I fall back on my mattress a few minutes later, still breathless with my mind running wild. I could tell sleep was going to be a challenge because I was wide-awake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hidden Talent
I toss and turn and stare up at the ceiling with my sheets tangled around my legs. My thoughts are just as twisted as my sheets, keeping me awake just as I feared. Most of my thoughts involve Nathan. How I feel about him. How I should feel about him. What I should do now. I like him, a lot. More than I should probably admit. He makes me feel like I can breathe.
But maybe I’m not good for him. I feel like I’m self-destructing when I’m left alone.
He makes me feel okay—whole. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a distraction or if it’s because I care about him. Though, there could be another reason behind it.
I just know that I don’t want to hurt him.
And I also know that I don’t want to be alone anymore.
Now that I’ve had a taste of what it’s like not to be alone, I’m scared to be left with my thoughts. I’m scared of what I want to do to myself when I’m alone. I don’t want to hurt Nathan.
I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m not sure. I feel torn.
I don’t think about these things as intensely when I’m with Nathan. Yes, I was mad at him for interfering when I tried to end my pain—my life. But I don’t think about that when I’m with him. I don’t focus on the anger, or the loss, or the pain, or the self-loathing.
I experience different feelings with him that I do focus on. I don’t want to think of him as a distraction because he’s not—he’s so much more than that to me, but in a way, he sort of is. He makes me feel balanced compared to when I’m alone. When I’m alone, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, just waiting to lose my footing.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I don’t want to feel lost anymore.
He’s helping me get through this, but I’m not sure if I’m good for him. I don’t want to put him through any unnecessary pain. But how can I let go of him when he is the reason why I get up in the morning?
My thoughts keep me up all night. I can’t calm my mind long enough to sleep for more than a couple of hours. I was going to be a zombie in the morning.
My fingers are trembling with the need to draw. I comb out my awful hair, having just woken up a few minutes before, and grab my messenger bag before heading out in search of something to draw. I pause the second my foot is out the door, though. I want to draw The Lock Bridge, but it’s too far of a walk from here, and I don’t know when Nathan will show up today. He could show up any minute, or hours from now. I want to draw too badly to wait on him either way.
I start walking again with a new perfect idea in mind. I haven’t drawn the coffee shop yet. It was the first place where Nathan and I really talked. It would be the perfect place.
I slip into the back of the shop—where we’ve sat multiple times—without ordering anything. I open up my bag and pull out all my sketching equipment: pencils, a notepad, and charcoal.
Nathan will find me, I think as I pick up my pencil. There are only so many places I go.
As I sketch the interior of the coffee shop, I think about Nathan and our time yesterday. I hadn’t had that much fun in a long time! He brought something out in me. He made me show my best and worst sides. He made every day exciting and unpredictable. He pushed the sadness away. He made it more bearable.
He understood what I was going through, or at least he tried to. He didn’t judge me, regardless of everything I’ve done, or tried to do. I freaked out in the pool yesterday, and he held me, telling me that everything was all right. When he found me after I cut my wrists; he held me then too. He’d been the one to freak out that time.
As I draw, customers come in and out of the shop. With each one, the bell above the door chimes. It’s just loud enough to alert the baristas of a new customer. I take no notice to the sound, hardly ever looking up from my sketchpad. My fingers are coated with dark smudges, and my sketch is almost complete when he walks in.
He’s wearing jeans with a navy blue T-shirt today. I’m beginning to wonder if he wears anything else other than a T-shirt and jeans. At least I have an excuse to wear the same things over and over again since my closet is practically empty, and I don’t have the money to fill it.
He grins when he sees me sitting at our table, but he doesn’t join me. He gets in line first instead, so I go back to sketching until he sets a mug down in front of me. I look up just as he takes the seat across from me. “Thanks.”
I set my sketchpad aside as he sets a big chocolate chip cookie in the middle of the table for us to share. “How are you today, Taylor-Tot?”
I roll my eyes at the nickname. “Good. You?”
He reaches across the table just as I reach for a piece of the cookie. I grab a chunk of the chocolate goodness while he snatches up my sketchbook. I tense for a moment but decide to let him look at it. His eyes meet mine for a split-second, his gray-blue depths searching mine for any sign that told him that he couldn’t look through it. When he doesn’t find one, he opens the book. I eat my cookie chunk, watching him carefully as he looks over my artwork.
After examining a few pages, he shakes his head. My heart drops and I practically drop my cookie. “Your artwork never ceases to amaze me.”
I sigh though it comes out more like a weird, relieved laugh. “I thought you didn’t like it.”
He looks up at me with an arched eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
“You were shaking your head, so I got worried for a second.”
“Nah, these are amazing! I wish I could do something this well.”
“I’m sure you’re good at something.” I lean forward with a smile. “What’s your hidden talent?”
He leans back, contemplating as he eats a piece of cookie. The clock above the barista counter ticks as the seconds go by. I stare at him, waiting until I’m unable to take his silence any longer. “C’mon. I know you have a hidden talent. Everybody has one.”
“Yours isn’t so hidden, though.”
“I can do more than just draw.”
“Oh, really? What else can you do?”
I smile, only feeling partially embarrassed about what I’m about to say. “I can touch my tongue to my nose.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”
I smile before sticking my tongue out as far as it can go. I push it up toward my nose, feeling totally and undeniably embarrassed now. I really wish I hadn’t mentioned this hidden talent. When the tip of my tongue touches my nose, I immediately put it back in my mouth with an embarrassed smile. My cheeks are flushed as well. “Your turn.”
“Okay, well, I can burp the ABCs.”
I grin, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table. “This should be interesting.”
He chuckles. “You don’t really expect me to burp the ABCs, do you?”
I tilt my head, still smiling. “What do you think?”
He groans, glancing around the shop. No one is around us, though, so he has no excuse not to. His expression is a mixture between seriously? and I really don’t want to do this—which made me want him to do it even more. I wait patiently, without interrupting his confliction. He finally sighs and gets up. He goes up to the counter and comes back with a soda. He takes a big gulp.
It’s not even a minute later when he burps the first letter of the alphabet. He doesn’t even reach C before I bust out laughing. Holding back my laughter gets harder and harder as he continues. By the time he reaches Z, I have my hand over my mouth in an attempt to contain my laughter.
He leans back, a huge grin on his face. “There you go—my hidden talent. It’s not nearly as impressive as your artwork.”
“I don’t know—that was pretty impressive.”
“If you think your drawings are in the same category of ‘awesome’ as my ability to burp the alphabet, you need to get checked out.�
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I can’t help but laugh. He grins, chuckling along with me. When we’re finished, he takes in a long breath before saying, “Your laughter is contagious.”
I feel my cheeks warm. I glance down at the table, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. It’s sweet. He is sweet. Meeting him—letting him in—has turned out not to be so bad after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Meeting You
As we walk down the street, he reaches out and takes my hand in his own. I’m unable to fight the smile that spreads across my face when he does.
“What do you want to do?” he asks me, pausing to stand in front of me. He doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Can we go somewhere?” I ask, remembering where I wanted to go with him earlier.
“Where do you have in mind?”
“The Lock Bridge? I want to draw it.”
He nods. “Okay, as long as I can watch you sketch.”
“Deal.”
He leads me to his car—which I get into after only a moment’s hesitation. He winks as he closes the passenger door behind me. He had let go of my hand to open the door for me, and I already missed the warmth of it. I keep my hands fisted in my lap to help prevent them from shaking. Since I no longer have Nathan’s hand to hold on to, I have to do something to occupy my hands.
He starts the car to head toward our destination. I take in calming breaths, telling myself not to freak out. Just breathe. You’re okay, I tell myself with each intake of oxygen. Nathan takes one hand off the steering wheel to take one of my clenched hands. Normally, I would have been delighted, but it’s making me nervous that he doesn’t have both hands on the wheel.
“Can—can you not?” He flashes me a questioning look before quickly turning his attention back to the road. “I’m trying to stay calm, but you’re making it difficult by taking your hand off the wheel.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says, releasing my hand to place it back on the steering wheel. “Maybe some music will calm you.” He turns on the radio but finds nothing good, so he asks, “How ‘bout some AC/DC?”
I laugh lightly, remembering our first game of twenty questions. “Sure.”
He puts in one of the band’s CDs and cranks up the volume till the car trembles with the beat of the music. It’s so loud that it feels like my heart is beating along with the beat of the drums. Nathan bobs his head to the music and sings along, deepening his voice, but I can barely hear him over the lead singer.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I watch him. He sings the whole way; his face actually starts to turn red. I laugh the whole time. Watching him have fun made me feel as light as a feather. He pulls into a parking space but doesn’t cut the engine until the song ends.
He sits there for a moment, not saying anything, just continuing to grin like an idiot. I know I have the same stupid grin on my face. I shake my head, unable to let the silence drag on. “You are amazing.”
He finally faces me, the smile still unmoved. “Aren’t I?”
As soon as we get out to start heading toward the bridge, Nathan comes around the front of the car to take my hand again.
I take in all the colorful locks that line the bridge. Each one told a story. Each lock represented a relationship that was once special, whether it ended or turned into true happiness. The locks represented a past, present, and a possible future.
Someday, I’d want to put my own lock here.
And throw away the key.
Nathan let’s go of my hand, waking me from my daze. I look beside me to see him sitting on a bench. I hadn’t even noticed that we’d stopped walking. I take a seat beside him before rummaging through my bag for my sketchpad and pencil. I can feel his eyes on me as I flip to a clean, white page. I start with the bridge first, drawing a straight line across the paper. I draw the railing before moving to sketch the view from the bridge.
Nathan doesn’t say a single word as I work. He just watches, careful not to bump my arm whenever he leans in to get a closer look. His eyes don’t stay on the drawing the whole time, though. I feel his eyes drift to me a few times, but I keep mine on my artwork.
As time passes, the sun slowly goes down, giving me a different lighting. I don’t stop until I have about half the bridge done along with the view. I set my pencil on the bench beside me to crack my knuckles. They hurt from gripping the pencil for so long.
Nathan leans over, his shoulder brushing against mine so that he can take a better look at the drawing. I watch him, waiting for him to say something. The light breeze ruffles through his hair as he studies my drawing. I want to brush back his bangs, run my fingers through his hair—maybe even grip it between my fingers.
He looks up to meet my eyes; his long lashes casting shadows under his eyes. The way he looks at me always makes it difficult to breathe.
“This is amazing. You put so much detail into it”—He’s smiling although he’s shaking his head—“I don’t know how you do it.”
His compliment makes my heart melt. “Thanks.” I start packing up my things, but he reaches out to stop me. The feel of his skin on mine makes the unknown feeling buzz through me. I pause, looking up to meet his eyes again.
“Don’t you want to finish?” he asks.
“No, I have the outline of most of it. Let’s go do something else.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “I chose to come here, so I think it’s your turn.”
I expect him to argue—to deny choosing—but, instead, he jumps up. I get to my feet to follow him, trying to stuff my pencil and sketchbook in my messenger bag at the same time. When we get back in his car, I try to focus on where he’s taking me.
He parks on the street in front of the Eiffel Tower before getting out to lead me further. When he starts heading toward the hedges, I know exactly where he’s going. I quicken my pace to catch up with him. I enter the small, empty park to find Nathan already sitting on the bench with his arm stretched out across the back of it. “I thought this would be the perfect place to play twenty questions.”
“You’re so obsessed with that game,” I say as I take a seat beside him. “Besides, I don’t think I can think of any more questions.”
He raises his brows. “Really? None?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He shifts beside me to reach into his back pocket. He pulls out his phone and starts typing. A few moments later, he’s asking me random questions he finds online. I answer most of them and just ask him the same ones, unable to think of any of my own. By question eighteen, my head is resting in his lap, and I’m watching his lips move as he talks.
“What’s your worst habit?”
“The way I immediately distrust people?” I offer, unsure of how else I would answer.
He moves his phone away from his face so he can look down at me. “You seem to trust me just fine.”
“Now. Before I didn’t. I hated your guts.”
“The feeling was mutual,” he tells me with a smirk.
“Yet you wouldn’t leave me the hell alone.”
“What guy wouldn’t annoy the hell out of a pretty girl?” My cheeks flush at the comment. I’m grateful when he turns back to his phone. I didn’t want him to see how flustered his comment made me.
“What is one thing you will never do again?”
I answer the question without having to think about the answer. “Go up to the Eiffel Tower.”
“What? Why? It’s amazing up there.”
I’m shaking my head before he can even finish. “I have a thing with heights.”
“Heights and people? That limits us.” He pauses for a long moment. I could see a devious glint in his eyes. “But not really,” he adds, jumping up. I quickly sit up before he can knock me off the bench. He grabs my hand and starts tugging me toward the gate.
“I am not going up there, Nathan,” I object.
“Oh, yes, you are. We are going to conquer your fear of heights today.”
“I’d rather not, but thanks for the off
er.”
“I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
I fight him the whole way, struggling to snatch my hand free so I can get away. I’d gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower a few months after the crash, not having realized my new fear of heights until reaching the top. Panic had set in once I took in how high I was. My thoughts clouded over, making it beyond my ability to think past the thought of falling. I’d freaked out, making all the tourists around me panic in return. Security had to escort me back down.
I can handle being on bridges, but not the Eiffel Tower. It’s too high up. I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of the memories I could have had up there—if my parents and I had made it across that bridge, together. Being alone up there made it difficult to think past the height and my loss.
Going up there is the last thing I want to do.
“Nathan, please just stop.”
He pauses but doesn’t let go of my hand. His eyes hold curiosity when he looks back at me. I come up beside him, shaking my head, my eyes welling with tears that I do not want to shed. “Don’t make me go up there. Please.”
“It’s okay, Taylor. I’m going with you.”
“No, Nathan—” I’m shaking my head, my stomach clenching and churning with panic—”I don’t want to go up there. I’m scared of heights and I—I just can’t. I was supposed to go up there with my parents.”
His expression morphs into realization as what I’m telling him starts to set in. “Oh, geez, Tay-Tay, I—I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I just need you to understand…” I trail off, unsure of what else to say; how to finish; how to explain. I must seem like such a weirdo to him. Someone that doesn’t belong in society. I have a list of problems.
Unsocial.
Suicidal.
A height phobic.
Distrusting.
Alone in Paris: A Standalone Young Adult Romance Page 14