Page 35 of The Man in the Painting

CHAPTERTWELVE

Melody

The knocking sound comes again, more urgent this time. I groan loudly, covering my head with my pillow.

I hope Jack hasn’t decided to pull some new stunt today. I’m honestly not in the mood to be frightened by a drug addict who thinks I’m a part of the inheritance his mother left him.

I get out of bed, a little alarmed now by the consistent banging noise on my door.

Does Jack think he owns the whole neighborhood or something?

I march to the door, ready to give him a piece of my mind and a taste of my fist if necessary.

I angrily pull the door open. “What the hell is wrong...?”

The words get stuck in my throat as my eyes fall on the person standing at my door. My heart skips dangerously, then settles into an annoying irregular rhythm.

How can I still feel this want for him after everything that happened?

Maybe it’s the fact that despite his distraught appearance, Abram looks just as handsome as ever.

How on earth did he find me?

“Abram?” My voice is surprisingly detached and cold, a stark contradiction to the churning heat that is slowly spreading through my body. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that, dammit.” Abram looks like he’s caught up between being angry, worried, and relieved. “Why the hell would you come back here?”

I guess he chose anger.

“You know how dangerous it is.”

Or was it worry?

I fold my hands over my chest and lean against my door with a soft sigh.

“I’ll take care of my business, Abram. It’s none of yours.”

An indecipherable emotion flickers in Abram’s eyes, but it’s gone before I can decide what it was.

Abram sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face, a habit I’ve come to associate with frustration and confusion.

“Melody….”

My crazy heart responds to the fatigue in his voice as he whispers my name. I wish I could rip out the organ and repair this maddening malfunction.

“About last night…,” Abram says, moving to take my hand in his. I press further against the door, blatantly avoiding his touch.

“What happened was a mistake,” I interrupt, meeting his gaze squarely.

“No, it wasn’t,” Abram says, quickly shaking his head. “None of it was a mistake. I promise.”

I suddenly feel a fit of low thrumming anger fighting for recognition among the many other emotions that I’m feeling at the moment. The anger spread rapidly across my chest, driving away every other emotion.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, pushing away from the door. “What’s this push and pull? Who do you think you are to toy with my feelings? One minute you’re hot, the next you’re running cold. Make up your damn mind. Didn’t you want me to find myself a younger man who’d treat me better? What the hell are you doing at my door, then? What do you want from me, dammit!

“You know what? You need to leave!”

“I can’t,” Abram insists. “Please, let me explain. Can I come in?

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