Page 65 of Black Ties and White Lies

My mind catapults to a memory I’ve worked hard at trying to forget. To one that wouldn’t ever truly go away, no matter how hard I tried.

I toss in bed, letting out an aggravated sigh that I haven’t been able to fall asleep. I spent an entire day in the sun, sleep should be reaching me easily. And yet it doesn’t.

Carter lets out a snore from behind me. I roll my eyes, annoyed he was able to fall asleep so quickly. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’d come in with promises of having sex with me. I’d argued at first, telling him we can’t possibly sleep together in the same house as the rest of the family. He’d had a good point when he said the beach house was fairly large. They wouldn’t be able to hear us. After his persistence, I’d agreed to it. It’d seemed like forever since we’d been intimate, and I missed my boyfriend.

Too bad he spent a few minutes fingering me and the moment I’d reached to return the favor, he’d stopped and complained of a headache from drinking all day. I hadn’t had an orgasm, and I nowhere near felt comfortable finding it for myself with him snoring next to me.

The inability to fall asleep mixed with the tightness in my stomach from being brought to the brink of release and not being able to get it has me throwing the soft sheet from my feet and getting up.

Carter doesn’t move an inch, too deep in sleep to notice his girlfriend leave the bed. I search for my things in the dark, sliding my flip flops on and grabbing my bag full of art supplies off the chair in the corner.

Stepping in front of the door, I take one last peek at Carter. Deep down, I think I’m hoping for him to wake up and ask me to come back to bed. I want the boyfriend who used to care about me back. Now, he seems disinterested in me, like I’m more of a nuisance than someone he loves. Every time I bring it up, he blames it on the stress of starting his first real job out of college. He keeps promising once he gets settled in there that things will change.

I won’t hold my breath. We’ve been making long distance work, but I’m moving out to California to be closer to him. Maybe that will change things. Deep down I’m worried that it won’t matter. Him wanting almost nothing to do with me anymore when we actually are together isn’t very promising. I still hold onto hope. He’s the only real boyfriend I’ve ever known, the only man I’ve ever loved. I want to cling to what we used to be—what we could be again—for as long as possible.

I stare at his sleeping form for a few more seconds before slipping out the bedroom door. I’ve luckily been able to memorize the layout of the house in the few days we’ve been staying with Carter’s family. Their vacation home is loads nicer than the actual home I grew up in. Just another reminder of how different the world I grew up in is from Carter’s.

In my few days of staying here, I’ve learned which floorboards creak and which ones don’t. I navigate them carefully, although I’m not sure it’s necessary. From Carter’s point earlier, I don’t think anyone in the house could hear me.

When I finally reach the backdoor of the kitchen, I let out the breath I was holding. I’m not sure if anyone in the Sinclair family would really care that I’m wandering their house in the middle of the night, but I’m not trying to figure it out either.

I hold the strap of my art bag tightly as I sprint toward the crashing waves of the ocean. As someone who grew up without anything scenic enough to stare at, the ocean has completely captivated me throughout this trip. While it wasn’t my first time seeing an ocean, it was my first time at a beach. From the moment my toes hit the sand, I’d dreamt about sitting in it and getting lost in my sketchbook.

I hadn’t exactly pictured doing it while I was reeling from another rejection from my boyfriend, but it didn’t matter. For a few peaceful hours, I don’t want to think of anything—including Carter.

I pull a towel I’d snatched from one of the pool chairs off my shoulder and lay it over the sand. Taking a seat, I open my bag and neatly place my supplies around me. I treated myself to a brand new set of drawing pencils before the trip, and I’ve been itching to put them to use. I’d attempted to draw by the pool today, but Carter kept bothering me, his wet body threatening to drip all over my favorite sketchbook.

Once everything is neatly laid out, I place my sketchbook in my lap. I’d begun a drawing earlier in the thirty minutes of peace I got when Carter fell asleep on one of the pool loungers. Since the moment I had to stop sketching to get ready for a fancy dinner with the Sinclair family, I’ve been dying to get back to it.

Call me inspired. I’d found a muse, and now with just the moon as my witness, I can get to sketching without anyone interrupting me.

I turn the pages in my book, admiring the past work I’ve kept in there. There’s rushed, rough sketches and one I’ve taken my time on, all works I’m still proud of deep down. One day, I’d give anything to see my very own drawings on display in a gallery, until then, me appreciating what I’ve worked on is enough.

Stopping on the one I was working on earlier, I trace my finger over the pencil strokes I’ve already created. My cheeks flush slightly at what my inspiration was—orwhofor that matter. The detail of the muscles is one I wish I could show somebody else. I’m impressed with my attention to detail on them.

I pick up one of my pencils, continuing to shade the perfect ridges of the abs I was working on. With the sound of crashing waves surrounding me, I get lost in the drawing. I don’t know how much time has passed when I suddenly feel hot.

My head shoots up, my eyes connecting with the very person I’ve spent god knows how long drawing in precise detail.

“Beck?” I ask in disbelief, snapping the book closed before he can get a look on what I’ve been working on. My neck prickles with heat as I pray in my head he didn’t see what I’d been drawing.

Carter’s elusive older brother stares down at me, no hint of emotion on his face. His lips are set in a scowl that I’ve learned in a very short amount of time he wears often. He keeps his hands tucked in the pockets of his nicely pressed shorts.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His voice is rough, that one sentence almost more words than he’d uttered to me this entire weekend with his family.

I look up and down the beach, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don’t see any threats around here.”

He grunts, taking me by surprise when he takes a seat next to me. He carefully moves a few of my supplies out of the way, his huge body way too close to mine as we share the towel I’d snatched.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. My arms clutch my sketchbook to my chest for dear life. I hate to admit it to myself, but there’s a good chance he’s already seen what I was working on. I’m going to live in denial until he gives any indication he’d seen what’s inside.

Beck brings his knees to his chest, looping his arms around his legs and looking way too easy-going for this persona I’ve made up for him in my head. “I’m not leaving you out here alone,” he states. The abrasive tone of his voice makes it clear he’s not interested in me arguing.

I do it anyway.

“We’re on a private beach. I’m fine. I came out here to be alone, and you’re ruining that.”

He effortlessly reaches out and plucks the sketchbook from my arms. I screech, reaching across the towel to try and steal back my own property.

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