Page 18 of Dare to Fall

I looked down at the email flyer where his name was printed in large bold font across the top with a list of information about the exhibit below.

“Will you go with me?” Drema asked as I handed the phone back to her.

“You want me to?” Drema and I had never been very close despite having a pretty decent roommate relationship. We were both neat, but not obnoxiously so, and we kept to the ground rules we set for one another during freshman year. But we’d never taken the same classes since our majors were completely opposite. And by the time I started my art minor, she had already moved on to the advanced art classes.

As I took her in, the stark excitement written all over her face, I realized how I missed out on a potentially amazing friendship, all because I was consumed with the friends I already had.

But something was brewing in my heart, in my soul. A need for change. For something new.

I looked up at Drema, and a genuine smile I hadn’t felt in a long time spread across my lips. “I’d love to go.”

9

Garth

I tooka step back from the canvas. The smooth wood of my paintbrush twirled in my fingers, a helpless fidget I acquired in college and could never quite get rid of. Hues of red and orange covered the fabric. This was, by far, my most violent piece—the strokes bold and harsh. A stark contrast from my usual work with effortless blends.

Sleep evaded me last night. Instead of tossing in the sheets, I found myself before a blank canvas, my usual refuge. Yet, this felt different. Tormented. As though something didn’t quite fit, and it was bursting at the seams, desperate for escape. As I took it all in, I realized it made me uneasy and invigorated at the same time. A breath of fresh air. Something new on the horizon.

So many of my art professors and even close artist friends had talked about making a brand. It was the current thing to do as an artist. Establish yourself in one medium. Make your art known with purposeful marks that you cultivated over time. But I had never created that way.

My art was an unleashing of all the things I could not say. A hidden truth to the depths of my soul thatIdidn’t even understand.

This piece before me wouldn’t fit with the rest of the installment I had prepared for the exhibit, but I would display it, nonetheless.

An open window to a house that was about to collapse. A tendril of the messiness that had plagued my mind for days now.

I tossed the paintbrush into the water-filled container before me. Speckles of muddy water landed on the wooden table, adding another stain to the thousands of droplets left before them. It wasn’t a fancy table. But it had meaning. When I cut myself off from the staggering wealth of my parents to pursue art school on my own, I was hit with the stark realization that money really did make things easier in a lot of ways. Although, it didn’t take long for me to find comfort in minimalism. I was so accustomed to havinga lotof everything. When I was forced to provide myself with only the necessary things, I felt freer than ever before. No longer bogged down by meaningless capitalism.

And that little table—a cheap, foldable tray table that served as my dining table, my lap desk, and my art supply stand—had more value and more history than anything left at my parents’ home where I grew up. It was a symbol of the journey I went on to finally make it to this place, not having to touch a cent of my inheritance.

The 80s Rock playlist cut off at the final song of Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” Silence filled the loft, and I finally exhaled as the tangled mess of my thoughts dissipated. But another image came to mind immediately. One of long silken strands of auburn hair falling over sun-kissed shoulders in gentle waves. Rosey lips, slightly parted, revealing the tantalizing pink of her wet tongue.

My cock stirred at the thought of her wrapping those luscious lips around my tip, only to sink lower and lower.Damn those lips. But it was her chocolate eyes that made my heart skip a beat from just the memory of them.

So lost in a world that didn’t understand her value. I saw it the moment she turned around to look at me in a class she likely didn’t belong in. Trapped in a persona that stifled her radiant soul. I knew that look. Better than anyone. It was the same look I had worn for years and years until I finally allowed myself to be free—whatever the consequences.

I hope she finds that same freedom.

A phone rang, pulling me from the haze that washer. Then I realized it was my own phone, ringing and vibrating against the granite countertop in the kitchen. I trailed across the living space, tendrils ofherclinging to my mind.

Lucas’s name flashed on the screen. “Lucas. How are you?” I asked as I brought the phone to my ear.

“Good! On my lunch break and figured I’d give you a call to get an update on that hot redhead.”

My mind wandered back to Brooke and her own tantalizing mouth. Too bad her mouth spoke the words that I couldn’t bear to hear.

“Turns out she’s just like the rest of them. Down to get dirty with a Walker and that’s about it.”

Lucas let out a low whistle. “Well, shit, brother. Why didn’t you make it last?” he chuckled.

“You know exactly why,” I said. And he did. Lucas had been by my side for every woman who walked in andoutof my life. Though he didn’t understand my decision making when it came to women, he understood that I was looking for something—or someone—who wasn’t wrapped up in the image of what they thought it meant to be a Walker.

Lucas huffed. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry, man. I thought she would be different. She seemed really interested in you at the bar.”

“I think she probably already knew what she was getting herself into then. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need any distractions right before the exhibit opens at the university.” I walked to the other side of the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee, my fuel for the long days and nights that often accompanied working on new installments.

“Well, listen, I was thinking we could go out tonight. There’s a new bar opening downtown. Let’s check it out.”

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