. She didn't get that intern job, what happens when she can't find work and has to leave?
The idea stabbed at me, making me sit up and hug my knees tight. Sulking wasn't going to help anything, yet, I didn't know what else I could do. Would she even let me help her, if I could?
Once again, I looked down at her painting, drawn to the emotion evoked in the art. Leah was good, very good, maybe...
Maybe there was something I could do, after all.
****
A quick trip, a brief meeting later, and I thought my plan was complete. I'd just finished gathering everything I thought I would need, setting it up outside on the second floor patio, when my phone rang in my pocket. The number brought a flicker of excitement, I answered with a clear, cheerful voice. “Leah, hey, I was actually about to call you, I was just in the middle of something.”
“Oh, really?” She asked, breathy, talking quicker than I was ready for. “Is this a bad time? It's a bad time. Sorry, I'll just figure out--”
“Whoa, whoa,” I laughed, wondering why she seemed so on edge. “It's fine, I was honestly about to message you and see if you wanted to go up to Vanessa's show together.” Thinking about it, I realized she might actually be at the place helping her friend set up. “Unless you're there already?”
Her discomfort was tangible, even over the phone. “No. No, I'm not there with her. You, um, you want to go together, you said?”
“Yes.” Leaning my elbows on the stone edge of the patio, I smiled into the warm sun. “Yes, I'd like that a lot.”
“I—alright. We should get moving then, her show starts in forty minutes.”
“Sure, let me get changed and I'll come pick you--”
“No!” Leah blurted, making me bite my tongue. “Uh, no, you don't need to do that. I'll just meet you at your place. See you soon.” The call ended, as sudden as it had arrived. Holding my cell in my palm, my eyes narrowed at it before I buried it back in my jeans.
That was weird, why did she sound so anxious?
The chilly wind of the first November day stroked my neck, cooling the patch of sweat, easing away my tension. Wondering what was going on with her was jumping the gun, it could easily be nothing. Still, my gut warned me otherwise, making my hands clench onto my belt. Let it go, ask her about it when she shows up if you really need to, Deacon.
Turning, I almost kicked the perfectly stacked set of canvases on the ground. Gently, I pushed them out of the way, the sight of them bringing a light spring to my step again. Whatever is wrong, I bet my good news will cheer her up.
Moving into my bedroom, I left the patio door open, the fresh air curling inside. On a whim, I clicked on some music, the bump and metallic roll of jazz slipping around me. I felt good, great, even. The excitement of the revelation I had for Leah, the idea of spending a few hours with her, watching Vanessa's show, it made my blood quicken.
Tugging my shirt over my head, ruffling my rust colored hair, I tossed it onto my bed carelessly. The music sent insistent messages to me, asking me to rock my hips and sway in place, to which I happily complied. As a child, much to my father's chagrin, I had taken dance, immersed myself in rhythm, in music. He'd grudgingly accepted my interest in the arts, even as he pressured me to take on a field of science or medicine like himself.
Closing my eyes, my fingers came to my lips, imagining a trumpet. Then, they lowered, pretending to ripple across piano keys. You tried really hard to find a middle ground with me, pushing me towards music if I was going to avoid becoming a doctor like you. My smile twitched at the edges, recalling how angry he had been when I'd made it clear I was not only moving away from music or science, but heading straight to the so-called uselessness of the finest art, painting.
Yes, that made you very mad, didn't it? Sighing, I inhaled deeply, spinning on a heel while pretending I was on stage all over again. The sound I heard was soft, a mild gasp, but enough to make me open my eyes, staring at the unexpected sight of the girl in my room.
“Leah!” I shouted, stepping back in true surprise.
“I'm—I'm sorry,” she finally managed to say, covering her mouth, gawking at me. “I didn't mean... I knocked, the door was unlocked, so I just... I'm sorry!” Her entire face was so red, it might have won a battle when compared to an apple. Those wide, wet eyes ran over me, making me conscious of my shirtless body.
For a split second, she met my gaze, her expression giving away her embarrassment even before she turned to run. Instinct kicked in, I grabbed for her shoulder, wanting to stop her, to explain everything was fine. “Leah, hey! Wait--”
“Let go!” She shouted, staring back at me as she pulled away with all of her strength.
Unsettled, catching the flicker of fear in her huge eyes, my hand released her. What... what was that? I'd never had someone look at me that way, not once. My stomach felt knotted, my hand in the air where seconds ago it had held her. “Leah, what is it, what did I do?”
Breathing heavy, she stood awkwardly in the hallway, the terror I had witnessed replaced by shame. Had I seen what I thought I had? Was it possible to imagine such a strange, disturbing reaction?
“Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing her hair behind her ears, straightening up. Her smile was fragile, it made me want to build it up and bolster it instantly. “I uh, I just didn't expect to see you...” She gestured, laughing weakly, but enough to break the dark mood.
Letting myself smile back, I lowered my hands and covered my chest, thinking quickly on my feet. “Technically, I should have been the one to scream and run. What kind of person walks in on someone who's shirtless? Really, Leah, my dignity.” Watching her giggle, I felt the relief easing the tightness in my neck.
Something happened back there, she freaked out because of something... and I don't think it wa
s actually me.
Stepping back into my room, I dug through my drawers until I found a light blue button-up, tugging it over my arms, working it closed quickly. “Anyway,” my voice was gentle, “it's no big deal. I should have gotten ready sooner, I actually didn't expect you to get here so fast.”
With her fingers playing with the bottom of her green tank top, Leah moved closer to me, offering an apologetic shrug. “I'm sorry, really, I... guess I just walked fast, didn't want us to be late.”
“Okay. Seriously, final time I have to say this,” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders gently, watching to see if she would flinch again. “Stop apologizing all the time, you don't need to.”
“Sometimes I need to,” she argued, glancing to the side.
“Not to me.” Holding her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her skin, the beat of her pulse, I let my lips drift to hers. The kiss was soft, brief, the kind that left her standing there waiting for more as I pulled away. Leah blinked, clearly unsure why I had stopped. Digging into my pocket, I held up my cell phone to display the time. “I'd love to stay here, just indulging in more of that, but...”
“Right,” she sighed, deflating before me. “We need to go. Let's hurry so we aren't late.”
Though Leah looked like she had calmed down, I could still sense the edge in her body language, the slight vibration to her tone. Something had really spooked her, and I hoped, deep down, it hadn't somehow been me.
Chapter 19.
The drive was fast, even pleasant. Leah, however, grew more agitated the closer we got to the building downtown. Glancing at her, my fingers drumming the wheel as we sat at a red light, I tried to understand what was going through her mind. She definitely got nervous when she saw me with my shirt off, even though we've already... Well, I think if I had walked in on her like that, I'd have stumbled out quickly, too.
Pressing the gas, I drove us past a row of buildings, recognizing how close we were to the Vino Center and Vanessa's show. The moment she really lost it, it was when I grabbed her shoulder. Did I hurt her accidentally? Squeezing the wheel, I frowned at the thought, but buried it before it could bloom. There was no way I had gripped her hard enough to cause any pain, I was far too careful for that. So, then, what had been her reason?
What had made her eyes so full of that hurt?
I never want to see that expression on her again, I thought silently, shooting one more look at her. Leah had her head against the window, staring off into space. Noticing her hands, balled up in the sleeves of her open hoodie, it was like she was spoiling for a coming fight.
“Hey,” I said, pulling into a space at a parking meter, “we're here.”
“Are we?” She asked, sitting up, looking around. Beside us, a large building blocked most of the view, the brick old and messy. “Seriously, here?”
Smiling, I slipped from the car, moving to her side, opening the door just as she managed to unbuckle. Reaching down, I took her hand and helped her from the car, enjoying the unsure grin crossing her lips. “You don't need to do that every time, you know,” she said.
“I know,” was my simple response. Watching her cheeks blossom like pink roses, I had to resist pressing her in order to elicit more. There was something strangely innocent about Leah, even though she had been so quick, so bold, to flirt with me before. It made me crave more of her bashful reactions, but this wasn't the time. “This way, the entrance is on the other side.”
Together we walked, her sneakers padding along quietly beside my crisply shined shoes. It occurred to me, I was surprised she hadn't dressed up nicer. In her jeans and tank top, Leah looked more ready for a run in the park than to attend a high-fashion show.
“What's wrong?” She asked suddenly, peering up at me.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, forcing a smile, rubbing the side of my neck. Was I staring at her? Purposefully, I looked away, pointing to the bustling front of the building. “There, see? Here we are, the Vino Center.”
Leah gasped, pausing beside me when she saw the size of the crowd. The people were lined up everywhere, photos being snapped, cameras rolling, a vision of attention-seeking Hollywood high-life if there ever was one. Smiling, I peeked down at her, only to be concerned with how she was biting her lip. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yes, I'm fine,” she mumbled, not convincing me in the slightest.
On a whim, my palm drifted, fingers locking with hers tightly. It caused her to startle, rich chocolate eyes staring up at me through dark lashes. “You don't mind if I hold your hand, do you?” I asked gently. “I hate crowds, is all.”
Leah's mouth opened, no sound coming out due to what was obviously uncertainty boiling through her body. I fought the desire to bend down, to kiss her nervous mouth, to fill her with something else. When she finally spoke, it was soft, her smile lifting at the edges. “I don't mind, no.”
Giving her fingers a squeeze, I began weaving through the crowd towards the front door, bypassing the line entirely. “Wait,” she spoke up, her voice almost vanishing, the sound of the people taking over, “where are we going?”
“My name is on the list.” Pushing carefully through a trio of men in suits, I finally led us to the front doors, the whip-thin guard with a clip board laying a dubious glare on us both. “Deacon Day,” I said before he even opened his mouth.
His skinny hands flicked through the pages, pen scrolling down, hovering pointedly over something. Grunting, he scribbled a jerky note and tossed his head to the side, motioning us onwards.
I couldn't control the swell of satisfaction, it floated up, leaving a wicked sparkle in my eyes. Guiding Leah into the building, I felt her intense gaze on my back, enough that I gave in, tossing a glance over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“How—why was your name on there?”
“My friend, Tim? You met him at the fire pit before. His dad is sort of in charge of this whole scenario, Tim's always been nice enough to put my name on every event they're involved in, even if I don't always go.” I'd lifted my eyes to scan the busy interior, yet the sudden, limp sensation of her palm in mine drew me back to Leah. She looked more pale than ever. “Hey, what's up?”
She coiled her hair around her small fingers, winding the strands in coils, releasing them, then repeating. It was a gesture that I was sure meant something was bothering her. “Marcus Sable,” she murmured, staring around as if saying his name might invoke his presence, “he was the one who gave me the interview to intern with Pale Blue. He was also the one that decided not to give me the job.” The bitterness in her voice made me stand still. Her mild shrug, that tiny smile, they were in complete contrast to the fact this was bothering her. “It doesn't matter, I just thought it was worth mentioning, I guess.”
I want to tell her the news I have, but... not yet, I want to surprise her privately.
“You can mention anything,” I said seriously, leveling a look into her unsure face. “Anything, I mean it.”
Leah drew her lower lip between her teeth, I wished I could read her mind as I watched the gears turn. “Alright.” That was it, that was all she had in response, and I found it hurt just a bit.
So much that she doesn't say, doesn't she trust me by now? Not wanting to dwell, I turned, pulling her through the people, taking us towards the center of the huge room. The space opened up finally, revealing a long catwalk, bright balls of light dangling above as if they were stars in a sky.
Together, Leah and I stood beside the walkway, our view relatively good. It was true what I'd said, I hadn't gone to many of these events, certainly none for Vanessa. The excitement of it filled me, wondering what would appear before us on the stage. I'd seen what Vanessa could do when we were in college, her talent was without question. Still, this had clearly turned into a huge show. I wondered if she would meet the hype.
“You helped her out with some of this stuff,” I said, leaning down to speak to Leah without yelling over the rumble of voices. “Anything particularly cool I should keep an eye out for?”
Expecting her to say something innocuous, I wasn't ready for the pure slathering of depression that sank into her voice all at once. “No, not really. I—I'm not sure what the models will be wearing. Sorry, I wish I...” Trailing off, she stared unblinking across the room.
Concerned, then more so as she finally dropped her hand from mine, I followed her eyes to see what had distracted her. Vanessa was there, tall and elegant in a dress that reminded me of wet ink. It matched her hair, the only burst of color on her being a rich yellow sash across her wispy middle. She was smiling, taut as the surface of a drum.
Beside her, I spotted the imposing presence of Tim's father, Marcus Sable, as well as the more friendly if entirely uncomfortable figure of Tim himself. The trio were chatting, none of them noticing us across the catwalk. Peering down, the distress was plain on Leah's face. Something is very off, is Leah scared of Marcus? “Hey,” I said carefully, “why don't you call out to her, I'm sure she'll break away and come say hello to us.”
“No,” she snapped, though not with anger, but with trepidation. I saw that flicker of fear I had before, my own uncertainty reflected in her wide eyes. “No, don't say anything, please.”
“I won't,” I promised, touching her shoulders like she might crumble any second. “Leah, what are you so worried about? You're shaking!” It was true, her body was trembling under my palms.
Her lips parted, her tongue stealing the dryness away and drawing my eye. I was sure she would answer me, explain what was making her so upset, how it involved Vanessa, when the lights flashed, the speakers boomed with noise. “Welcome, everyone, to the 12th annual Fashion Forward Show, hosted by Pale Blue!”
The roaring cheer, the crack of clapping hands, it drowned out whatever Leah might have dared to say. Watching me, her expression sad, all I wanted to do was cradle her, to say something to ease her worry. Unable to solve her problem, not knowing what it was, it dug at me like a needle.
