Page 16 of Significant
I glance at the window to peek at the bird, teasing me with his freedom. He abandoned me too, just like Dad did to us, stealing Mom’s heart, and breaking her wings.
Go away.
I hate you.
Love and fairy tales were lies.
There are no such things as happily ever after. People leave. People abandon you.
I’ll never fall again.
Sexting is wrong
I’m late!
It’s 6:58 p.m. and I’m facing an issue every woman faces in their lives. A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear. After staring at my outfit choices, I decide to go for simplicity. The last real date I had was with… never mind. I opt for my favorite jeans which grant my glutes justice, with my comfy suede heels and my black silk blouse.
But maybe it’s too simple? Someone like Aaron might want to go to a place where I’d look underdressed and uncomfortable. And as for tonight, it’s the opposite of what I want. The doorbell rings, pulling me out of my overthinking. I try to calm my nerves, but the contradictory feelings rush into me.
I open the door, and my heart races a thousand miles per hour when I see Wolf standing on my doorstep. Charismatic. Devilishly handsome. Magnetic. I feel butterflies in my stomach when I glance at his flirtatious grin. His elbow on the wall, his fingers playing with his obsidian hair, he screams of bad boy vibes with his leather jacket. I simper, realizing it’s the same I borrowed from him when we met.
“Ma belle?”
I bite my lower lip at the sound of his husky voice. I bow my head to the side, and suddenly, resisting him feels like a bad idea. He’s creating an urgent craving in me. I’ve never felt the need to have sex. I was fine without it, and truth is, I’ve never taken pleasure during intimacy. But seeing him makes me reconsider my need.Maybe I should invest in a vibrator.I mean, I wrote about it, but I’ve never tried it. Thinking about Aaron’s hands caressing my skin, his kisses trailing down my neck, his voice bewitching me until I—
“Ma belle. You are staring.”I snap out of my thoughts.What an idiot!My cheeks flush red when I realize how awkward I must have looked.
“You look flushed.” He grins. “I bet your thoughts were quite… intense.” His last word rolls off his tongue, he’s enjoying this way too much.
I give him a friendly shoulder tap before letting him enter my place. I stand stiffly next to my couch, readjusting my blanket, tossing my unfinished paintings under my couch, hiding my romance novels behind the shelf of books about mythology, art, and psychology. He scans my whole place in silence. I feel so little—he’s probably used to the sumptuousness, but I’m far from a billionaire. At least, everything I own is thanks to myself, and that’s something I can be proud of. His gaze drops to the painting I have in the middle of the wall, he furrows his brow, tilting his head.
“What’s this?”
“It’sEverlastingfrom Romeo Di Angelo.Obviously, it’s just a print.” I smile coyly, remembering the history this painting has for me. It was my own escape. My hope.
Romeo Di Angelo was one of the most influential painters of the eighteenth century, his paintings have sold millions.Everlastingis the story of true love. The man, who is depicted as an angel, is in the sky, capturing into his arms his beloved. But demons are holding her feet as she’s desperately crying in pain, her light pink dress halfway ripped and dirty, like he just saved her from Hell itself. As for him, a mask of fear is on his face as he battles demons of his own. They are trying to separate them, to break the man’s wings for them to fall. This painting is a cry for help. The only light is around them. It’s from deep sadness, and yet it has been my hope. The promise that true love will win it all.
That love could someday exist.
Little girls dreamed to be princesses—well, when I was a child, I dreamed to be that woman. The one who escapes her demons, the one whose love is so pure and strong it frees her. This painting has been my secret. Art was my escape. The only world where I can let my desires run free, without having to face the consequences. I wasn’t allowed to believe or feel love. I’ve been raised to believe it’s a lie, that it rhymes with abandon and destruction. My own obsession with love destroyed me, until a point, the word itself has no meaning for me anymore. It was bane vocabulary for my mother, and a weapon of destruction for Stephan.
Love is a willing submission to the other. Nothing else.
“Why do you love this painting so much?” He tries to read me, and I’m intrigued by his interest in it.
Because I wish she was wrong.
“It was my escape, sort of?” I shrug, not ready to explain my past to Aaron. “It made me believe in a brighter future. I feel emotions, and I—” I laugh shyly, knowing he wouldn’t understand me. “It’s stupid, right? It’s just a painting, I know.”
“It’s not stupid, Elle. Not stupid at all.” And for a moment, I allow myself to feel like I’m not alone.
We break our eye contact. Aaron clears his throat and I cross my arms on my chest. One more thing in common—we don’t patronize ourselves with the talking and we neglect our emotions to perfection.
“Can you give me a tour?”
“It’s pretty small…” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Fine,” I capitulate.
A kitchen and a bathroom tour later, we arrive at my… bedroom. And for an unknown reason, my heart starts racing. Perhaps from the memory of our steamy texts haunting my mind. I lean across my desk, watching Aaron walk like an elegant tiger across the room. He observes with curiosity my whole place, a satisfying smile on his face just as if he had me all figured it out.
