Page 37 of The Breaking Pointe
If she wants to believe I’m cold, I won’t sway her mind. If it means she wants to cuddle up to me, I’ll take it.Yet, of course, why would I ever get so comfortable, forgetting the lights.With a few flickers, the lights finally shut off, the fuse being the last thing we hear. Her hands gripping mine are the only things I can sense nearby.
Candlelightitis.
11
candlelight
NOELLE
So conveniently, the power just had to go out.Right as I thought I could make somewhat of a move, too, now that I have a bit of liquid courage.Colton found one candle to light, then left to go on a manhunt for an apparent stash of them that he has hidden somewhere around the loft. As time passes, I’m becoming increasingly curious again about what the rest of the place looks like. Only way to find out is to see for myself. So, I stand up from the couch to start my exploration.
I can see the rain getting noticeably more aggressive on thepatioflooringthroughoneofthewindows.Passingit, I turn down a dark hallway that is hardly a hallway at all. Five steps into it and there is a door, barely cracked open. Holding my candle up, I hold one hand out, using a singular finger to push open the door, mentally begging for it not to creak and give away my whereabouts.
It would be just my luck that he’s either in here already or will be here to scare me momentarily.
Pushing the door all the way open, I see dust and what looks to be old clay in random places on the wooden floor. There is paint in other places—little drops of different colors as if they were accidents. I follow them, slowly entering the room, taking a few steps before I’m met with a giant, coiled vase. The clay is a burnt orange color, unpainted, but dried. It has to be made up of over seventy coils, if not more.
I could stare at the vase for hours, except the corner of my vision is more colorful and attention grabbing.Following the colors with my gaze, I find myself smack dab in front of a canvas that stands on an easel. I squint, trying to see the vision better, only to realize it’s a woman. She has dark hair that’s long and kind of gray. His attention to detail is quite creepy. I can see every single strand coming out of her head. I still want to believe that he’s not a real person and I’m being disgustingly punked right now. His qualities are just too genuine. It all seems like a set-up. Every time I think he might take off the mask and give me a big reveal, he only gets sweeter and funnier. He gets better at making me feel like I can be myself. He has no idea that’s an inhumane feeling for me.I haven’t felt like myself in years since I left Chicago. Daniel pretty much stole the last of that quality from me,
and I’m still trying to find it.
The more I browse this room, the more artwork I’m faced with.Sculptures of different sized angels, or people that I can only assume he’s seen somewhere in his lifetime. Some paintings are the same, with the same muse, only doing a different action.It’s like being at the museum all over again, only this exhibit is Colton’s mindset.It’s a beautiful mindset.
An extremely creative one, indeed.
Walking along the wall, I come up to a canvas on another easel, this one partially covered with a sheet.
Taking a look over my shoulder to check for any sign of company, I find nobody, then snap my head back to the picture. Lifting the sheet, I hold the candle slightly closer, making out the scribbles that were formed into a giant black auraofahuman.Hehasnoface,buthehaslimbsand a mouth.There are dark specks all around his head, too. Almost like firework sparks.He’s screaming and holding something up to his head that resembles a hammer in a way. This one isn’t beautiful like the others.I step closer, looking at the aura-like creature’s hand.
The specks aren’t specks anymore—they’re blood.The hammer isn’t so hammer-like, either. It’s more like a gun. “Noelle?” A deep, formidable voice rings behind me. “You in here?”
I drop the sheet, spinning around.“Yeah, just browsing,” I respond.
He stands in the doorway, luring me closer with his presence until I’m standing directly in front of him.
“Find anything you like?” he asks, leaning on the wall. “Onlythethoughtthatyoucould’vebroughtmehere,
instead.You have half an art museum right here in your home.”
He makes a whimsical facial expression,telling me hedoesn’t agree with his eyes.
“That wouldn’t exactly be a proper date, if I did that, now would it?” He bites his bottom lip briefly.
“I’m not sure if it means anything, but if I knew that this waswhatyouwereabout,Iwould’veacceptedthedatealot
sooner.” I shrug. “You didn’t have to think about making anything romantic tonight. You just…did it.”
His quirky smile goes soft while he lets his empty hand rake through his thick hair. The floor has caught his atten- tion again, helping him hide the fact that I’m successful in making his cheeks turn cherry red.His smile is one of the most compelling ones I’ve been graced with, and so is his jawline. And he’s so unaware of it.
“Why don’t we go in the living room.I got a hell of a lot more light in there, now,” he says, grasping one of my shoulders as I follow him.
I want him to believe me.I wouldn’t think I would be someone to boast about a man’s greatness ever again, but I have to.So far it feels like he takes every compliment as if it were one of those rain droplets outside.He lets them all roll off his body like he’s made of steel.It’s sweet that he’s humble, and that’s beyond the bounds of attractiveness to me.But he doesn’t believe a damn thing I say, and it’s self-evident.
We walk over to the casement part of the window, and I sit down, pretzel style, leaning against the window. All that’s visible is smog and smoke.You can still see the city lights and all the buildings shining from how high we were.It’s mesmerizing when you’re looking at it in real life, but he looks at this every single day. I don’t ever want to leave. It’s quiet, and calm. He has an amazing view, and for once, I’m not distracted by how homesick I always am.I don’t have Lauren or Tony being cringe in the corner of my eye, either. It’s pushing around eight o’clock now; we must have spent most of our day at the museum it seems. I lost track of time there,andnowhere.Mynextconcern,outofthethousand
that I have already, is overstaying my welcome.
“This view is so crazy. I can’t believe you live here alone,” I say, looking at him.
