Page 43 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“I was feeding Opal. Now I’m all locked up, ready to go to bed,” Nathan comments, my ears making out the sound of shuffling around the sheets. “It might sound stupid, and I swear I’m not trying to be corny, but now that I’ve shared this bed with you, it doesn’t feel the same to lie in it. Not without you. Everything reminds me of you.”
A wave of heat washes over my stomach, blurring my senses as I lick my lips and tightly close my eyes, my breathing becoming unnervingly slow. “Mmm, what kinds of memories are you thinking of?”
“Rather than the memories we have, I’m quite impressed by my imagination about what else we could do.” With his usual quick wit, Nathan offers glimpses into his mind, and though the possibility of his love and adoration often fills me with warmth, there’s a constant undercurrent of desire we both have to fight to maintain our distance. All in the name of waiting. “I want a whole plethora of memories.”
“Greedy, I see.” I retort, turning around in my seat and staring at the empty wall. “I miss you.” My confession is answered only by the heavy sound of Nathan’s sigh.
“So do I. I hadn’t gotten the time to text you. Work was hectic today. Everyone was asking for a drawing.”
“I understand. Better head to bed early, then.”
“I can’t.” Nathan replies, voice cut off by a yawn. “How about you drop off at my place so I can get a goodnight kiss?”
“Judging by the time, I think it’ll be better if I just stay at the office and sleep here.” Yet, I refrain from telling him that I’d be there in a heartbeat if it were possible.
“I could go pick you up. It’s not a problem for me.” The cheekiness of his tone gets lost in the worry that coats his voice, but I shake my head, humming at his words.
“Stay there. You’re tired. Besides, I can’t hold accountability for my actions if you pick me up.”
“Giving me more reasons to go there isn’t going to help, y’know?” Though, I hear the tiredness in his voice. The device on my desk vibrates against the surface and I turn around to check that Nathan had sent me a picture. “I sent you something.”
“I’m scared to open it.”
“Why?”
“Nathan, I swear that if it’s something that it’s going to tempt me to go there, I will head over to your place, but kill you instead.” Curiousness may have killed the cat, because the moment he laughs is the minute in which I decide to open the picture he sent me.
Nathan lies on his side, cheek squished against his taut arm, eyes closed and hair done a mess. One can see, when glimpsing at the skin under the sheets, that he has forgone the t-shirt, but I still stare in adoration, giggling at myself like a little girl.
“Could have been worse.”
“I wasn’t going to send you an unsolicited dick pic, sunshine.” The words alone have me laughing, placing my phone high in the air and taking a picture of myself blowing a kiss at the camera. I try not to look at the result too much, knowing that my orange hoodie and mascara-coated eyelids are not the best look at the moment, but it’s nice to hear a hum from his end of the line.
“Don’t judge my selfie skills. Tiredness takes my beauty away.”
“You’re gorgeous.” Simplistic as always, yet heavy in meaning, I could dance on one foot just from hearing him speak. “I wasn’t joking about going to pick you up, sunshine. I’m on my way there, if that’s what you need. Not on my bicycle, of course. I’d grab a taxi.”
“I still have to finish some things around here, and I was planning on taking the day tomorrow either way, so...”
“You sure?”
“If you come pick me up in that state of sleepiness with that bicycle of yours, I swear to God I will punch you.”
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll go pick you up for breakfast. Sounds great to you?”
“Pancakes, please. And yes, it sounds amazing.” A yawn interrupts my words, running a hand through my hair. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Mmm, will do. Try to get some yourself, will you?”
“I promise.” Though, maybe it’s a bit of an empty one. The sound of his blown kiss over the phone conjures such a vivid image of our future together that I almost believe it. Then, the reality of Nathan’s repeated insistence on his temporary stay washes over me.
Maybe I am temporary.
Can I live with that?
