Because of You

by E. L. Todd

  The entrance fee was a little ridiculous. It was a hundred bucks just to walk inside. Dad didn’t seem to care, and he paid for both of us. I wore a black dress with my hair pulled back in a black clip. Diamond earrings hung from my lobes, and I wore a platinum bracelet.

  Dad wore a suit, something that hardly ever happened. He usually wore jeans and a hoodie that was covered in holes. Whenever my parents went out, my mom had to haggle him to wear something reasonable. Tonight, it seemed like my dad didn’t mind dressing up.

  “This place is fancy,” he said.

  “It is.”

  It was on the top floor of a building with large windows. The city lights burned in the distance, keeping the city bright without the brilliance of the sun. Different pieces were displayed in an orchestrated path, and the price dangled from the corner in writing that was way too small to see.

  A waiter approached with a tray. “Champagne?”

  “Sure.” Dad took one then handed me one.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Dad moved with me as we examined each piece. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what the image even was, but the colors and the lines made it interesting to look at. Dad seemed just as interested as I was. He stared at the image for a long time, hardly blinking. “Have you ever tried painting?” he asked.

  I sipped my champagne then shook my head. “I don’t know what to draw.”

  “So, you’ve never tried?”

  “No. I appreciate art but I’m not sure if I could ever be an artist.”

  “Well, your father is one. There’s a good chance you got some talent in there.”

  I shrugged. “I can imitate other pieces pretty well, but I can’t create my own.”

  “Maybe you need to get inspired,” he said.

  “And how do you do that?” We moved to the next painting.

  “Go for a jog…sit in the park…watch old men play chest. It could be anything.”

  “Do you watch old men play chest?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He chuckled. “Your mother and I were going for a walk one Saturday morning and we saw these old men playing. We decided to sit down and watch.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We just did. Your mother and I are unusual in that way.”

  We kept moving. Most of the paintings were inspiring, but some of them were just odd.

  “Going to buy anything?” he asked.

  “I doubt I can afford it,” I said bluntly. “A lot of these artists are famous.”

  He finished his champagne then placed the empty glass on a passing tray. As we moved to the next painting, he put his hands in his pockets. “So…you seem to be doing well.”

  He didn’t directly ask about Arsen but I knew that’s what his question implied. “I’m fine.”

  He stared at the side of my face for a moment. “Are you really?”

  “Yeah,” I said quickly. “When I think about Arsen and our relationship, I realize how stupid it was. I believed he would change and be a better person. I was wrong and wasted my time. Some people just don’t change.”

  He nodded his head slowly. “So, you don’t love him anymore?”

  “Well…I wouldn’t say that,” I whispered. “But I’m glad we aren’t together anymore.”

  He fell silent and didn’t ask me any more questions.

  I moved to an image of an open rose, and the pedals filled the entire image. It was so simple, yet so perfect. The details of each pedal were so precise, I thought I smelled a freshly mown lawn and inhaled the hint of a lemonade stand. It suddenly felt warm like a summer day. I couldn’t stop looking at it even if I tried.

  “You like this one?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah…I’m not sure why.”

  He stepped closer to it then pointed. “It’s the lines. See how the edge of the each pedal makes a discreet circle? If you follow it, it’ll take you to the center and out to the edge again. It’s simple but brilliant. And these colors, they work well. The yellow, blue, and green are so subdued, but they make the picture more hypnotizing. It’s remarkable.”

  “Yeah…” I crossed my arms and kept looking at it.

  Dad patiently stood there while I examined the painting. I must have stood there for over five minutes. “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t watch him go. I continued to stand there and shift my weight once in a while, relieving the pain in my knees from wearing heels. The painting was so simple but ingenious at the same time. I imagined it on my wall in the kitchen, where I could stare at it every morning before I had breakfast. I eyed the tag dangling from the corner. The writing was small, but I could distinguish the price. It was way out of my range. It was three of my paychecks combined.

  “Do you like it?”

  I turned and saw a man beside me. He wore a black suit with a black vest and a black tie. He towered over me in height, causing me to look up to see his face. The second I looked at him, I saw his striking blue eyes and dark hair. I quickly turned away, feeling like I shouldn’t examine him too much. “Of course. It’s beautiful.”

  He kept staring at the side of my face. I felt his look burn into my skin. “Does your boyfriend like it too?”

  That was an odd question. “That’s my father.” Whenever we were together, people assumed he was my brother or boyfriend. My parents were young, and they both looked particularly youthful. They took care of themselves, stayed out of the sun, and ate fairly healthy. I couldn’t count the number of times people thought my mom was my sister.

  “My mistake,” he said quickly. “Does he like it as well?” His voice was quiet but had an edge to it, like he was normally aggressive.

  “He loves it. Who wouldn’t?”

  He put his hands in his pockets and kept looking at it. “Did you like anything else in the gallery?”

  “Yeah, everything is pretty incredible.”

  “But you like this one the most?”

  I turned to him. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve looked at this painting longer than all the others.” He said it simply.

  Had he been watching me the entire time? That was creepy. “Yes, it’s my favorite.” He was very handsome, and he had a body that filled out his suit well. But evil could still come in a pretty package. “Excuse me, I need to find my dad.”

  “Hold on.” He didn’t grab me but he blocked my path. Now we were facing each other. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Silke.” I wasn’t sure why I gave it to him.

  He extended his hand. “Pike. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I eyed it before I took it. His hand felt warm. Then I dropped my touch.

  He stared into my face openly, examining every piece of me. His eyes lingered on my eyes longer than anywhere else.

  The intensity was becoming too much. “It was nice to meet you, Pike. I should be going.”

  “Do you live in the city?” He acted like he hadn’t heard me.

  “I live in Manhattan.”

  “As do I. There’s no other place on earth quite like it.”

  “I agree.”

  He returned his hand to his pocket. “What do you do, Silke?”

  “I’m a curator at the MET.”

  His eyes widened. “Wow…that’s impressive.”

  My cheeks blushed slightly.

  “Where did you study?”

  “Cambridge.” I didn’t like telling people I went to Harvard. It sounded snooty.

  “Cambridge, Massachusetts or Cambridge, England?”

  I forgot there were two. “The one in this country.”

  “And where did you attend?”

  Now I couldn’t dodge the question. “Harvard.”

  He didn’t react in any specific way, but he seemed pleased by that response. “You’re an accomplished young woman. That’s lovely.”

  “Thanks…” I was still talking to a stranger. He was nice, but I didn’t usually have long conversations wi
th men I didn’t know. You never know who someone really was. After having Arsen break my heart, I was naturally skeptical of everyone and everything.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Silke?”

  I immediately thought of Arsen, the man who never really loved me. If he did, he would have changed for me. He was long gone, sitting behind a cell and serving his time. “No.”

  He nodded slowly. “Honestly, I didn’t think that would be your answer.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Beautiful women like you are never available.”

  I looked at a nearby painting because I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. “I ended a serious relationship not that long ago.”

  “How long ago, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Eight months.”

  “That’s a long time. You must be ready to get back into the game.” He didn’t phrase it like a question but it sounded like it.

  I shrugged and didn’t give a response. I hadn’t thought much about dating. If I met someone I liked, I’d go for it. But since I’d spent most of my time locked in my apartment crying, I hadn’t had the opportunity to meet anyone.

  “Would you like to get breakfast tomorrow?”

  Breakfast? What? What was he implying? “Sorry?”

  “There’s this restaurant at the edge of Manhattan that you can watch the sunrise from. It’s the way the buildings are lined up that make it possible. It’s a beautiful sight. You can’t even see the shadows.”

  I guess I was used to the cheesy lines that men fed women. My brother told me all of his. If he asked a girl to breakfast, it was because he was inviting her over to his place for the evening. I shouldn’t make the same assumption to every guy I met. “Uh, I don’t know anything about you. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, what would you like to know?”

  “I don’t know. But more.”

  He rubbed his chin for a moment before he returned his hand to his pocket. “I was born and raised in this city. I have one brother. My dad passed away when I was twenty. My mom and I are close. I attended the academy of art of New York. I’m twenty-five and have the soul of a fifty-year old man. My favorite thing to do is paint. It’s my passion as well as my job. Sometimes I prefer the company of my thoughts rather than the disappointment of people. I’m loyal to people who deserve it. And I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me.

  “The moment you walked inside, I noticed you. I hoped your date wasn’t romantic, especially since he never touched you. I loved the way you looked at every painting like it might spit out an answer to you. You clearly admire and respect each piece as a private soul. I think you’re beautiful, perfect like a painting. You hold yourself with grace and confidence. If I said something offensive, you’d knee me in the balls and throw your drink on me. And I prefer women who don’t put up with bullshit rather than the weak damsel in distress act. I’m looking for a partner who’s equally strong and mature. I’m not a one-night stand type of guy, so I’m not looking for an easy lay. I can tell you aren’t like that either.”

  I wasn’t expecting that speech. His thoughts were sporadic, and he jumped from one topic to the next, but he still made sense. He was analytical and observant, and the fact he pinned me down so well slightly irritated me. But it also impressed me. And the fact he was an artist caught my attention. I’d never known one in the flesh.

  “So, is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  I chuckled. “I think you got everything. And I’m sorry about your father.”

  “Thank you.” He stared at me like he was trying to decipher my thoughts. “So, breakfast?”

  I wasn’t used to random men hitting on me, especially one so good-looking. It made me uneasy for some reason, like it was too good to be true. Arsen came into my mind then disappeared again. In the back of my mind, I felt like I was cheating on him. I wasn’t sure why. He’d never been loyal to me, so why should I be to him? If he’d just done as I asked a long time ago we would be living in the city together, being happy. But he didn’t want that. He chose his fate, to fall through the cracks and abandon his daughter just as his father had done to him. What did I ever see in him?

  “What are you thinking?”

  His thoughts brought me back to reality. “Sorry, I drifted off there…”

  “It’s quite alright. I do it all the time.” He patiently waited for my response.

  “Uh…”

  He had the grace to smile. “Why are you so hesitant? Is there something I can do to convince you to share a meal with me? Invite your father along as well. I’m always looking for interesting people to meet.”

  I laughed. “My dad?”

  “Whatever makes you more comfortable. Invite your whole family if you wish.”

  Wow, he really wanted to go out with me. I never had a guy fight for me like this. Why hadn’t Arsen fought for me? I was the one always fighting for him. It was nice to be chased for once.

  Just then my father returned with a woman in a dress. She lifted the painting off the wall. “We’ll wrap this up for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We only accept cash or checks.”

  “That’s fine,” Dad said.

  My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting you this painting. I know you love it.” He said it simply. “Consider it an early birthday gift.”

  “Dad, you don’t need to get it for me.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He smiled then pulled out his checkbook.

  Pike approached the woman. “It’s on the house. Just give it to him.”

  What?

  Dad looked up with a quizzical expression on his face.

  The woman stared him down. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation.

  “Okay.” She carried the painting to the back to be wrapped.

  I stared at Pike incredulously then came closer to him. “Is this your painting…?”

  “Yes.” He stared into my eyes. “And that’s the biggest reason why I’m not taking no for an answer. If you love this painting so much, then you love my soul. So, in a way, you already know me. Now I want to know you.”

  Dad watched our interaction then slowly walked off, not wanting to eavesdrop.

  I was caught off guard by the knowledge. “I can’t accept the gift. I want to pay you for it.”

  “No.” He said it firmly, like I shouldn’t bother arguing.

  “But—”

  “No. I don’t paint for the money. I paint to connect with other people. So, you’ve already paid me. Now accept my gift. If you really want to show your gratitude, have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

  There was no way I could say no. Knowing he painted something so beautiful eliminated any doubt I felt. If he was able to paint that from his own thoughts, then his mind must be a complicated and wonderful place. Of course I wanted to know it better. “Sure.”

  He smiled, showing a dimple in each cheek. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

  Chapter Four

  Roland

  When I woke up, the sun was coming through the windows. The heat was burning my skin, and I kicked off the blanket covering me. A migraine thudded behind my eyes, and I felt exhausted despite a full night of sleep.

  I sat up and looked around, realizing I was in Heath’s apartment. I wasn’t sure how I got there. The last thing I remember is sitting across from Jasmine in a bar. Everything else was a blur.

  The front door opened and Heath walked inside. “Good, you’re awake.” He carried a tray with two coffees and a pastry bag. “I was getting worried. It’s almost noon.”

  I looked at my watch even though my vision was too blurry to see anything. “Man, I feel like shit.”

  “I got you covered, man.” He placed a bottle of water on the table along with two pills. “That should help.”

  I snatched them and downed them immediately. “What happened last night?”

  He sat beside me an
d placed the coffees on the table. “You don’t remember?” he asked sadly.

  “I just remember sitting across from Jasmine. But that’s it.”

  He stared at the table for a moment before he pulled out a bagel for me.

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  He was quiet for a long time. “You and I ran into each other at the bar. I was on a date.”

  He was on a date? With whom? “Oh…”

  “And then my date ended and I went home. About an hour later you came to my doorstep drunk off your ass.”

  I tried to search the holes in my mind to figure out what happened. I kept drawing up a blank every time. And I noticed Heath sounded irritated, like the fact I didn’t remember last night was extremely offensive. “Anything else?”

  He sipped his coffee then shook his head. “Not a damn thing.”

  Heath never cursed. Something was bothering him. “Is there something on your mind?”

  “No.” He turned on the TV and took a bite of his bagel.

  I knew he was lying but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe I ruined his date but he didn’t want to tell me that. Maybe I threw up on one of his couches and he had to spend hours cleaning it. I really didn’t know.

  I pulled out my phone and saw a bunch of missed calls from my parents. “Ugh…”

  “I told them you were here and indisposed,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about them.”

  “Thanks.” At least I didn’t have to deal with them now. I ate the bagel, feeling my migraine starting to recede. The coffee woke me up, and within half an hour, I felt a lot better. “I guess I should head home.”

  “Yeah.” His edge hadn’t disappeared.

  “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

  “Nothing.” He threw away all the trash and wouldn’t look at me.

  I stood up then approached him. “Did I do something to you? Did I ruin your date last night? Did I vomit on your couch? What the hell did I do?”

  “What did you do?” he yelled. “I’ll tell you what the fuck you did.” He got in my face. “Stop hiding who you are. Stop pretending to be something you aren’t. Stop living a lie. Just tell me how you feel, and not when you’re drunk and can’t remember a damn thing the next day.”