Chapter 2
Work sucks, but it paid for all the groceries in my arms and the house I’m driving to on the bus. But at least now I’m almost home, and my body was humming with anticipation. For my art, of course. What else would I be excited for? There’s nothing else. It’s not like the paper in my pocket feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket, and I found myself nonchalantly fiddling with it the whole time I walked around the store. Heh, heh.
As I got off my stop I started walking to my apartment building, hurrying to get into my house and begin to make a masterpiece.
My apartment is nothing special at all I don’t spend much on decorations, except for art pieces that are drying. The air is stale and my furniture is old and barely comfortable. It’s always cold and my fridge is usually empty and the water is never the wrong temperature. But really, I can’t complain, it is my own home. My landlady accepts me being a few days late on rent every week. It really is my home though. All mine. I am independent and I prefer living here than having to lower myself to return to my family. Because I am an adult, I should be able to afford my own life.
I can afford my own life.
I mean, I would like to have nicer things. I could have them if I didn’t always spend my money on new art supplies. But I need to make some sacrifices for my art.
I put my phone on the desk and it taunted me every second that it was out. Call him now, my heart demanded. But I couldn’t just call him immediately. I mean, that would make me look totally desperate. He can’t think I’m desperate. Or that I’m thinking about him and have been since I first saw those piercing sapphires that haunt-
ART! Let me start on my piece for today. As I set up a new canvas and began to paint, the urge became a persistent itch that it was becoming more and more difficult to resist.
I closed my eyes and tried to get lost in my art. I painted the canvas with all the grace of one who lives their life by the stroke of the paintbrush. I put all my frustration and need into the piece.
A stroke of the brush per thought I shouldn’t be thinking of when I have the world at my fingertips. A stroke for the glitter of his eyes. A stroke for his soft lips, another for dreaming of their taste. A stroke for the sight of his chiseled jaw. Two for the way his smirk affected me. Slowly, pouring all my emotions into this masterpiece, the itch didn’t go away. It became bigger and bigger. Until it was completely unbearable.
I bit my lip hard. I couldn’t just call him. No matter how much I wished to hear his comforting voice. I had to finish this piece. It would be more beautiful than anything else I have ever created.
When I finally finished, I stepped back and smiled at the piece I created. A swirling galaxy of soft blue and green hues, with stars that glittered. It was just as beautiful as I have ever imagined anything my own hands could create would be.
I almost screamed as the thoughts just had to assault me. The blue I decided to use is the exact shade of his eyes, the stars seemed to form his face with a constellation. God damn it! What is wrong with me? The vast emptiness of space surrounded the beauty that was Damian- the galaxy. Damian is too beautiful. I can’t just make him my muse. That’s weird!
Oh, who am I kidding? I, Clarissa Carr, am officially smitten by a man whom I would readily believe I created myself if I really believed it was in my ability to make something so deliciously forbidden. Like my own personal forbidden fruit. Instead of a snake, it was the fruit itself tempting me to take a big bite. There is this intimidating aura around him that warns me away, but that same aura is the very thing which beckons me closer. Like a lighthouse to a ship, it calls me in.
“Kitty!” I barked into the phone, calling my best friend in the world.
Her real name is Catherine, but I call her Kitty because she acts like a smug cat all the time. Honestly, she’s got an attitude and the looks to back it up. The brown-eyed, blonde girl is a model. That’s how we met, she was modeling for a life-drawing class.
“Ugh. Why do you always call me to yell?” Her voice was teasing. She probably knew what I was calling about. She somehow knew everything all the time.
“So, I met this guy at the museum! He’s really good looking and funny and likes art and he’s rich. I think it might be some kind of a trick. He’s… weird!” I rambled on. “I mean; no one should be that great! It’s wrong.”
I could practically hear Kitty roll her eyes. “Puh-lease. Nobody would go through that much to trick you.”
“Thanks,” I replied with biting sarcasm.
She huffed. “Just ask him out. You’re great and I want us to double date one day. So, ask Damian out and-“
“How do you know his name or the exact context of what’s going on?” I asked. “I barely told you anything.”
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” She said ominously.
“You suggested he go to my museum, didn’t you?” I accused. “He works with one of your bosses? Used to date one of your coworkers?”
“Oh, look at that. Something came up, I got to go!” She hung up a second later and I just groaned.
I had no idea what it was I wanted to do.
That aura and memories of his inviting scent and clever mind are what did me in. That is what eventually made me pick up the phone and dial his number. I’m so bad. It literally took three times for my fingers to finally type the right numbers!
I chewed on my nails as I heard the phone beep.
All of a sudden, anxiety struck me. I almost hung up the phone as so many conflicting ideas ran through my mind. Enough to make my head spin. What if he wasn’t really interested in me this way? What if this was all some elaborate hoax? What if he was cruel, deep down inside? And… worse still… what if it isn’t? What if he isn’t? What if he is sweet and kind and I cannot help myself from falling hopelessly in love with him? What if I love him and he loves me and my whole comfortable world falls apart?
I don’t know how to deal with that! I know, I’ll just hang up. I’ll run away and thus, I will never see him again. And then my whole life would go back to the last point when everything made complete sense and-
The sound of his breathy voice made me freeze, breath caught in my throat as I let out a soft gasp. He picked up. “Hello, Darling.” His voice soothed me and worked me up at the same time. God, it was such a manly sound, yet simultaneously melodic. He sounded like he belonged on Broadway and I know he looks like he belonged in a fashion magazine. All my anxious thoughts ran away and were replaced with completely new anxious thoughts. “I was wondering when you would finally call.”
I gulped down whatever stuttering, idiotic thing I would reply with. With confidence that I know I don’t actually have, I controlled my voice whilst answering him. “I was busy.” My voice was much cooler than I felt.
“Of course.” He sounded like he was just humoring me and I wanted to snap at him. He doesn’t know that I wasn’t busy. He shouldn’t assume I’m such a boring person! I’m cool! “Have you cleared out your schedule?”
“I was busy!” I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him to see me. Not like some, some, incapable waif! I have dreams and goals and I can accomplish them all on my own. “If you must know I was personally working on an art piece.”
“I should have known.” His voice was silky. The tone was so sweet, I can just imagine the smarmy grin on his face. (And no, the thought of that wasn’t mouthwatering as I thought about tasting his lips and kissing the expression off of his face.) “Someone as knowledgeable and passionate as you would have her own artistic dreams. Your art must carry such a unique perspective. It must be absolutely beautiful. Are you selling any of them?”
My face flushed against my whims at the flattery, despite the fact I knew he was probably just trying to get on my good side with his words. I know that intellectually. On the other hand, oh dear, he’s such a flatterer. All the girls would fall to his feet with just his magnificent way with words, regardless of his outer beauty or wealth. It didn’t hurt that he somehow had those as well. It’s completely unfair.
I actually squeaked out loud.
“So?” His voice had such a teasing quality to it. He clearly heard my squeak and could just tell how I’m reacting to him. Jerk. “How does dinner sound? Tomorrow night, around 7.”
“W- Where?” Ugh. Where did all your eloquence go, Clarissa? Usually, you can talk a mile a minute but you can barely even string together a single sentence in this guy’s presence? And he’s not even physically here! Gosh.
“Eureka.” His voice had this smug quality to it as if he were merely showing off. As if he was playing with me. Is he playing with me?
Wait. Wait! Eureka?! I gulped immediately at the thought. That restaurant? It was too nice. It had live music and everything! I don’t have money to pay for that place. They don’t pay museum tour guides enough to afford that with a month’s salary. Hell, I think I even lack an outfit nice enough to go there. “I… err… I don’t think…”
“Oh.” He sounded, disappointed. Like I had upset him. Was he upset with me? Oh no. He may have just decided this whole thing was a terrible idea. What am I to do now? How do I make him like me again? I’ve never been good at getting people to like me in the first place.
His next sentence quelled those fears, yet set a completely new and unique wave of anxiety out. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of this in advance. Of course, you would have your own preferences. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
My heart swelled. The thing he was worried about was me being unhappy. Oh god. That is the most endearing thing in the entire world. But I had to correct him. His suggestion wasn’t a bad one. It was treating me like a princess in a fairy tale, but… there was one big problem with that. I just wasn’t one. I didn’t have a dress or a fairy godmother to poof one up for me.
“It’s not that! I just, I don’t have anything nice enough to wear there. And I honestly couldn’t afford to eat somewhere like that.” I had to explain it to him.
A snort of laughter should make someone sound less attractive, especially when it kind of feels rude in the context. Miraculously, it just made him seem more real to me. That minor flaw, like a chink in his armor that makes him look so beautiful and perfect that he was more Superman than human. I could see more of the humanity beneath his undeniably suave, incredibly handsome demeanor.
It’s beautiful.
Shit. I can’t just say that! What do I say?
“Why are you laughing?” I huffed, hiding how his laughter made my stomach do somersaults.
“I’m sure no one would worry about what such an intriguing woman is wearing in a restaurant. Your mind so outweighs your outward appearance.” I don’t know if I should be offended or feel flattered. Ugh! He just continued on without missing a beat, “If you are so adamant I can get my tailors to fix up something very quickly if that is your wish. As I chose the venue it is only right that I would pay.” He calmly destroyed each and every one of my arguments.
“Um… Explain that last part to me.” I hoped he couldn’t hear the rustle of my clothes as I searched through my closet. I’m sure I have one fancy dress in here, somewhere. Then I wouldn’t look so much like a brat.
“It is only polite. The person who chooses the venue of a date should pay for the entirety of the date. If you wish to choose the venue of our next date, you could pay. Or I could still pay for you. An artist like yourself should want for nothing.” His voice was this sensual purr. It lulled me into a source of calmness.
If it was possible, I became even more infatuated with him. How he crafted paradises with his words, I may never know. He used his words to craft fantasies in a way that my art, despite my talent, could never hope to catch up to. I wish I could say I wasn’t utterly under his spell, but that would be a lie. I may never escape from the trap his words put me in, but I have no idea if I even want to. If I would ever wish to.
“I don’t need your tailor. That sounds really nice. I can meet you there. Don’t send a car.” Eureka is walking distance from my apartment complex and honestly, I do not have any wish for him to see my house. For him to know how I live. He would be completely unimpressed. He might be disgusted! “See you at 7!”
Picture a guy like him, so rich he wore a suit to an art museum, wandering into my modest home. Just the idea alone made me feel ashamed. I am not ashamed of how I live, but I don’t want him to look around my home and find it lacking.
“Are you sure? It is really no trouble at all and-” His voice was tinged with concern. About the tailor or picking me up, I will never know.
There’s a good reason I will never know. Loudly interrupting him with a “That sounds great. I’ll see you tomorrow night at 7 sharp. Have a nice night. Bye!” And then I immediately hung up after that last bit of word vomit came out of me.
Oh god. This is not going to get any easier on me, is it?