Page 23 of Significant
I check the time and notice it’s been two hours since he’s been gone and already past midnight. My instincts take control of me at that moment. I’m not thinking clearly, I’m directed by a powerful imaginary force. I take a deep breath and grab my waistcoat, leaving the room. When I open the door of the gym, I find Aaron by the window, his back facing me. It’s too late to head back now.
“Aaron,” I drop, unsure of why I’m really here. When he hears my voice, his piercing stare meets mine as he sips his bottle of water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude… I just saw you from the balcony and I was wondering if you were okay.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” he replies darkly. His eyebrows frown, his eyes narrowing at me with a deep intensity. Message received. He wants me gone.
I notice how silly I look. We don’t even know each other, and here I am storming into his personal space. I nod at him, understanding that this is a bad idea. I’m about to leave the gym when he grabs my hand, his touch sending an electrifying sensation throughout my body. For the first time when I read his eyes, I find a vulnerability I’ve never seen in him before. He—who is usually always in control, always so strong, fearless—now seems like a haunted child waking up from a nightmare, trapped in a feral man’s body.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, it’s what I do.” He clenches his jaw.
“What do you mean?”
He walks toward the huge bay window. “I train harder than everyone else to escape my thoughts. I need to be the best. If I let myself go, I’ll get consumed by darkness.” I meet him in front of the view, the moonlight lighting up half of his face. Half seraphic. Half broken.
“What are you talking about?”
“My past doesn’t concern you.” His eyes like blades pierce into mine.
“You must be lonely,” I whisper, probably thinking about myself. He analyzes me in confusion like I’m an enigma he needs to solve. “Keeping everything to yourself. Sometimes it helps to talk to someone.” I should know. I’m lonely, too.
“You don’t want to know why I am this way. The reason I drive.”The reason he doesn’t get close to anyone.“I’m broken.” His sharp and cold tone doesn’t push me away. Instead, my heart feels for him, even if he guns his eyes as if I’m his enemy. “I don’t need your pity, Elle,” he adds with mistrust before storming away to pick up his bag.
“This is not pity, Aaron. It’s called caring.” A word he probably doesn’t know the meaning of. I wonder what happened in the last two hours to make him change drastically in behavior. What scars is he hiding, to deny his emotions?
“You should care about your own problems.” His words are meant to hit me.
“I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s not a reason to act like a selfish jerk. We all have our demons!” I howl at him, leaving the gym.
He walks behind me in silence. I might have acted out of impulse.Did I really call him a jerk?I just made assumptions without knowing a thing about his life. He closes the bedroom door behind us. I feel the need to apologize—after all, he doesn’t owe me anything—but he beats me to it.
“The seventh of the month is a bad day for me.”Seven…just like the number of his car, and of his skull tattoo. “Goodnight, Elle.”
Sometimes words have other meanings than their actual significations. Sometimes we have to read between the lines to find a new understanding. And, in this case, opening to me could mean he’s sorry.
“Goodnight, Aaron.”
I crawl into my bed, and when I’m about to turn off the lights, I hear his voice. “Thanks for caring.”
I smile at him. I turn off the lights. There is hope.
He might be broken, damaged, crushed by a past he isn’t ready to share with the world.
But, I’ll discover who Wolf is, at the price of reawakening my own demons.
Enliven me
Wolf is discussing race strategy with his team and prepping for the car testing of after tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve gathered the most popular questions asked about him. I doubt it will please Nina, but if it pleases the readers, my job will be secured. Plus, Wolf is too controlling to deliver information spontaneously. I’ve set up the camera to record the interview and to give my article an interesting visual—we’re all aware of his good looks.
Sitting on a chair, my legs on the balcony railing of our hotel room, I tuck my top up my belly to take in the rays of sun on my skin while waiting for Wolf. My sketchbook on my lap, I’m hesitant to give it a try. Art is like riding a bike, you can’t forget how to do it. But it feels like an eternity I’ve made my hands dirty and played with colors. Honestly, it scares me, because you can’t control your creativity. You can’t hide from your subconscious. Art is honest. You can’t lie with your feelings. You’re expressing your secrets desires, your fears, your darkness, and your light—without knowing it in the first place.
But I don’t have colors. I have only a charcoal pencil.What much of damage can I make with a single pencil?I decide to draw the track with a racing car, having a pretty good view of it.See. Easy.An idea hits me. I turn the page and lose track of time, feeling inspired for the first time in months. I draw a bird on the shoulder of a man in a racing suit, both walking away from the darkness—talk about Wolf’s obsession. I blend the color with my fingers before highlighting the wing of what seems to be a parakeet, and I’m in the impossibility to deny I have a thing for birds. The last time I painted one, it was in watercolors. Big brushstrokes of black. Red coat of paint. Drips of sangria melted with water.
“That’s beautiful.”
I blench when I hear the voice behind me bringing me back to reality. Wolf. I quickly close the sketchbook, embarrassment rushing through my cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” I snap.
I’ve never shown my art to anyone willingly. (Apart from art schools, but they described my art as too simple without deep meaning.) When my mother found my paintings, she told me to focus on a real career, preferably one who allows me to meet important people—what she meant was men with a consequential wallet, high social status, and unmarried. Stephan told me to stop my irrational dream and made me understand my art was taking ‘too much place’, whatever that means.
“Well, I already had a glimpse. Can I see it more closely?” He reaches his hand toward me, not even sorry, convinced I’ll hand him the key to my subconscious.
