Page 37 of The Art of Loving Ellie
He slowly removes his pants and briefs, shimmying playfully out of them and I laugh out loud. I lazily stroke his painted biceps when he leans over me on his forearms, putting his lower half in contact with mine. Staring into his light brown eyes, I want to know what it’s like to be totally consumed by this man. He’s soft where I’m all sharp edges, he’s lighthearted where I’m serious, and looking at him now—I want to melt under his touch and completely lose myself to every sensation he can offer me.
“I could get used to seeing you like this.” He’s staring right into my eyes, reading me, and it feels like a piece of us that we didn’t realize was missing is slowly fitting itself into place.
On and off throughout the night we make love to each other, and in between sessions I tell him stories of Aunt Jane and her amazing past endeavors, and he tells me hilarious tales about his big, crazy family. We laugh in the shower as we wash away our works of art that have stained half of my bedroom, and he trails kisses over my entire body, worshiping me. Afterward, I lie in his arms and sleep a little before we rouse each other for another round.
Early in the morning, right before his light snores begin to lull me back to sleep, I take a quick inventory of my mind and body, turning my attention specifically to the beating muscle in the center of my chest. Turns out, the vice grip that has been placed around it doesn’t feel too painful. In fact, the pressure feels just right.
Chapter Twelve
Something is burning. Stretching out my hands before me, I see green vines just like the ones Tyler painted on me, snaking their way all over my naked body. The gritty, sour scent of something burning fills my nose, and I can’t figure out what it is, or where it's coming from.
“Hello?” I yell out into a vast gray void, but no one answers me.
“Where am I?” I continue to call out moving forward, but my feet are heavy like cinder blocks, and it feels like I’m walking through sludge. The more I try to move, the thicker it becomes.
“Ellie.” Gasping, I turn to see Tyler taking form behind me. He’s naked and covered head to toe in the muscular patterns I painted on him last night.
I try and fail, to run toward him. “Tyler, thank God. What is going on, where are we?”
He won’t respond to me. Instead, he stares straight through me as if I don’t exist, and I begin to cry, causing green paint to liquefy and run down my body in rivulets. In his place, I recognize a shape beginning to materialize. It’s the paper swan heart sculpture from the underground art gallery he took me to when we first met.
I reach out to touch it, and it begins to crack straight down the center, and the paper swans take on life, scattering about me quickly and ruffling my long hair in their hasty retreat.
“Elizabeth,” I hear a familiar voice calling me. I blink several times trying to focus on the two figures appearing in front of me.
“Dad?”
“You never should have been born.” My mother’s sharp voice rings loudly around the space, echoing and causing my heart rate to jump.
“Ellie, let’s go outside and play, okay?” He places his hand on my arm gently, speaking to me as if I am a child.
“No!” I yell at him and yank my arm out of his hold. “I hate you! I hate you so much, I wish you would die!”
I’m crying now as I fall to the ground and sob into my hands. My heart feels like it’s being ripped from my body and I continue to weep.
“I love you, Ellie,” he says to me, but no one is there.
“Liar.” I cry even more into my hands.
“I love you.”
I bolt straight up in my bed with a gasp and reach up to touch my damp face. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and recalling my hellish nightmare makes me wince. My eyes fall to the empty spot where Tyler slept last night and I lie back, throwing an arm over my face as memories come flooding back to me. My cheeks heat thinking about the things that we did together.
Just like my dream, I smell something burning and the odor appears to be coming from the hallway. My brows furrow in alarm, and I grab my robe from the bathroom to go investigate.
I can hear the clash of pots and pans and a male voice humming something. Peeking around the corner, my mouth falls wide open when I see Tyler’s naked backside, in all his glory, wearing my apron and flipping what appears to be a pancake in a skillet on the stove.
He notices me immediately and winks in my direction. “I may, or may not, have burned the first batch, but I’m making up for it right now.”
I feel a smile spread across my face, “You’re still here.”
“Nowhere else I would rather be, Princess. Now sit your pretty ass at the table, and let me serve you a good old fashioned Mitchell breakfast.”
I do as I’m told, and he brings me a steaming hot mug of coffee. I glance at the clock on the stove and see that it’s twelve-thirty in the afternoon. I can’t believe we slept so late.
“Does the Mitchell breakfast always include burnt pancakes and a naked chef?” I tease, smiling into my mug as I blow on the hot liquid to cool it down.
“Only if you’re lucky.” He grins, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet. He piles some food onto them, sets them on the table, and after donning the same pants he wore yesterday he joins me. His brown hair is unruly, and I have to admit, the aftermath of our lovemaking looks good on him.
