Painting Sky (43 page)

We left the next day, as Cody had some internship business to attend related to some politician campaign, and Ryan had something to do on a friend’s computer. I just wanted to be closer to Keith without the entire freaking world watching. We had stopped saying we couldn’t do this. It was inevitable. Maybe we would tire of each other, eventually. Oh, who was I kidding? Eventually he would tire of me, but I was ruined forever.

The house was cold as we each dragged our suitcases inside, along with the present bags. Ryan had barely stepped inside the house when his friend called—again, for the hundredth time in six hours.

“I need to go. Don’t wait up.” It was already ten in the evening—of course no one was going to be up by the time he got home. Keith went upstairs, because he’d been the one driving, again, and just wanted to crash. He brushed his arm against mine in acknowledgement. I went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat before bed, and Cody followed me, looking exhausted. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much rest these days.

“You really need to rest, Cody, or you’ll get sick.” I looked over my shoulder to see him sitting on a stool with his head on his arms.

“Why are you worried about me? I was shit to you.”

I wasn’t expecting a meaningful conversation at this time of night. “You made a mistake, and you hurt me. I can look past that.” I sat next to him, drinking a warm cup of milk and offering him a sip.

He looked so young and sad. “I miss you.” I stiffened and he shook his head. “No, not like that. I miss you. I miss knowing you, and knowing what’s going on.” He took the mug from me and sipped, knowing I’d put honey in it, just the way he loved it.

“I miss you, too. Can we still be friends?” I asked.

He averted his eyes. “Maybe not right away, but I would like that. I want you in my life.” He stood and leaned close for a hug.

Tears rushed to my eyes, because I’d felt such loss when we’d broken up. Now I knew it hadn’t been because I’d lost a boyfriend: it was because I’d lost my best friend.

He kissed my forehead and went to the door. Before pushing it open, he turned. “Be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He looked down. “I won’t say or do anything, but I know you won’t be fine after him, like you were with me.”

I stood there, gaping, long after he’d gone to bed. The milk was getting cold in my hands. Cody knew? How? I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, even though he had been the one to mess up our relationship.

I stayed away from Keith for the next few days. Ryan and Cody were around a lot. If we couldn’t get it past Matilda and Cody, we wouldn’t be able to keep it from my brother for much longer. He wasn’t as oblivious as Cody, and Cody had already figured it out.

The party we were attending on New Year’s Eve was, thankfully, not at our house. It was at a nightclub that apparently held great New Year Eve parties, so I tagged along. I put on the green dress I had bought for my birthday and shrugged on the warmest coat I had, because it was freezing outside.

We gathered in Keith’s car to leave together, but found out during the ride that Ryan and Cody had plans to meet their own friends at the party. That would have pissed me off on another day, but tonight I felt relieved. I would have the night with Keith. The New Year’s kiss would be mine.

“What do you want to do?” whispered Keith behind me.

I half-turned to smile at him. “We can stay until midnight, and then we’ll leave and have our own party.” I suggested. He just smirked and nudged my ear, but not before checking that my brother and Cody were out of sight.

“I’d love that, Miss Keaton.”

We danced, until we couldn’t anymore. Then people just watched the countdown screen. My brother and Cody had left for another party a while ago, and I didn’t think about them for the rest of the night. My New Year’s wish was obvious, and, for tonight, at least, it would be reality.

Later that night—or, rather, morning—we were cuddling on his mattress in the attic. Sleep was not on our minds.

“I would like a tattoo,” I said, after long minutes of silence, while Keith traced small circles on my bare shoulder.

He shifted his body to loom over me with a raised brow. “And what would that be?”

I averted my eyes. “I want something that represents my present situation.” I felt his body tense and added, “The recent feeling of freedom. You know, feeling like my own person.” It wasn’t completely true.

“Not the bird flying out of the cage, though, right?”

“That would be pretty, but no… something less obvious.” We turned to the ceiling again, thinking. The thought had been playing in my mind for a few weeks, but I needed the opinion of the expert.

I chose my words, before asking, “What about an anchor?”

“Wouldn’t that be the opposite of being free?” he asked.

Sighing, I shook my head. I didn’t want to go there with Keith, but now was as good of a time as ever. “It’s not just being free, but also belonging somewhere, you know?” I looked away as the confession weighed on us. I belonged here—not just with him, but on my own, studying what I liked, making my own choices, and not being pushed to be someone I wasn’t—or to be with someone I didn’t really love.

After a while, he gave me his opinion. “It is common and cliché, but it makes sense. Where?” I shrugged, because, honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Now, however, knowing Keith approved of it, I had more courage.

Two days later we stood in front of the strangest tattoo shop I’d ever seen. The window at the front was all white with color splashes across white fabric hanging on it. It didn’t have a name or any designation of what was going on inside. I started to feel dizzy—maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe I trusted Keith too much. If he thought some random dude was going to put a needle in my skin, he was very much mistaken.

When we stepped inside, I didn’t feel better, but I had to agree that the place was beautiful. The walls and furniture were white, and the floor was a checkered white and gray wood. The longest wall had a drawing on it, with every color possible. It was breathtaking. I could make out forms amidst the chaos.

I was admiring the view when a guy stepped from around the corner and startled me. He was wearing a black shirt and denim jeans and I could tell he was covered in tattoos.

“Hi, man. Long time, no see.” He hugged Keith, and I could see that they got along well by the smile on Keith’s face. It was a rare view. “What brings you by? Another tattoo?” He noticed me and nodded to Keith, as if I wasn’t a person of my own and needed him to introduce me.

“Nope, this time is for my girl, here.”

My stomach back-flipped and my eyes bulged out of my head. Keith didn’t flinch at his own words, while my world came to a halt.

“She wants a tattoo.”

The guy studied me top to bottom, just the way I hated, and shook his head. “You know I’m booked, man.” What he really wanted to say was there was no way in hell he was going to work on a clean-cut girl, like me.

Keith stepped closer to me and hugged my waist. “I’m the one asking, Fred. You still owe me, remember?” He nodded to the wall next to me and everything made sense: the art on the wall was Keith’s.

“Oh, no, I did the dragon—we’re even. I don’t have time—”

Keith cut him off. “It will take you minutes. It’s just a tiny anchor on her finger.”

The tattoo guy laughed and crossed his arms. “You know I don’t do that shit.”

“I won’t credit you on it, then. I just don’t trust anyone else to do it. Come on, it’s ten freaking minutes.”

The guy laughed again. “If she made you stop swearing, you’re done, man, hooked. I never saw that coming.” He turned and motioned for us to go inside. I stopped Keith before going to the back.

“Are you sure we can trust him? I don’t think he’s licensed, and all that.” I waved to the space around us.

Keith smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s all legit. He’s not advertising because he’s always booked and very specific about the type of work he does. It’s easier, this way, since no one knows what’s going on here. No one asks for stupid stuff.”

I shrunk at the thought. “Do you think my idea is stupid?” He shook his head immediately.

“No, not at all. It’s common, yes, but I know what inspired you to do it, so it fits.” Before we walked to the back, he stepped forward, took my chin in his hand, and kissed me softly—probably to calm my nerves.

My girl. He called me his. That would take my mind off the pain.

The tattoo hurt, there was no denying it, but it was relatively quick, as it was just inside my ring finger and very small. I inspected the raised and reddish skin, admiring it. My family was going to kill me, but maybe I could delay that until spring time, or even summer. By then, I’d have my thoughts about everything going on in my life sorted out—hopefully.

A
week passed and neither Ryan, nor Cody noticed I had a tattoo. It was for the best, because I was in need of some peace and quiet.

Everything was kind of good—even Keith kissed me here and there. We hadn’t slept together since New Year’s Eve, though, and I couldn’t see us going anywhere, no matter how much it hurt every moment we weren’t together.

I was wandering through the house, thinking about what to prepare for dinner, and ended up in the attic. The door wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open to find it empty. Keith was probably showering to help with dinner. I started to close the door, but thought otherwise. I shouldn’t have been doing this, but Keith’s secrecy was starting to get on my nerves. What the hell did he paint that no one could see?

I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and went to the nearest canvas. When I turned it around, I gasped. I hurried to turn every canvas, and then I sat on the mattress, catching my breath. What the hell?

The door opened to reveal a fuming Keith. “What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you a million times?” He came closer and saw the damage was done.

“What is this? Why is every painting about me?”

His hands went through his hair and he pushed the closest canvas back. He turned around so I couldn’t see his face. I was so tired of being lied to that I got up, went to him, and pulled him around.

“Why? I—I don’t get it.”

“What do you want me to say? Huh? You have nice features to paint.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Keith. There are so many paintings here. Some are abstract, but I can see myself in them, too. They must’ve been painted before I came here.” I tried to get to the corner where the oldest painting must’ve been, but Keith grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“What don’t you get?” he whispered, before crushing his mouth on mine. We stumbled to the mattress behind me. He wasn’t sweet—we weren’t sweet—and it was a struggle to rip our clothes off. There was no time for foreplay. As soon as he was inside me, I arched my back to get closer. I didn’t want an inch between us. I begged him to not be gentle with me, and we didn’t take long to finish.

As soon as it was over, Keith jumped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t... did I hurt you?”

I sat up and grabbed my clothes. “I’m not made of crystal, you know.” I was trying to make light of the situation. “I’m fine. Better, yet, I’m great. Now, talk about the paintings.” I nodded at the canvas behind him.