by Mila Ferrera
I won’t let this stupid situation chase me away from painting. And it’s not only that Dr. Greer wanted me to stick to it. I’m not letting any man get between me and my easel again. Caleb can sleep with whomever he wants. I’m here to focus on myself.
Chapter Twelve: Caleb
One look at Romy tells me she pretty much hates me. I spend the whole class hoping she’ll look at me. She doesn’t. Not even once. When the class is over, she packs up and leaves without a backward glance.
I should be relieved. Instead, I feel gutted. I’ve spent the last two days trying to puzzle out what I wanted to say to her, and I’d finally decided on: Can we have coffee sometime? I want to know you.
That was as far as I got, but I figured we’d go from there. I let my dick get way out in front of me on Sunday, but I was hoping I could rewind, because Romy is the first person I’ve met in a long time who actually seemed to care about … me, I guess. For a minute there, at least. If I’d sat down and talked to her instead of kissing and groping her, maybe we’d be on our way to being friends. Maybe even something more.
Another regret to add to the mountainous pile.
I retreat to my studio as soon as class is over. Daisy is painting a new landscape, a beautiful rendering of the lake at sunset. Lyle is doing a portrait of some type. Sasha is at her potter’s wheel, and I have to stop for a second and watch her hands, the loving way she slides them over the wet clay as it spins. It’s hypnotic. She glances up at me and smiles. “I’ll teach you sometime. You could join me here in three-D land.”
“Maybe. I think I need to stick to my two-D world for now.” I wave and head back to my studio. I spent half of yesterday cleaning it up after the mess I made in here on Sunday. My two ruined paintings sit in the corner, faces to the wall. I can’t look at them now. But I’m glad Romy stopped me from destroying more of them. I wanted to thank her for that, but I’m thinking I won’t have the chance.
“Hey, I headed off the cougars downstairs,” says Daniel, appearing in the entrance to my studio.
“Thanks,” I mutter, staring at the smear of paint on the floor, the place where Romy stepped on my tube of titanium white. I scuff at it with my toe. “I’m not in the mood to deal with them tonight.”
“Word is getting out that you gave Claudia a private show.”
I raise my head. “She’s telling people?”
His brow furrows. “Of course she is. She claimed you first. Bragging rights.”
I curse and sink to my haunches, a horrible thought suddenly occurring to me. What if Romy heard the rumors? What if she figured it out? “Why can’t it just be about painting?” I say stupidly.
To his credit, Daniel doesn’t laugh. He joins me on the floor and sits with his arms loosely around his knees. “Because we’re gorgeous young studs who can go all night without tiring?” When I don’t even crack a smile, he throws a broken paintbrush at me and it bounces off my shoulder. “Hey, it won’t always be like this, and they will buy some of your paintings. After a few times with Claudia, she bought three off me, remember?”
I nod, but this whole thing is so pathetic. “How do you do it without feeling dirty?”
He snorts. “You’ve always been a sensitive soul, bro. I’m not. They have nice bodies and they smell good and when it’s over, they leave me alone and I’ve got money in my pocket. Nothin’ dirty about that. And if there were, I’d buy some soap and move on.”
“You make it sound so easy.” I stand up and start to add paint to my palette. I have a long night ahead of me.
While I work, Daniel fiddles with the edge of my dropcloth and pulls out my sketchpad. A moment later, he chuckles. “Now, your moody misgivings about getting with Claudia wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would they?” He flips over the pad and holds it up.
Staring back at me is Romy. The sketch I did last week. Her somber green eyes are the only patch of color in the charcoal rendering. The slope of her neck … I remember how it felt between my teeth.
“‘She’s got a story,’” he recites, mimicking my words to him. “‘Leave her alone.’”
“I tried,” I mutter.
“I notice your use of past tense.” He gets to his feet and speaks in a low voice. “Did something happen?”
“You haven’t talked to Markus, have you?”
“He told me you had a female in here on Sunday, but I figured that was Claudia.”
I stare down at the sketch and shake my head. “It happened really fast.” I close the sketchpad and set it on the table. “Do me a favor and don’t spread it around, okay? She doesn’t need that kind of crap.”
Actually, I don’t know what she does or doesn’t need. We never got that far. I grit my teeth and pick up my palette knife.
“It’s in the vault, man. Are you okay with it, though?”
Whether I am or not, I can’t talk about it now. “Fine. It was nothing.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Whatever you say. She likes you, though. Have you really tried to talk to her?”
“I would have tried tonight, but she bolted.” The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced she overheard Claudia. Fuck.
“She’s missing out, if she gives up that easy.” Daniel brushes his hair back from his face. He looks like such a surfer, like he spends his days on the beach or something, but he’s a hard worker and a fantastic artist. He’s had a lot more success than I have, and I don’t think it’s because he’s an easier lay. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And I wish that made it easier to believe what he’s saying now.
“Thanks, man. We’ll see.”
I wipe my forehead with the back of my sleeve, then push the wheelbarrow full of dirt-crusted tools toward the street. My hands are sweating inside my utility gloves, and the back of my neck is sunburned. The rest of Derrick’s crew is finishing up, gathering their stuff and making their way back to the front. Derrick’s already here to look over things and hand out the cash, our under-the-table pay after a day of fall clean up at this lakeside mansion.
Derrick, thick in the shoulders from his days as a college athlete and thick in the belly from his decade eating Amy’s cooking, grunts at me as I load the tools into the back of one of his shiny Dykstra Landscaping trucks. He’s doing me a favor, letting me join the crew once or twice a week when my schedule allows. I rearranged a few of my private students to make this possible.
It was better than crawling back to Claudia.
As if I hadn’t been feeling shitty enough about it already, remembering how Romy looked at me two weeks ago pretty much sealed the deal. Claudia’s husband is leaving for another trip this weekend, and she’s been texting me, telling me she wants to finalize our agreement on the commission. Translation: I want you to screw me senseless and then maybe I’ll give you more cash.
And I … can’t. I just can’t. One would think that, at this point, I’d have stopped caring that Romy won’t look at me. That she comes to class, sits at the back with her friend, Jude, and leaves as soon as it’s over. I have more pressing worries on my mind, after all. But I still can’t get what happened between us out of my head. I can’t help what I feel when I look at her, longing and sadness and craving and frustration, all rolled up in one.
Derrick gives me a ride home. This is the last time, too, because I’m picking up the truck tomorrow, and the thought of having that piece of shit back puts me in a better mood. Derrick and I talk about the weather, how it’s supposed to rain tonight, how muddy the flower beds will be tomorrow as his crews get to work again. He pulls up in front of the apartment complex and hands me an envelope with a hundred bucks in it. “I put a little extra in there,” he says. “I know you need it.”
I do some quick mental math and nearly laugh. He put exactly twelve dollars extra in there. What a generous guy. Katie’s copays at the psychiatrist are forty freaking bucks a pop. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it,” I mutter.
“You coming back on Sunday? You could work a twelve
hour shift. I’m short on guys.”
I nod. “Count me in.”
He pats my shoulder. “Hey, do you think Katie would want to babysit for us some night? Amy said she didn’t think it was a good idea, but Katie seems to like the boys.”
“I’ll ask her. She’s been better lately, happier.” I think the Seroquel might be working. “She might enjoy that.”
Derrick tells me to show up at six in the morning on Sunday and drives away, back to his nice life. I look up at our second floor apartment windows as I head into our building. Katie’s left her window open again, and she’s not due home from work for another hour. I trudge up the stairs and let myself in, tossing my keys onto the counter, then stroll over and check Katie’s pill organizer—I left so early this morning that I wasn’t here to make sure she took them. To my relief, the Tuesday AM compartment is empty. I flip it closed and head down the hall, looking forward to a hot shower before I have to get to the co-op to teach the after-school classes.
As I pass Katie’s room, I remember that I need to close her window in case it starts to rain before she comes home. Last time this happened, the rain ruined two of her library books, and she was so upset. I twist the doorknob and open—
Katie shrieks. She’s on the bed. On her back. There’s a man on top of her, his naked ass flashing white as she clutches at him in her surprise. No no no no he’s supposed to be in California no I will not let this happen. Just like that, I lose ten years. With nothing in my head but raw, red hatred, I grab the guy by the shoulder and slam my fist into his jaw. He flips backward off the bed and crashes into her closet door. Katie leaps from the bed, screeching, “No! Leave him alone!”
“Don’t you touch her!” I roar at my stepfather. “Keep your goddamn hands off her or I’ll kill you.” I take a step forward, my heart pounding at my temples, my fists clenched and ready. This time, he won’t get away with it. This time, I’m really going to do it. I’m going to destroy him. Katie throws all her weight against me, and I stagger away from the dazed, naked guy who’s pushing himself to his feet. I do a double-take. He—he’s young. Not middle-aged. I blink at him.
He’s not Phil.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” my sister screams, slapping my arms and chest and face, driving me back into the hallway, the comforter loosely draped around her naked body. The smells, the sight of her pale flesh, I shake my head, unable to get my breathing under control. She lands a solid smack against my cheek and my head bonks against the wall. “I fucking hate you, do you hear me?”
She whirls around and goes back into her room, then slams the door. Muffled voices reach me as I brace my hands on my knees and try to figure out what just happened. Before I get the chance, Katie storms out of her room, tugging the guy by the hand. He’s now wearing jeans and a t-shirt bearing the logo of one of Katie’s favorite bands. He’s got thick, reddish hair and a freckled face and I don’t know how I could have ever mistaken him for my mom’s balding, paunchy loser husband. I’ve never met this guy before. I have no idea who he is, and my sister’s about to leave with him.
I straighten up as Katie lifts a stuffed overnight bag onto her shoulder, sleeves and pantlegs hanging over the sides. “Katie, no, no, I’m sorry. Wait.”
She ignores me.
“Katie, please,” I call after her. “I’m sorry.” I grab her fuck-buddy’s shoulder. “Hey, man. I’m sorry. You guys don’t have to leave.” I’d like nothing better than to throw this asshole out of my home, but now that my common sense is returning—Katie’s an adult. She can have guests. She’s got every right to be mad. But if she leaves, I can’t keep her safe.
The guy wrenches himself away from me as Katie swings around and gets between us. “Touch Evan again and I’ll call the police,” she hisses, then barrels into the bathroom and comes out shoving her hairdryer and toothbrush into her bag.
Shit. “Katie, please, let’s talk about this. I think it’s better if you stay here, and we could—”
“Are you kidding? It was a mistake to even try to live with you.” Her voice trembles and squeaks. Her round cheeks are bright red. “A huge mistake. Come on, Evan.”
Seeing that she’s not even slowing down, I jog to the kitchen and grab her pill organizer, then sprint to the door, making it just before they reach it. “Take this with you if you’ve got to go. There could be side effects if you —”
She hits my hand, hard, and the dispenser flies across the room and collides with one of the cabinets. A few of the compartments pop open and pills scatter across the kitchen floor. I clench my jaw and brace my hands against the doorframe. “Evan, listen to me, man, she’s got some medical needs.” I’m trying to look him in the eye, but he won’t cooperate. “She needs—”
“How dare you,” Katie growls, a tear slipping from her eye. She grabs her keys from the table. “How dare you humiliate me like this.”
“I didn’t mean to! Katie, take a breath. Give me a chance to—”
This time, she’s got a fistful of keys when she hits me. My head jerks to the side, and I taste blood. When I put my hand to my cheek, she shoves by me, and so does Evan.
I follow them down the hall, but Katie looks over her shoulder at me. “You know you don’t have any right to stop me,” she says quietly, her voice trembling with rage. “So don’t even try. Evan could press assault charges. If you don’t leave me alone, that’s what we’ll do.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my hands up, helpless. “Please don’t go.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. Her eyes gloss over with tears. “Too little, too late.”
She takes Evan by the hand and disappears into the stairwell.
Chapter Thirteen: Romy
The rain pelts the windowpanes of the classroom, nearly drowning out Caleb’s voice as he discusses scumbling and demonstrates the technique on a paper at the front of the room, using a dry brush to apply a thin layer of gray over a dark green base. None of the wealthy wives are here tonight, maybe because of the risk that the rain would frizz their perfect hair or something. I’ve watched them stare hungrily at Caleb for the last few classes. I’ve stared hungrily at him, too, but only when he’s not looking.
He’s having some sort of affair with Claudia. I think. I can’t tell, actually. He barely looks at her. It shouldn’t matter to me at all, but … it does.
Jude can tell. He’s seen me staring. Or “pining,” as he calls it. He told me this afternoon that I need to give up and talk to Caleb, but I think I missed my chance. Caleb hasn’t tried to speak to me since I gave him the coldest of cold shoulders a few weeks ago. At this point, I would feel stupid if I were to walk up to him and try to start a conversation.
Maybe I will tonight, though. Jude said he had to catch up on studying and begged off, so I don’t have the pressure of an audience if I get shot down. But as I sneak peeks at Caleb while he goes around to each student and comments on their technique, I notice how miserable and hollow-eyed he looks. I swipe some crimson red onto my paper and then grab an old brush and dip it in the cadmium yellow. I’m scumbling away when he reaches me. “Hey,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes on my painting instead of looking at my face. “It looks like you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it.”
He turns away before I can say anything, but not before I notice the red mark on his cheek. I frown as he makes his way to the front of the class and continues teaching. I glance at the clock on the wall. Class is over in ten minutes. Should I wait around after and see if he’s okay?
Why on earth would I think that my presence would be helpful? I jab my painting with my brush, remembering what happened last time. I groped him, I used him, and then I ran from him. I assumed he wouldn’t care. If he did care, then I’m a jerk. If he didn’t, then he’s not going to be interested in talking to me anyway.
Besides, maybe he’s in a bad mood because Claudia’s not here tonight.
Daniel comes down the steps and stares at Caleb’s back for a few seconds. “Headed o
ut,” he calls.
Caleb waves without turning around. Daniel waits a few moments—for what I have no idea— then glances at me and disappears into the hallway. The front door opens and slams shut. I walk my brushes to the sink to wash up. Several times, I look over to see if Caleb’s watching me, but he doesn’t seem aware of my existence. He’s talking with a white-haired lady in the second row about how to use scumbling technique on her leaf painting.
I pack up, locking up my toolbox and putting on my rain coat. I pull up my hood and leave while the other students are still washing their brushes. Happy I wore my rubber boots, I slosh through ankle-deep puddles on my way to my car, which is parked at the end of the block. I look up as I get close, and my breath whooshes from my lungs. My mouth drops open to scream as the dark figure pushes himself off my car and comes toward me. Alex. Looking bigger and scarier than I remember, if that’s even possible. How did he know where I’d be?
He comes to a stop beneath a street lamp. “Romy.”
I make a squeaking, hoarse sound, my whole body filling with relief. It’s not Alex. “Hi, Daniel.” Rain drips through his blond hair. He’s soaked. “What are you doing out here?”
“On my way home. I live only two blocks from here. But I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?”
“Caleb.”
“Oh.”
He shoves his hair out of his face. Raindrops glisten on the ends of his eyelashes. “He’s my best friend.” He chuckles. “Which should be obvious, because I waited in the rain to say this to you. I think you should give him a chance, Romy. He’s the nicest guy, and that’s pretty amazing, considering some of the things he’s been through. He deserves a shot.”
I frown. “Has he said something to you?”
“Caleb isn’t the biggest talker. But trust me, you’re on his mind.”