by Lym Cruz
I held the paper before her. Her eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip trembled as she examined the drawing closely.
The tip of her nose was red. Her face etched deeper with sorrow the longer she looked at the picture. She was miserable and the worst part of it was that I’d caused this sadness. All I wanted was to show her that the image she had of herself was far from the truth. But seeing her breakdown like that made me realize what a mistake I’d made.
“I’m not crazy,” she mumbled.
Fuck. I hurled the paper, accepting the fact that this was indeed a fucked-up idea.
“That’s not what I meant. I promise. I know you’re not crazy Christina, and I’m sorry for all of this. I thought if you saw that you don’t look anything like the person you described then … I don’t know.”
“I know what you were trying to do, Ezra. Don’t you think I know this? Don’t you think I know this is all in my head? I’ve been told this before in therapy, by my friends. Believe me. I. Know.” She swallowed and rubbed her chest, sneering as if she were in pain. “Seeing that—that drawing forced me to face my fucking problems.”
With caution, I paced forward closing the space between us. I held on to her by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirror. “You are beautiful.”
She broke down again, sobbing and lowered her face. I stood behind her and raised her chin. She had her eyes clenched and refused to look.
“Christina, you are beautiful.” She shook her head and tears seeped out of the corner of her eyes. “Open your eyes.”
“No,” she said, through gritted teeth.
I wrapped my arms around her and she sobbed even louder. I pressed my lips to her neck and let her cry until all she had left were dry hiccups.
When she unsealed her eyelids, our eyes met through the mirror. She was refusing to look at herself. I waited until her eyes slipped from mine and she was staring at her reflection. Her eyes were puffy and red but there were no more tears.
“You’re not the girl in the drawing, this is you. The image of how you see yourself is a lie. You’re so beautiful and it’s time you start believing that.”
She didn’t say a word and continued to blankly stare at her reflection. I couldn’t read her mind, however, I hoped she was grasping the huge difference between who she was and what her mind told her.
“Remember how I told you that I’d never judge your pain or tell you to stop hurting?” She didn’t answer. “I’m not trying to do that nor invalidate your feelings, because I know they are real. But if you step outside of yourself then you’ll realize that you’re creating a false reality.”
She remained immobile and mute.
Swallowing, I crouched, held on to the hem of her dress and slowly stood up, pulling the dress up with me. I brought my hands to a halt when the dress reached her upper thighs, below her hips.
Christina closed her eyes again and whimpered. She took a deep breath. I brought the dress higher up. She raised her hands and the dress was off. Straightaway she hugged her chest and hunched forward. Quivering, she lowered her head.
I saw the stretch marks. It was undeniable how numerous and visible they were, especially the ones climbing up her stomach. What I didn’t understand was the problem with it. It didn’t repulse me. They were like sea waves or vines drawn on her skin. The marks didn’t take anything away from her. There was nothing wrong with her body—Christina was an incredibly attractive woman.
I traced a few of the lines on her skin and she cringed. Gently, I took her hands away from her chest, bringing them down to her sides.
“There is nothing wrong with you, gorgeous.” I smiled. “Absolutely nothing.”
She spun and embraced me hiding from her reflection. I kissed her hair running my hands up and down her back trying to calm her.
“You are so gorgeous,” I whispered, holding on as tightly as I could, hoping she could sense that I wasn’t going anywhere. “You are perfect the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about your body.”
She pulled back and looked up at me through her lashes. Her cheeks flushed and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Do you still like me?” she said, hiccupping.
“More than I did yesterday.”
“My body is—”
I cut her off, not needing to know what depreciating words were going to fall from her lips. “Don’t.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t a heartfelt smile. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes, a little bit.”
Somehow, I felt and knew she’d be fine. We’d be alright.
I realized that I was in love with her. All of her. Her soul. Her tempestuous personality was what lured me into her. The warmth of her body was what I craved, and her touch what I coveted. When she smiled, it seemed like I could overcome the world. When our eyes exchanged looks it was as if everything was exactly right where they belonged. These feelings I had for her were stronger than admiration. I was falling for her like a descending comet.
Sunday, she didn’t get out of bed the entire day. She refused to eat, she didn’t want to talk, and to make matters worse, Rowan wouldn’t stop calling. I left Christina in the room and snuck out to take his call.
“What?”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“Gym.”
“Fucking shit, Ezra. How hard is it to keep your phone close by? We need you right now at the restaurant.”
“What for?”
“Come and you will see. Be here in the next ten minutes.” The line disconnected.
Christina was curled into a ball hugging her pillow when I returned. I took my keys from the nightstand, sat on the bed next to her, and then ran my hand through her hair.
“Christina,” I called. She didn’t move. “I have to go.” That got a reaction out of her.
She clutched my arm scowling, her eyes searching mine. “Don’t leave me, Ezra.”
Her intense, almost troubled words pierced through me. Her eyes told me exactly what she meant and she wasn’t referring to just that moment.
“I won’t,” I vowed, making a promise I wasn’t sure I’d be capable of keeping.
Nodding, she released my arm.
“I’ll be back later. I have somewhere to be and then I’ll drop by my house to grab an overnight bag.”
She nodded again and spoke softly, “Where do you go when you disappear?”
My heart spiked with pain. I didn’t want to lie to her but I wasn’t ready to tell her the truth either. I feared she would turn away once she knew everything.
“I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Just not right now.”
Chapter Twenty
Christina
Ezra didn’t return last night and I couldn’t sleep. I kept hoping he’d come back at any moment. But he didn’t. He lied to me. I conjured up a thousand awful scenarios in which he finally understood the depths of my insecurities and left. I was accustomed to living with this hollowness in my chest, yet this time it was different. I felt emptier. It scared me.
Countless times I thought about calling him, but I’d talked myself out of it each time. It was bad enough he’d seen me breakdown. I didn’t need to show him how desperate I was. There was still an ounce of pride left in me.
The sound of my phone vibrating on the desk dragged me from my thoughts and once I saw who the text was from, I was filled with hope. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.
Ezra: I’m so sorry I couldn’t come back last night.
My heart lit up.
Christina: Couldn’t or didn’t want to come back?
Ezra: COULD NOT. I’m sorry.
Ezra: I won’t be in today either but I want you to meet me after work.
Ezra: I want to take you out on a proper first date.
Ezra: Please say yes. I’ll be heartbroken if you say no.
He’d been thinking about me. I giggled.
Christina: NO!
&
nbsp; Ezra: My heart just broke. I’m practically dead.
Ezra: Please fulfill a dying man’s wish and let me take you out.
Christina: Fine, but only because it’s a dying man’s wish.
Ezra: Thank you. Pick you up at seven. Wear something fancy.
I was ready right on time in a stylish, silver dress. My hair was up in a slick high ponytail, I wore light makeup, and finished the look with a pair of killer, four-inch stilettos. The dress was shorter than anything I’d normally wear but it was a stunning dress.
I gauged my reflection through the elevator doors as the car arrived to take me down. I sighed, not allowing my mind to gallop towards places that would upset me. When the doors skimmed open, I sashayed toward the exit. My body heated once I spied Ezra fiddling with his hair.
Instantly, I beamed. He had cut his hair. It was shorter, but the top still fell over his forehead and the back was trimmed close to his head. He was in a dark blue suit, with a light blue dress shirt that was open at the collar.
He froze with his hand halfway through his hair. The way his gaze fell on me caused my insides to liquify, sending heated pulses to the muscles between my legs. His luscious eyes swept over me with hunger. He gallantly pulled me towards him, held on to my waist, and then kissed me senseless. I breathed out a soft moan into his mouth, draping my hands around his shoulders. I surrendered to him.
“You look spectacular,” he said against my lips and lowered his hand to cup my ass. “So incredibly sexy.”
I rolled my eyes covering up my coyness. His compliments always held sincerity to them. “You’re not too bad either.”
“Let’s get going,” he said, squeezing my butt cheek and I yelped, giggling.
Before I knew it, we were in North Park. Ezra helped me out of the car, and we strode through the bustling street anchored by galleries and shops. Alternative art lit the walls as the vibrant colors of the murals came to life. It was a wealthy street of unique art. This wasn’t a part of town I often visited but the murals were bewitching—stealing your sight—it was hard to look away.
However, I had to avert my eyes from the art when I heard the strum of a guitar. It took only a second to recognize the tune because it was my favorite. Beneath the Street Lights and the Moon by JP Cooper. I glanced up at Ezra, my face washed blank with confusion as if my brain couldn’t turn fast enough to take in the sights and sounds.
We took another ten steps, after which I fully seized the scene. There was a straight line of about twenty people all dressed in white, rocking from side to side, following the hum of the guitar. But when they opened their mouth and sang—as one—the first lyrics of the song, goosebumps covered my body and all the hairs on my arms were up. That was when I also observed that they were standing beneath the streetlights and the moon. Every muscle in my body was immobilized before a grin stretched from one side of my face to the other.
The melody filled the air without effort like the waves filling holes in beach sand. The sound rushed in and pulsed through me. At that moment, the music was my external heartbeat. I couldn’t look at Ezra because I didn’t want to cry. Ezra took me in his arms and we swayed in place.
I was in such an emotional state that I didn’t notice when the choir swapped songs. They seamlessly transitioned from one of my favorite songs to the next—Incredible by James TW.
Enchanted by the tuneful choir and Ezra’s woodsy cologne, I shut my eyes, embedding the moment into my mind while hoping it would never end. Then something soft brushed the side of my face and then again on my nose. I forced my eyes open and there were purple petals falling around me. I raised my face, searching for their source. All I saw were endless petals raining down on me.
Joy flowed through me, warming my skin akin to the rays of an early summer sun and tears pricked my eyes.
“I hate you so much,” I said, sniffling. “You were supposed to take me on a date, not make me cry.”
“You’re beautiful even when you cry.”
He scooped me up and spun me around while the roses continued to pour on us. When he set me down the choir had finished singing and the flowers had stopped pouring, the night was overtaken by another sound. The sound of applause. Lots of them. I looked around and a group of people had gathered around us. Cheering and whistling.
“Did she say yes?” someone screamed from the crowd.
“She did.” Ezra winked at me and I smacked his arm. He laughed and then kissed my lips ever so softly. “We still have to make our dinner reservations,” he spoke with his lips pressed against mine.
“There is more?”
“Of course, first dates must have a meal.” He glided away from my lips and held on to my hand as he took a bow for the crowd, I did the same and then we were on the move once more.
We reached a door, tall, wide and made out of wood. Ezra opened and motioned for me to step in. Before me, there was a long staircase leading to an upper floor. The walls on both sides were decorated with graffiti. At the top of the stairs, the first thing I laid eyes on, were the high ceilings, and all the artwork dispersed around the grand room with mahogany floors.
“This used to be a gallery,” he explained.
“What is it now?”
“Now, it’s mine. It was up for sale and I bought it with everything inside.”
The knowledge left me baffled, mainly because I was certain real estate like this didn’t come cheap.
“You can afford this?” I didn’t mean it to sound accusatory but my tone might had held a tinge of disbelief.
He simply nodded. “All of the art in here was made by locals trying to score their big break.” We strode around the various paintings and sculptures. “It didn’t cost as much as you might think.”
“Hmm.” Was all I managed. “Why did you buy it?”
“I wanted to turn it into a dance studio for kids.”
“You said wanted? You don’t want it anymore?”
“I still do but I don’t think I’ll be able to.” Worried lines creased his forehead. “I’ll most likely put it up for sale again if I can’t find someone who’ll step in for me.”
I was lost. He was giving me bits and pieces but not enough to understand what was going on. Since this was our first real date, I didn’t want to ruin the perfect night by bombarding him with questions. “You sure love kids.”
“They’re easy to deal with.” He shrugged. “Adults have way too many facets. They’re never just one and it can be hard figuring them out.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“At times it can be.”
“I disagree.” We stopped in front of an abstract painting and stared. “I see it as a defense mechanism. People who wear their hearts on their sleeves get hurt. A lot. Holding on to parts of yourself is the smart thing to do because most of the time it’s your fragile pieces that get broken. I think your whole heart, or truth should be reserved for those who truly deserve it, and not the entire world.”
Ezra squeezed my hand. “I get what you mean and I agree with that, but I wish everyone could see me. All of me. My failures, just as much as my virtues. I’m not perfect, Christina.”
“No one is.”
There was obviously something troubling him and there was no doubt it had something to do with his mysterious disappearances and phone calls. And by the way he spoke, whatever he was hiding was bad. My gut instinct warned me and due to that, I was reluctant to ask questions. For tonight at least, I wouldn’t press for more. The time would come when he’d have to tell me what was going on.
We moved to the next section. Our eyes locked on an unusual human form—gender indistinguishable—made from clay. It had a red bleeding heart at its center.
“You like this?” Ezra asked.
“I don’t get it.”
“This piece represents humankind regardless of gender, shapes or color. The heart represents emotions, the one thing that we all have in common. And the blood is universal. No matter what, we all bleed
red.”
“You got all of that just by looking at it?”
“No,” he snorted. “I read the catalog.”
My eyes widened. “Of everything in here?”
“No, Christina. Just the ones that caught my attention.”
We wandered from the sculptures over to the paintings. Some, I had to agree were wonderful, but others not so much. We paused before another abstract painting. It was splashes of color on a whiteboard.
“What do you think about this one?” Ezra asked.
I cocked my head hoping a different angle would cause a change in perspective. It didn’t. “I don’t like it. It’s nothing special.”
Ezra chuckled. “It’s funny how we all have a different opinion about things.”
“What did you think of it?”
“Beauty, I think, is relative. It cannot be quantified or defined, but it’s also subjective because what we find beautiful is influenced by our taste, opinion, origins, and so on.” He ran his hand along my bare arm. “There is no right or wrong. We like things for different reasons or for no reason at all.”
“Great, but did you like it?”
He raised his brows and crocked his mouth, inspecting the painting. “I’m not in love with it, but I don’t think it’s bad either.”
I rolled my eyes at his answer. “No normal person would buy this.”
“You just called me abnormal,” he scoffed. “I bought this.”
“You know what I mean.” I recoiled, regretting my choice of words. “I just think most people wouldn’t buy this.”
“That’s the beauty of different opinions and tastes. Take the novels you read as an example, you like them and most reviews of Stephen King’s books are five stars, but there are some people who rate them with one or less.”