Page 46 of Paint Me Love
He presses his finger to my mouth, shushing me. “I’ve seen the way you look at art, Derek.”
I can’t do this. My blood pounds in my ears, my body tenses up. It’s too much. I need to leave, to run away and—
He clasps my chin harder, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t hide from it. From what you want, from who you are. Just listen to your heart and follow it.”
Tears sting the inside of my eyes, and it takes me all my willpower to keep them at bay. Fuck, I can’t. I’m a mess, I need to go. “I can’t.”
His gentle fingers massage my jaw as his gaze fills with fondness. “You can. Don’t fight it. Don’t try to rationalize your way out of it. Just give it a try, even if it’s scary.” His right hand wraps around the one I’m squeezing the pencil with. “Trust me.”
He kisses me softly on the lips, then lets go, returning to his painting like I’m not even there. It’s his way to give me space, to let me figure this out on my own while still being there for me if I need him.
I bury my face in my palms, focusing on inhaling and exhaling. After a while, I calm down sufficiently so I can go back to watching him paint. It’s so relaxing, the way he moves, the way the painting comes alive little by little. I’m so hypnotized, I don’t notice the pencil I’m still holding until I’m absentmindedly dragging it across the blank page of his sketchbook.
A twinge of panic almost undoes me. I haven’t touched a pencil or pen in over fifteen years. But with every passing second, the feeling returns to me like I never lost it, and before long I can’t stop myself. It’s like I’ve suddenly been possessed,I’m powerless to resist it, and so I don’t, letting my heart guide me.
My lines are shit. They zigzag. They are jagged. They break up. But still I continue, a vessel to some muse that’s been hiding inside me. My eyes dart between the paper and Daniel, hungry, desperate, frantic, just like my hand. The ugly sketch takes on his shape just barely, mocking me for even trying.
I hate this. I gave it up, I tossed it away so I could become more. I am not an artist, I’m the CEO of a billion-dollar tech empire.
What was I thinking?
Panting, I shove the sketchbook and pencil away. They crash onto the floor with a thud, startling Daniel.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
I need to leave. I need to be outside, or somewhere dark, so I can find myself again.
“It’s okay, but… Are you okay?” His eyebrows bunch together. He puts the brush away again, picks up the sketchbook and kneels down in front of me, patting my knee. “I didn’t mean to overstep, but… I think you need this. I know it’s scary and that it made you angry, but I’m proud of you for not running away from this, Derek. Maybe one day—”
No. “I need to go.” I can’t entertain that kind of thinking, I just… I can’t.
Daniel’s face falls, and it breaks my heart. This is not his fault, this is all me, yet he’s still sad on my behalf. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. The whole thing. I should’ve never talked to him, but how could I not? His passion touched me, even through stupid text messages. I had to see it for myself, to let the magic touch me even if I knew it would burn me.
I pull Daniel into my arms and inhale him. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I just… I need to go. Thank you for today, I loved watching you paint. It’s magical.”
His small, sad smile is enough to let me know he’ll be fine. I leave without waiting for his response, feeling like ants are crawling under my skin and eating into my flesh. The twilight outside welcomes me, foreboding but pretty, and for the first time in forever, I just wander around Seattle aimlessly, unsure what I’m even searching for.
21
Daniel
Acoupledayslater,Cassandra calls me while I’m working at the supermarket.
“We have a dropout. Would you like to take their spot at the upcoming exhibition?”
My nerves flare with both excitement and dread. It’s going to be crowded with people like the opening, and there will probably be cameras too, but a chance like this… “Yes! I’d love to! But, uh, I’ve never done an in-person exhibition before.”
She chuckles. “I didn’t expect you would have. It’s not that scary—all you have to do is come and chat with a few of the guests. You tell them a bit about yourself, answer any questions they might have about your art, that sort of thing. There will be a cocktail party afterwards for our most important patrons, but that’s not mandatory for you to attend.”
It doesn’t sound so bad, I guess. I think I can do it. Probably. “Okay, sounds good. When is it?”
“In two weeks. Hmm, I’ll need you to stop by the gallery. Can you come this afternoon? Or tomorrow morning? We are doing a small feature on each participating artist, nothing toofancy, just a quick video. I know you aren’t a fan of talking about yourself, but I have a template and a list of set questions, so it’s like following a script. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” I hear a keyboard tapping. “I’ve sent over the questions via email.”
Since there won’t be a live audience, I think I’ll be fine. But I really appreciate her making this as easy and painless as possible. She’s great. “I can do today.”
“That’s great. See you in a bit then.”
The rest of my shift goes quickly as the excitement prevails over the nerves. The bus I catch is crowded, but I don’t mind it too much and even find an empty seat at the back. Will Derek be at the gallery? I pinch my cheeks. Of course not! He’s been busy working out some deal with a German company, so we haven’t really seen each other much since the day he came to watch me paint.
