Color Me Pretty

by Celeste, B.

  “Complete?” she offered. “Have you considered the reason for that is because you’re afraid of what the faces would look like?”

  I swallowed.

  “They’re you. Each one. Aren’t they?”

  I said nothing. “May I suggest something else?” she asked, squeezing my arm.

  I nodded.

  “Do something crazy. Something spontaneous that you’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid of. I’ve found that facing those fears, no matter how big or small, helps when it comes to chipping away at what the conscious might not tell you the real problem is.”

  My lips parted to speak but closed when one image came to mind. One person. One thought that I’d had thousands of times. It sent sparks down my body, fire forming in the back of my neck, and my heartrate skyrocketing.

  I thought about Theo.

  “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about from personal experience,” I managed to say.

  Her laugh was light. “And by the flush in your cheeks, it looks like you have a pretty decent idea of where to start. Take my advice, Adele, and truly consider what’s being offered. I know it won’t be easy, but I assure you it will be worth it without a doubt in my mind.”

  I knew she was right, but it didn’t stop every internal response in me to argue against it. I’d been judged on far less things but putting myself out there like she was insisting would be the same as opening me up to free fire on a battlefield.

  The only difference was that I’d welcome it, choose it, which meant I could anticipate everybody else’s next moves. Maybe that was better, because it meant I’d be the one to move the pawns and take back the control I felt was stolen from me for so long.

  “I’ll think about it,” I offered quietly.

  When we bid goodbye, all I could think about were her words. But they weren’t the only thing lingering in my head. And when I showed up at my apartment, I couldn’t help but stare at the man, and dog, sitting on the couch waiting for me like fate was offering me a hand.

  I’d made my decision.

  Chapter Ten

  Theo

  Her unblinking eyes traveled from me to the television where Animal Planet was showing something about dog breeds. Hell if I knew why she loved watching it, but there were seventeen episodes recorded, so I figured it had to be interesting enough.

  “I prefer the serial killer documentaries you make me watch,” I noted, grabbing the remote and turning it off.

  My words snapped her out of whatever train of thought she was having. She set her belongings down on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s for Ramsay.”

  “The murder shows?”

  “Animal Planet.”

  I blinked, noting the pink settling into her cheeks as she reached down and pet the dog in question. “It calms him down if the TV is left on for him, especially that channel.”

  “You leave your television on for your dog? Do you know how much that racks up the bill, Della?”

  I knew immediately it was a stupid thing to say because her face drained of the surprise that I’d bestowed on her by being here, and anger took its place. “What is with people being assholes to me lately? I’m aware of what it costs, Theo. I pay the bills. All of them. Remember?”

  Sighing, I tried backtracking because I knew the topic was sensitive to her. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course, you didn’t! You never mean to do anything that would upset me, right? Not that you’d ever admit. But, rest assured, I know what money I’m forking over every month because I work my ass off to make sure I can keep a roof over my head, the lights on, and my stomach fed without any help. But thanks for the reminder.”

  I waited until she was done because I knew trying to reason with her would be pointless otherwise. Though, the pinched expression on her face and the way the crease formed between her brows told me I was in the doghouse regardless. Metaphorically speaking.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, tone softer now that she took a moment to breathe.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Her lips parted.

  Standing, I walked around the couch with my hands stuffed in my front pockets. “I know the past few years haven’t been easy for you, but you’ve always held your head up high. You’ve made it through. Look at this place.” I did just that, studying the bright colors, wide open space, and smiled at the modern style that screamed Della. A few walls were aged white brick, the windows were large and feeding the room with natural light, and everything she furnished inside matched her personality to a ‘T’. “It’s yours. Not your father’s, not your mother’s, or anyone else’s. You made yourself a home and proved to everybody that you didn’t need your family’s money.”

  If she were raised any other way, she would have been screwed. When the scandal broke and her father went away, they seized all assets, including properties. She was allowed two bags worth of belongings out of everything she’d once called her own, the rest was taken away. That didn’t stop her from pushing forward. Even though there was room at my house, she refused to accept any help. It took her an additional three months to save up the money she needed to secure this place through commissioned art, and a few odds and ends jobs around campus.

  “So, I know that you know how much it costs. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. In fact, it shouldn’t surprise me that you’d leave the television on just so your dog doesn’t get lonely.”

  “A lot of dogs have separation anxiety and need to feel secure when their owners are gone,” was her defense.

  My head cocked. “And how do you know he has separation anxiety?”

  Her bottom lip drew into her mouth as she looked at Ramsay. “He destroyed your armchair and favorite pair of shoes. Plus, he peed on everything even though he hadn’t done that in a while since we trained him to go out. I read up on it and vets say that it’s probably anxiety. Since I started leaving Animal Planet on, he hasn’t done anything bad.”

  I did love the shoes that I found chewed up without an ounce of hope they could be fixed. I threw them out as soon as I saw them and simply told Della rather than showing her the mess he’d made. It was bad enough she wanted to buy me a new chair, but the shoes would have made her feel worse had she seen the state they were in. They were one of Tom Ford’s most expensive designs.

  “I’m here,” I continued, “because I needed to make sure you were okay. Plus, I knew you were probably missing your demon dog.”

  “You’re not mad I left him at your house?”

  “I told you that you could.” Hell, I liked the little bastard. He got on my nerves when he wanted attention, but I’d even found myself missing him when I realized she’d taken him back after leaving the other day.

  “But we’re fighting,” she stated quietly.

  That was where she was wrong. I stepped up to her, moving a piece of curled blonde hair behind her ear. “This isn’t fighting. We were both upset, and things got out of hand.” She flinched, and I knew she was thinking worst case scenario. “Get out of that head of yours. I didn’t mean because of what happened. I meant after.”

  “When you basically said it was a mistake again?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You can’t keep kissing me and pretending like it was an accident. People don’t just fall onto other people’s mouths. That was what pissed me off the most and you didn’t even seem to care that it did.”

  “Because I didn’t chase after you?” The scoff came out of me before I could stop it, fueling the fire that didn’t need any help growing.

  “It’s not about the chase!” she yelled, her fists clenching at her sides. She shook her head and walked away from me, peeling off her mesh sweater and draping it on the back of the kitchen chair she passed. Her white tank top was practically see-through thanks to the cheap material and the darker bra visible underneath.

  “What was it about then?”

  She gave me her back as she washed her hands in the sin
k before toweling them off and pouring herself a glass of water. “Listen, I want to work on my project tonight. Ramsay can stay here if you don’t want to take him back with you. I’ll figure it out.”

  “No.”

  She froze halfway to her bedroom before slowly turning on her heels. “What?”

  “I let you walk away because I knew it wouldn’t do either of us good if I did chase after you. We were angry. Tensions were high. Things would have been said that couldn’t be taken back. So, yes. I watched you walk out.”

  To that, she had no reply.

  Walking over, I stopped just in front of her and watched the way her body leaned into me. It was a natural response that I lived for. Always had. When she was little, it made me feel like she knew I’d protect her. But now? Now it was different. That need to protect her was tenfold even though I’d learned a long time ago she could look out for herself.

  “This time we’re talking it out because we are both adults whether I like to admit it or not. And I don’t, you’re right. I hate that you’re not little Della anymore because that means the world can get you and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try like hell even if it pisses you off.”

  “By making me angry and calling me a child? How does that help anybody?”

  It helps me. “Are you going to work on your project?”

  “You’re changing the topic?”

  “Technically, it all ties in. Thought maybe you found some inspiration after the conversation we had before you stormed out.”

  “Our argument,” she corrected.

  All I did was shrug.

  “You’re impossible, you know that?”

  I didn’t deny it.

  “I’m going to try getting the project started. Sometimes all it takes is throwing some color on the canvas for the mood to set.” Tilting my head, I looked down at her and watched her stare back. “What?”

  “Get changed.”

  She blinked.

  “I know that isn’t what you wear when you paint, so go change,” I told her again. It wasn’t a suggestion. I knew what she got messy in, and it wasn’t her school clothes. The black jeans she wore now were destressed, showing a lot of skin through the tears, and I knew her father would have hated it. He’d made comments on the style before. She never wore things like that because of it. I was glad to see her do her own thing, even if I agreed too much was exposed.

  It made me snort.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I waved her off. “Change.”

  She mumbled, “bossy” under her breath as she walked into her room, closing the door behind her.

  Ramsay ran over to the door and pawed at it, making me shake my head. The rodent loved her, that much was easy to tell. He was usually happy to see me when I got home, but the day she’d dropped him off I came home to find a puddle of piss he left in the kitchen since she decided not to share her TV tip with me in the note she left. Guess that was payback for me being a dick. Then again, I liked to think the dog was being loyal to her by making a mess, his way of telling me I was an asshole.

  Guess what, rodent? I already know that.

  When she was ready, paint-covered overall shorts covering her body and hair in a messy updo, she eyed me where I still stood in the kitchen. “Are you going to watch me paint?”

  It wouldn’t be the first time. “Did you eat yet? Figured I could make dinner while you worked.”

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  “Della.”

  Her shoulders tensed. “I mean it. I ate this afternoon, but I just don’t have an appetite tonight. I’ve been stressed.”

  I knew I was partially to blame for that stress, so I felt obligated to help her. “Go work. I’ll make sure the dog, and you, are fed. Don’t think about fighting me.”

  The last part was directed at her parted lips that held a retort, but no words passed them. Whatever she mumbled was lost on me as we went our separate ways—her to the spare room where she painted and me to the cabinet where I grabbed the dog dish and food.

  “Animal Planet,” I murmured as I squatted down to give the dog its dinner. Running a hand down his furry back as he dove into the kibble, I chuckled. “You’re one spoiled rodent, huh?”

  “I can hear you!” Della called from across the hall. The door was cracked open and I knew sound traveled, so it didn’t surprise me. I’d been caught giving Ramsay extra treats, letting him on any furniture he wanted, and Della made sure to point it out with those knowing eyes of hers, like she found it amusing I secretly spoiled him. It wasn’t something I necessarily hid. I just didn’t advertise it.

  The apartment fell to silence as I cooked us dinner. Ramsay had laid down outside the spare bedroom door after he was finished eating. I bumped it open with my hip carrying two plates of eggs and toast inside. When I saw Della sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room staring into space, I nudged her leg until she finally looked up at me.

  Her fingers wrapped around the plate I offered and blinked down at the food. “Thanks.”

  “Eat up.”

  She eyed me and uncrossed her legs. “Are we eating in the living room? There’s probably something on the television we could watch. I won’t even subject you to murder mysteries. Remember that cooking show we watched before? I set up a bunch to record.”

  Sitting on the edge of the desk off to the side, I picked up a piece of toast. I might not have understood why she liked those shows, but I enjoyed watching them with her simply because it was time together. “You said you wanted to work. We can eat in here.”

  “So…you do want to watch?”

  That was a loaded question. Instead of answering it, I bit into the toasted bread and looked at the canvas. There were tints of pinks and purple taking up the upper half of the canvas, looking like it was forming some sort of circle with rougher edges. That was what I liked about Della’s work. They were always colorful, emotional, whatever they turned out to be. “I like watching you lose yourself in your work. It reminds me of better times.”

  Her eyes remained on her plate. “You mean with Mariska? I know she spent a lot of time in the studio.”

  I hadn’t meant my ex-wife. Della had always been interested in art. When she was younger, she’d constantly draw pictures for everybody and expect them to be hung on the walls, refrigerator, or anywhere people could see. I still had a collection of her crayoned originals stored away in my office that she’d gifted me over the years, not that she knew.

  “Of you,” I simply stated. “Eat, Della.”

  “Stop telling me what to do.”

  Setting my plate on the cluttered desktop, I crossed my arms over my chest and ignored her feeble demand. “There was a picture framed in Mariska’s studio that she’d always look at whenever she was stuck. Do you remember what it said?”

  Her head bobbed. “It was a Pablo Picasso quote that said, ‘Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.’ She said it was one of her favorites.”

  “She told me once that she’d wanted it close by to remind her why she started painting in the first place.” Mariska was always passionate about her art and insisted that no creation was good enough unless there were pieces of truth in each one. “What’s your truth, Della? What do you have to say that the world doesn’t already know?”

  The last time we’d had this conversation, I was sure she’d shut down. But the wheels were turning as she glanced up at me and stared. Unlike then, I had an idea of what she was thinking now, and I knew it’d be smart if I walked out.

  But I didn’t.

  “Who’s asking?” she asked quietly. “Is it the Theo West that used to push me on my bike with the training wheels off or the one who barged into my apartment and kissed me like a starved man?”

  Throat bobbing, I tried ignoring the hardening cock pressing against the zipper of my pants. “The one who cares about you.”

  Her head tilted. “Wouldn’t that be a combination of the
two then?”

  A shoulder lifted. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. For an artist, you only seem to see in black and white. It’s not that simple though.”

  “What are you saying exactly?”

  What wasn’t I saying? Abandoning my food, I squatted down beside her, so we were eye level. “I’m saying that I care for you in a number of ways, like I always have.”

  She swallows. “Oh.”

  Chuckling, I said, “Yeah. Oh.”

  She wet her bottom lip. “My professor talked to me before I came home. It made me think about…a lot of things. Art. What inspires me.” Her pause was hearty as she stared into oblivion for a moment. “Did you kiss me to make me feel something for my art? Or was that really because you wanted to?”

  Closing my eyes, I shook my head and stiffened when I felt a palm flatten against my cheek. When I dared to look, Della was already pinning me with pleading eyes that I couldn’t ignore. “We both know the answer to that.”

  “But I want to hear you say it, Theo.”

  I said nothing.

  “Please.” Her voice cracked.

  Keeping her hand pressed against my cheek with my own, I blew out a breath and settled into her warmth. “The night I showed up here drunk, I’d gotten into it with somebody your father was working closely with. The asshole…well, it doesn’t matter. I lost my temper. Drank to forget my anger and wound up at the one place I knew I needed to be that would make it better.” Her sharp inhale of breath had me locking eyes with hers. “The things that I want to do with you, to you, go beyond kissing, Adele. But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “Right?” The dry laugh that escaped her made me draw back slightly. “What about either of our lives have been right lately? And who’s to say what you’re talking about isn’t?”

  I blinked. Then blinked again. “There are a lot of factors that society would pit against us in this situation.”