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Her hair was frizzy, and she ran her fingers through it. She wore her signature coat but had something warmer under it. It looked like a man’s thermal and I wasn’t sure why I bit my tongue. Something primal prickled in me. If she was going to wear anyone else’s shirt, it should be mine.
She must have noticed me staring because she crossed her hands over her chest. “So, how are you going to make me feel something?”
Damn, we needed a new way to phrase that because my mind went to all the different methods I could use my mouth tomake her feel something.
I cleared my throat. “I single line on this page. It will make you feel something.” She looked skeptical. I flipped to an open page. “Look, that’s all words are, just scribbles on a page. I’m doing the same thing. Sort of”
She looked at the white page and then back at me. “Do it.”
And I knew, I justknewwhat to draw. I uncapped my pen and let the ink flow across the page. I was used to drawing harsh lines when I first started a sketch. I copied the buildings and edges of skyscrapers. And then I grew softer with my hands, able to create curves and delicate details as I got to the fine details. But this? This was a wild frenzy of a scribble, circling and backtracking across the page. Eventually, a form began to emerge, then another. A tangle of faces created on the page with one giant line. I refused to take my pen from the page and eventually the shadows and dark spots appeared in all the right places. Two faces made of a single scribble, facing each other, brows furrowed.
It was silent save for her quiet breathing. I think I forgot to breathe because when I was finally done, I found myself nearly gulping for air. I tore the page from the notebook and passed it to her so she could get a better look.
“This—” She whispered the word so quietly I thought I imagined it. “This is beautiful.”
“What do you feel?”
She stared at the sketch, holding it by the edges so the ink could dry. “It’s chaotic, it’s messy, and the way the faces are pointed toward each other? It’s passion.”
“Anger or lust?”
“I suppose I could see either, depending on what I’m feeling at the moment.”
“And what do you see now?” I whispered, my fingers brushing over her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear.
“I think I’ll keep that to myself,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, looked to the sky, then back at me. “It’s beautiful. But It’s getting late. I need to head back.”
I hopped off the bed of the truck and stood between her knees. She clutched the sketch in trembling hands. I smiled at her. I took her sheet and carefully settled it over her head. I took my time, straightening it, feeling the curve of her cheekbones through the fabric.
“Do I get that date now?”
She nodded.
“Tomorrow night,” I said. “Six o’clock. Meet me right here. Bring a warm jacket.” My hand was on the back of her neck, thumb rubbing over her warm face. I leaned in and kissed her over the sheet, finding her lips despite them being covered. She didn’t pull away, and I rubbed her jaw with my thumb, whispering, “I’m hoping for arealkiss on ourrealdate.”
9
ELIZA
Iwas left wondering what this date would entail. Even as I walked to my car through the dim streets, I thought of Trask and his lingering lips. Curse the damned sheet. I brushed my fingers over my face where he had held me and I felt a hollowness in my bones. It was like something was missing without him and I wasn’t sure if I should hate him or run back to him. It wasn’t a date. I made that much clear, but holy hell what would tomorrow bring?
I never got to find out. I snuck in late but not late enough and I was assaulted by my grandmother and a broom.Very on-brand for the whole Halloween holiday.She’d found my extra packs of birth control pills and took to beating my stomach with the broken broom handle.
“I pay for it myself,” I screamed.
“Whore. This ain’t no whorehouse.”
“I don’t need it for that.” I tried to block the wild swings, but they were erratic, unpredictable.
Grandpa blocked the door and grabbed my arm in a vice grip, squeezing so hard I thought my coat had gotten embedded into my skin. “We don’t allow whores here.”
“I’m only here because of a whore,” I spat. “Your whore of a daughter.”
Smack!
My mistake. At least it was an openhanded hit. No broken bones that way, just a split lip, and bruised cheek.
“I don’t even use it for that,” I said. Grandma was crying and wailing in tongues or something. “It’s to stop the bleeding, that’s all. The doctor said it was fine, to help the cramps.”
