Page 59 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling away for a fraction of a second to catch her breath, mouth swollen by my kisses, painted in a perfect and natural red, before she says: “I like this length.”
“Thank you. I call this my homeless look.” I retort, rubbing at the sides of her body to earn a ticklish giggle from her. “Have you eaten? We can go grab something inside.”
“I haven’t had a bite. I’ve been pondering over everything out that gate for far too long.”
I wrap one arm around her shoulder, dragging her alongside me towards my home.
“Alright, so we’re eating together, sunshine.” I say. “We have plenty of things to catch up on.“
Even such a small plan sounds amazing.
?CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VERONICA
“I’ll be getting over you my whole life.”- Labyrinth by Taylor Swift.
THE SIGHT OF NATHANLEAVES ME FEELING SUSPENDED BY A DELICATE GOLD THREAD FROM THE CEILING, EVERYTHING INVERTED, BLOOD POUNDING IN MY CHEEKS, MY HEAD SWIMMING, MY MOUTH HANGING OPEN IN STUNNED DISBELIEF AS HE SITS CASUALLY AT THE KITCHEN ISLAND.He’s reading from an envelope he’s just opened, seemingly about some instant juice you just stir, and my phone clock strikes twelve. I’m not even sure if I’ve got the time zones right anymore, but that’s the last thing on my mind.
I can’t stop looking at him.
It’s as if something within me had changed. For me to find curves in the bump of someone’s nose endearing, like roads I’d like to travel in lost mountains that no one cares about. I think of his lips, the curve of his bottom one, always a bit swollen—bigger against my tongue when caressed after a kiss. Not only that, but his eyes don’t even divert to me, now half-covered by his longish hair, staring with intent and carefulness at the concoction he’s making.
Mine. There’s a deep-seated belief within me that a part of Nathan will always be intrinsically linked to me, a primal connection unlike any other. The idea that a fragment of someone’s soul stays with us, especially when we’ve reflected each other’s lives. However, my heart aches with a painful intensity, and the only thing anchoring me is the fragile hope that maybe, as he rests his head at night, a powerful thought of me will flicker through his mind, enough to break through his sleep.
“I’m not good at these things.” He’s talking about the juice, I know so, but my mind can only agree with him. Romance is never something I’ve been good with. The second option at last, always. The rarity of an excellent film that is never developed for anyone to watch. “Lightning could strike and I’d still be figuring out if I need to add sugar or not.”
“It looks like it doesn’t need sugar. If gastritis could be represented by one product, trust me, it’d be that one.” I speak in a hurried undertone, almost a whisper, as if a louder voice holds some unknown threat. I’ve been irrevocably changed since Nathan penned that damned letter. I was so certain our connection was one of friendship, but true friends don’t ignite this constant yearning to be held by them, to wish for a forever within their embrace.
“Miss ‘Know-It-All’, let me take care of you even if it’s with sugar in a cup.” Nathan crooks his hip and rests it on the edge of the counter, sparing me a glance through half-lidded eyes. And I must be staring, for his pupils dilate and trail towards my lips, as if begging for the distance to be shortened by me. I don’t have the nerve to do it just yet. “Have a sip.”
Instead of handing me the cup, he walks over and cradles its base with his hand, catching any stray drop that might fall and making his skin gleam. I take a sip, but my gaze remains fixed on him. The years I spent without him feel like a lost blur, because in truth, I’ve been searching for him for so long—that one love that felt eternal. But then fear washes over me, erasing any sense of certainty as I absently wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“It tastes exactly how sugar in a cup would taste like.”
“Tell that to your doctor and enjoy it.” Though, he places the cup down, quirking an eyebrow at the same time that he gives me a tight-lipped smile. He has changed his clothes for a pair of pajamas after spending the entire day with me, just briefly talking and lounging around, the collar half-bent and begging me to drag him closer by the fabric. “I imagine it will take a while for us to get used to communicating like we did before.”
