Текст книги "Pushing the Limits"

Автор книги: Brooke Cumberland

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVEN

ASPEN

Kendall and I make plans to meet up for lunch at a diner near campus. She’s loud and bubbly as usual, but I still feel half asleep. After last night’s class, I hadn’t been able to sleep.

My mind was occupied elsewhere with a certain professor…

“So what do you think?” Kendall asks, breaking me out of my self-induced a coma.

I blink. “Of?”

“Jesus, Aspen. What’s gotten into you?” She brings a forkful of mashed potatoes up to her mouth and devours it.

“Nothing, sorry. Just tired. What were you saying?”

“My cousin, Piper, is coming to visit from Arizona. Can she stay in your apartment since your couch pulls out?

“Um…” I draw out, grabbing my cup of coffee and taking a long sip. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Oh…” She continues chewing. “All right.” I hear the disappointment in her tone as her lips turn down.

“Sorry, I just…don’t do well with having a roommate.”

“Didn’t you have roommates your freshmen year?”

“Yeah and it was pure hell. I mean, I had a single bedroom, which was nice, but we had to share everything else. So that sucked.”

“Well, she’ll only sleep there. I can tell her to hang out in my apartment during the day or whenever you’re home if that’ll help.”

“Okay, maybe. I just don’t do well sharing my space. I get anxious, especially when it’s someone I don’t know well.” I shrug, hoping she understands. “It’s fine.”

“No, I understand. Sorry, I forget how bad it can sometimes get .” She flashes me a sympathetic smile making me want to change the heavy topic as soon as possible.

Kendall’s seen a few of my embarrassing episodes before. We were drinking at her place one night, and I ended up falling asleep on her bedroom floor. In the middle of the night, I started screaming in my sleep and shaking. She was two seconds away from calling 911, but once I convinced her I wasn’t having a seizure, she calmed down enough to let me explain.

“You going out this weekend?”

“I might. Is Zoe working?”

“Yeah, I think she has the dinner shifts Friday and Saturday, then we’ll stick around to hang out afterward.”

“All right. Yeah, I’ll probably head out for a bit. I have some studying to do tonight, though.”

“It’s only the second week of classes. How can you have studying to do already?” She grimaces.

“Because I don’t want to get behind. Some of us—” I narrow my eyes at her, “—are trying to get into graduate school.”

“Graduate smaduate.”

I shake my head at her and laugh. “I’ll come out as long as you buy me a drink.”

She smiles. “Don’t I always?”

After we finish eating, we then head off to our afternoon classes. Once I’m back home, I work on the blog assignments I have for Professor Hampton, and I quickly get them done. Once I finished, I feel the urge to clean.

And by clean, I mean scrub every inch of my apartment until my fingers bleed.

I’m not always like this—neurotic, I mean. Cleaning helps clear my mind when I have too much going on to focus on painting. I go through episodes of manic behavior, but more often it’s depression that takes over.

I see my doctor regularly to consult about my medication and to make any adjustments. After six years of suffering from depression after the accident, I was told I was likely suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Reoccurring dreams of the event, flashbacks, anxiety, depression and avoidance are all areas I suffer from. Not to mention the secondary trauma from my mother and the way she’s blamed me all this time. But no matter how much I try to get my life together and move forward, a dream or flashback will suck me back in and bring me back to the beginning again. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel.

A loud beating at my door grabs my attention and when I whip the door open, Kendall is standing there with a tense look on her face.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“What the hell, Aspen? I’ve called you like four times, and I’ve been banging on your door for like five minutes.”

“You have?”

“Yes! Why is your music so loud?” she shouts, covering her hands over her ears.

“It is?”

She narrows her eyes at me and lowers her hands. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Fine. Just doing some cleaning.” I hold up the towel from my left hand.

“Oh my God…” Her eyes go wide as she pushes through and walks inside. “It smells like bleach and pine sol had a love child and then threw up all over your apartment.”

I scowl and shut the door. “I just told you I was cleaning.”

“No, you’re getting high.”

I burst out laughing. “I am not.”

“Well, between the loud rap music and toxic bleach smell, the cops will be called in no time.”

I hadn’t even realized my music was on. I walk over and shut my stereo off and then open a window. “There. Better?”

“A little, yes.”

“Sorry. I just lost myself for a bit.” She walks toward me and gives me a sympathetic frown. “I’m fine,” I repeat, hoping she’ll drop it.

“I’ll have Piper stay with another friend, okay?”

“This isn’t about Piper. I said it was fine.” I wave her off.

“Aspen, I may not have known you for long, but I know you well enough to know when you aren’t fine.”

I exhale. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Well, obviously the anxiety of having a stranger stay here is too much, and I’m sorry I even asked. I should’ve known better.”

I hate that she says that.

“It’s not about Piper, okay? My mind is just a clusterfuck right now.”

She sits down and pats her hand on the couch. “Are you sure? Wanna talk about it?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “What? Are we going to have a slumber party and talk about all of our hopes and dreams?” I mock sardonically and sit down next to her. “Because if that’s the case, I’m going to need wine.”

Wine in hand, we both plop down on the couch and Kendall wastes no time asking me about what caused me to go crazy Merry Maid on my apartment.

Taking an exaggeratedly large drink of wine, I consider my words carefully, knowing I can’t tell her the truth of what is going on and hating that I have to evade her questions.

“Honestly, it’s just a bit of everything. My mom wanting me to come home for Spring break, my hectic school and work schedule. I’m just overwhelmed and cleaning helps me regroup.”

Nodding, she takes a quick sip from her glass. “Yeah, that makes sense. I know the pressure can really amp up anxiety, too.” She knows certain triggers can increase my anxiety.

I nod in agreement, thankful she doesn’t pry further. “Enough about my crazy life. Tell me how’s Kellan?” I empty my glass. “Coming along yet?” I tease, waggling my eyebrows. “Or rather, coming at all?” Her cheeks heat, and I know I’ve successfully changed the subject.

“You’re such an ass. You know that, right?”

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s an…almost.”

I shake my head in mock disappointment. “That’s unacceptable, Kendall. Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“He gets hard just fine, thank you very much. He just doesn’t want to screw it up by moving too fast. Even if my vagina is filling up with cobwebs.”

“Cobweb pussy,” I confirm, shaking my head. “I hear it’s a brutal disease.”

“So is too-much-cock-in-the-mouth disease.”

“Oh, but it’s oh, so worth it.” I wink and she pretends to gag.

“All right, screw this girly crap. Let’s go hang with Jack and Jose.”

“Deal.”

We run to the liquor store and grab two large bottles that are sure to keep us company.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ASPEN

Everyone starts packing up after class Tuesday night, but I stay put. My mind is focused and centered, and I don’t want to stop now.

“You know you have another week to work on this, right?” I hear him directly behind me as I stand in front of my easel. But I don’t turn around and face him.

“Yes.”

“You’re very passionate.” I smile but don’t stay anything.

He steps to the side of me, just enough where I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be done in a minute.”

“It’s fine. I’ve nowhere to be.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, glancing slightly to where he is. “No wife or girlfriend to get home to?”

A pleased smirk spreads across his face. “That’s a pretty personal question.”

Fear etches over my face and my fingers still. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“But…” he draws out slowly, averting my gaze back to him. “Class is over now.” Our eyes meet as he continues. “So there’s no rule against asking personal questions.” He takes a step toward me.

“You made that up.” He tries to stifle a laugh. “Even after hours, you’re still my professor and I’m still your student.” He takes another step closer.

“I’ll answer it if you answer one.”

I try to act unaffected by how close he is to me. I continue moving the brush over the canvas, veering my eyes away to break the tension.

“No, I don’t have a wife or girlfriend waiting for me,” I answer flatly. His crooked smile encourages me to keep going. “Although,” I continue, “I am known to get quite friendly after a few drinks.”

He nearly chokes on his laughter, making the tension slip away.

He’s even closer now, the only barrier between us the easel. But it’s situated more to my right so his body is in full view. He stares intently at me, his lips in a firm line.

“Husband or boyfriend?”

“Why would you want to know something like that?” I feel the heat building in between my legs, my breath uneven and raspy as I realize we’re nearly toe-to-toe.

“Because I want to know if I can kiss you or not.” His voice is low and steady, confidence radiating off him as he towers over me, his hand resting on my arm.

I feel the thud inside my chest as I come to terms with what he’s just said. He wants to kiss me?

I don’t know how to react. My head is spinning, and I think perhaps I heard him wrong.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Professor Hampton.”

“Why? Because you’re my student or because you’ve been thinking about kissing me, too?”

My brush freezes in mid-stroke. I swallow, trying to process his words.

He leans in close, grabbing my attention back to his eyes.

“Answer the question, Aspen.”

“Which one?” I counter, feeling the rapid movements of my chest moving up and down.

Before he can respond, a soft knock grabs our attention behind us.

Professor Van Bergen.

I jerk back at the same time Professor Hampton takes a step backward, taking his hand off my arm.

“Am I interrupting?” The distaste in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed as she eyes the space between Professor Hampton and I.

“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “What can I help you with?”

She steps in closer. “I saw your light was still on so I just wanted to check and make sure everything was all right.” Silence lingers in the air, and I lower my head to avoid the awkwardness.

“Everything’s fine.” My head tilts up slightly to see that he’s turned his attention to me. “Aspen wanted some advice on her project.”

“Oh, all right.” She’s not buying it for a second and the fake smile on her face indicates her irritation. “Well, anyway. I’ll catch up with you later.” She then shifts her eyes to me as she flashes a glare, almost as if she’s giving me a silent warning to back off her territory.

We both watch as she walks out, and suddenly, it’s just the two of us again. I can hear my shallow breaths as he continues to stare at me as if he’s still waiting for my answer.

But I don’t give it to him. I grab my bag and swing it over my shoulder. “I should get going.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“It’s fine. It’s late and you probably have to lock up.”

I grab the painting and put it on the rack to dry and then quickly wash my brushes before I take the easel and put it away. He continues standing in the same spot, just staring at me. Except his gaze is intense, deep and thrilling.

“You can stay if you want…to finish working.” His voice is low, shakier than before.

I glance over at him, trying to read his expression. I scrape my teeth along my lower lip and watch as his eyes linger on my mouth. I swallow and reply with just a hint of hesitation, “Maybe next time.”

MORGAN

No matter how hard I try, I still can’t get the girl with the feisty attitude, driven determination, and glossy cherry lips out of my goddamn head. It makes me want to cross all the lines just to feed the intense urge building up inside me. I think about her lips and how I want to press mine to hers just to see if she’d kiss me back. Every time those bright green eyes look up at me, I envision her kneeling down in front of me with her lips wrapped around my cock while looking up at me, as she tastes what she does to me.

As soon as I’d release inside those perfect swollen lips, I’d throw her on top of the bed and wrap those red heels around my shoulders as I sucked on her clit until she came screaming my name.

Yes…I’ve fantasized plenty of scenarios that all end with Aspen Evans naked in my bed.

Except, I wouldn’t be able to stop there.

But it’s more than just what she does to me…

I think about her paintings and how the world seems to melt away from her as she focuses on the assignment with intense concentration. I think about how beautiful and intelligent she is. About how humble and shy she acts whenever I compliment her talent. I think about how moving and emotional her painting pieces are and what they truly represent. I think about how we’ve both suffered losses of people we love and how differently we’ve handled it. She puts all of her feelings on paper and the emotions just spill out perfectly. I’ve never met a student like her before. Her talent is far beyond her years of schooling. But then I think about her anxiety attacks and wonder what triggers them. For someone who looks so put together, she must be hiding a much darker secret inside.

As of late, I’m finding any excuse at all to see her.

I swing by the coffee house Thursday morning after my second class of the day. Instead of ordering my usual house blend coffee, I order two lattes.

I can’t contain my smile when I walk into the art gallery and see Aspen at the information desk playing on her phone.

She looks up as soon as she hears the bell over the door. “You’re getting better at this job already.” I set the cups of coffee down in front of her.

“You’re going to need a punch card if you keep coming in here.” She gives me a sideways glance that tells me she doesn’t mind my visits.

“Well, I just came to force some caffeine on you. I don’t need you falling asleep in my class again.”

Her jaw drops. “I did not fall asleep!” She wraps her hand around the cup and takes a sip of the drink anyway.

“Don’t think I can’t see my students just because you all have easels in front of you.”

She deadpans. “I closed my eyes for twenty seconds.”

“It was two and a half minutes.”

“You know, most students would’ve filed a harassment claim by now with the amount of time you spend staring at me.”

The corners of my lips curl up in pure amusement, but the excitement in her tone tells me she likes it when I stare at her. “The only way you can know how much I’m staring at you is if you’re staring at me, too.”

“Well, I’m not. I mean, I don’t.”

“Right.” I bring the cup up to my mouth and watch as her eyes linger on my lips. “Think you can come to class early? I have a project for you.”

“Just me?”

“Well, technically, yes.”

“What do I have to do?” She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.

“Show up and you’ll find out.”

A playful grin spreads across her face, and I know she’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking. “All right, fine, but you should know I carry pepper spray in my bag at all times.

“Duly noted.” I smirk and tap the bottom of my cup against the desktop before taking a step back. “See you in class, Aspen.” I wink, leaving her speechless as I spin around to walk back out the door.

Just as I’m reading over blog posts, Claire knocks on the door, grabbing my attention. The moment I look up, she’s once again asking me to go out with her. She seems to do this randomly and without fail trying to seduce me with her body and words.

“I actually have to pick my niece up in just a minute and drop her off at my parents before my night class. But thanks for the invite.” I give my best sincere tone and smile without coming off too rude. I don’t know how many times I have to reject her invites before she gets the hint, but apparently, she’s going to keep trying.

“Sure, no worries. Maybe another time.” I hear the hopefulness in her tone and hate that I’ll have to eventually crush her hopes if she thinks I’ll ever go out on a date with her.

“Of course,” I lie, but considering I need this job, I keep it as friendly as possible. I know how tight-knit these small schools can be. You piss off one professor, and suddenly, the dean is uninviting you to his annual summer BBQ.

I start packing up my things, hoping she gets the hint to leave. Once she finally does, I head out to my car and drive to my parent’s house.

As I arrive at the school and wait for Natalia to come out, I think about the last university I worked at out in Ohio. It wasn’t much larger than CSLA, but still heavily focused on the arts. I knew all the professors by name and we often went out on the weekends together. When I first moved to Columbus, I hadn’t known anyone. Another professor, Trent Wiser, befriended me right away and introduced me to the majority of the other professors. It was nice having people I could connect with on a professional and personal level. It took some time, but after awhile, it became home.

Since having to leave, I’ve been trying to get that feeling back. The feeling of being comfortable in your own surroundings. But as long as my past was here, mocking me every chance it could, I worried I’d never get that feeling back.

The sound of the car door opening grabs my attention to Natalia getting into the passenger side. Her face is etched in a frown, and I know before I ask that her day wasn’t good.

“Hey, Short Stuff.”

“Hi.” She frowns.

“What number?”

“Three.”

“What happened?”

“Henry Ashby is a douche.”

My eyes narrow as I remind her, “No swearing.” The corner of my lip curls up, but I quickly look away so she doesn’t see me grinning. “Did the teacher write a note for me?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“What’d he do?”

“It’s nothing. Just drop it.” She looks away and stares out the window.

Jesus…I wish I understood girls.

“Natalia…tell me what he did.”

“He makes fun of me, okay? He calls me Fatty Natty and then tells all of his friends to call me that, too.”

I grit my teeth as my palm tightens around the steering wheel. “I’m calling your teacher.”

She whips her head around and glares at me. “No, I said just drop it. I’ll take care of him myself. He’s such a little prick—”

“Natalia!” I cut her off. “I’m calling your teacher. End of discussion.”

She rolls her eyes and looks away again. “Whatever.”

We drive in silence halfway to the house before I speak up again. “You’re not fat, Natalia. You’re beautiful.” She ignores my compliment and keeps her gaze out the window. “You look a lot like your mom,” I say softly.

She finally turns and looks at me. “I do?”

I nod and smile. “Yes. You have the same wild and crazy curls. And you definitely have her sassy, take-no-shit attitude.”

She flashes a weak smile. “I wish I remembered her.” Her head lowers, and I can see her eyes close.

“I know, Shorty. I know. I wish you did, too.”

We arrive at my parent’s house but stay put in the car until Natalia recovers. She wipes away the tears she’s pretending don’t exist, and I wait until she’s ready.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She whips the car door open and gets out as if nothing had happened.

I feel for her. As much as my situation sucks, hers sucks worse. She’s lost both parents before the age of twelve. She’s angry and bitter, and I wish I knew how to help her.

But I’ve been angry and bitter for five years, and I have no clue how to even help myself.

I hear the clicking of her heels before I see her. I look up and see her walking in with her bag hanging off her shoulder. She looks absolutely stunning in her black skinny jeans and a white top that hangs off her shoulder just enough to see the smooth skin underneath. I look down and smirk when I see she’s wearing bright red heels, just like in my fantasy.

I stay put behind my desk and wait for her to come to me. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

She tilts her head and rolls her eyes. “You’re really bad at this teacher thing, you know that?”

“I take offense to that.”

“You should.” She laughs. “Now you want to tell me why I’ve been sentenced to early class time?” I can see her mind spinning with the way she’s fidgeting with her strap, but she’s trying to put a straight face on.

It’s pretty fucking adorable how antsy and nervous she gets around me.

Which really makes me just want to do it more to see how far I can push it.

“Grab a blank canvas, easel, and three oil paint colors.”

She drops her bag on the floor and glares at me. “You’re so bossy.”

“It’s kind of my job.”

She looks up at the clock on the wall. “Technically, it’s not for another forty-five minutes.” I sit up in my chair and keep my eyes locked on hers until she budges. “Fine.” A victorious smile flashes on my face and she glares at me once again.

It only takes her a minute to set up and then she’s standing eagerly waiting.

“Paint something happy.”

Her brows furrow and her lips turn down. “What?”

“Happy…to feel delight, pleased, or glad.”

“I know what the definition of happy is.” She shakes her head at me. “Why?”

“I just want to see if you’re capable.”

“I am.”

“Prove it,” I challenge her.

She sighs. “Fine. But you can’t watch me.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“Deal? I’m basically here against my will.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re lucky I love to paint.” She sneers.

I smile in return and say just above a whisper, “I know.”

She bites her lip and looks away. She dips her brush and begins making strokes against the canvas. Watching her gives me goose bumps, and I know I could watch her paint for hours.

I see her eyes look over the canvas at me every few minutes or so. She doesn’t say anything, just continues painting and checking to see if I’m still watching her. I can barely peel my eyes away from her when I check the clock on the wall to make sure we don’t run out of time.

“All right. Done.” She sets the brush down and smiles.

I’m intrigued to see what she came up with in a matter of thirty minutes. I hadn’t expected her to do a masterpiece, but I wanted to challenge her to explore a different part of her psyche.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Let’s see it.”

She spins the easel around in my direction and stands next to it as she waits for my reaction.

It’s quite simple, but so perfectly fitting. “It’s a vase of lilies,” she explains softly, all teasing aside.

The vase is tinted in a light pink color. The green from the stems pop out, bright and full of life. The lilies are left white, but only half of them have bloomed all the way.

“It’s really stunning,” I say honestly.

She shrugs. “Had I been given more time and supplies, I could’ve been more detailed.”

“As true as that may be, that wasn’t the assignment.”

The corners of her lips curl up slightly. “So, do I pass?”

I stand up and round my desk to where she’s standing. “Not quite.” She tilts her head and looks up at me. “The meaning. What’s the meaning behind a vase of lilies?”

Her head bows, and I see her throat tense. “Nothing. It’s just a vase of flowers.”

“Aspen…” I say roughly, and she looks back up at me. “What’s it mean?”

She inhales slowly and lowers her eyes to the floor. “It reminds me of my sister.”

“The one who passed away?” I probe.

“Yes.”

“She passed six years ago, right?”

“You remembered?” I see the mood shift in her immediately.

“Yes, of course. That must’ve been hard. Losing someone you loved so much at such a young age.”

“It was.” She inhales deeply. “It is.”

“I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose a sibling.”

Her head pops up, and I see the interest in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It sucks.” She gives me a sympathetic glance.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She purses her lips. “I hate talking about it.”

“Is that why you paint her so much?”

She sighs, a relieved breath escaping her lips. “Yes. It’s my way of coping, I guess. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I don’t think I want to get over it because then that means I’m accepting it, and no matter how much time passes, I don’t want to accept it.”

“That’s the most honest answer I’ve ever heard.” I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze all her pain away. “I haven’t accepted my brother’s death, either.”

“When did he pass away?”

I take a step back and hesitate before responding. “Six months ago.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Professor Hampton. Honestly, I feel like such an ass right now.”

My eyes widen in shock. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because I’ve basically been crying over my dead sister for six years when your brother died just months ago.”

“Everyone grieves differently and there’s definitely no timetable.”  I give her a sincere look.  “You either heal and move on, or you learn how to hide it better as time wears on.”

“I’m really not that good at hiding it. If I didn’t get to paint, I-I don’t know. I’d be a mess.”

I take a step closer, much too close, closer than I should, but I can’t help myself. I bring a hand to her cheek and rub the pad of my thumb softly over her smooth skin. “We can be a mess together if that helps.”

My eyes are drawn to her mouth as she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. I want to pin her up against the wall and kiss those feisty cherry lips until they bruise. I want those smooth, long legs wrapped tightly around me while she’s wearing those bright red incredible fuck-me heels. I want to feel her nails dig into my back as her moans release into my mouth. And I want her to not be my student so I can do all of those things to her...

She covers my hand with hers, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to pull it off, but she doesn’t. She pushes deeper into my hand and closes her eyes. “I miss her. Every day.” She inhales slowly, keeping her eyes shut. “Every damn day I feel broken and that I’ll never feel whole again.”

I can hear the pain in her voice, and it nearly breaks me.

How can someone so beautiful and so gifted bear so much pain? She’s an oddity in my eyes, and every part of her pain has obviously contributed to how she expresses it on paper.

“I’d like to say I don’t understand, but I understand too well.” She releases my hand and it falls back to my side, feeling cold the moment it loses contact with hers.

“Were you two close?” she asks, and I hear the genuine interest in her voice, but my jaw ticks at the thought of how I have to answer that.

“When we grew up, we were really close. But we weren’t for a really long time.” Saying it aloud hurts more than I had anticipated. She looks at me with sincerity, and for some reason makes me feel safe in telling her. “We hadn’t talked in a really long time.”

“Five years?” she asks.

My brows knit together in question. “Yeah,” I breathe out. “How’d you know?”

She shrugs. “Lucky guess.” She lets out a low, sweet chuckle. “Ms. Jones mentioned you hadn’t been home in five years.”

“Ah, yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”

“So what happened?” She clears her throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask that.”

“No, it’s fine.” I’m quick to brush her concerns off. I take a deep breath and push the emotions back. “I found him in bed with my fiancée. He had lost his wife a few years prior to that and it changed him.”

“Oh my God…” Her eyes widen in shock as a hand covers her mouth. “God, I’m sorry.” Her hand drops and my eyes narrow in on her mouth, so full and…off-limits.

I purse my lips and lower my eyes. If she only knew just how sorry I was.

I lift my eyes and meet hers. “I haven’t forgiven myself for not coming back before it was too late. I left and hadn’t come home. I’ll never get those years back.” The words come much too easy, but her silky voice filled with agony and understanding makes it feel natural to talk to her.

“It’s a double-edged sword, huh?” Her voice is soft with a tinge of agony. “Understanding the pain and living with the pain.”

“I recognized it the moment I saw your portfolio.”

She tilts her head and stares at me, but doesn’t say anything. She sets the painting of the vase of lilies down against the easel and walks to the drying rack where she’s kept the portrait of her sister that she did weeks ago.

“This one speaks to me the most.” She sets it down and stares at it.

“I can see that. I can see a lot of you in this.” I take a step so I’m standing directly next to her. I point a finger at the contrast of her painting. “The dark shading and light elements represent a battle. The battle of feeling happy and guilty that you want to be happy.” She looks at me with a frozen expression. “You live through the pain every day, but it’s dual. The pain of what happened to you and the pain of feeling guilty for wanting to move on.”

I see her swallow and her eyes narrow. “Every day is a battle. And yet, no one wins.”

“You never do when it’s a battle against yourself,” I say, stepping closer. “With internal battles, you either end up giving in or ending the battle altogether.”

“What if you can’t do either?”

“There’s always a choice,” I remind her.

“The choice to feel happy or let the pain consume you,” she states. “I wish I could push the pain out and invite the happiness in without feeling guilty about it.”

“Why can’t you?”

She looks at the painting and then back to me. “Because I’m reminded of her every time I look in the mirror.”

“Do you think she’d want you to be happy?” I ask, knowing damn well what her answer will be.

“Yeah, of course. She was always so energetic and smiling. It was contagious.” I notice the corner of her lips curling up slightly as she shifts her head and looks up at me. “I wish I could stop missing her. Stop wondering about what ifs and if it had been me instead.”

Without permission, I wrap my finger around a misplaced piece of her golden hair. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as I slowly tuck it behind her ear. I’m closer than before, and this time I don’t back up.

The air between us is electric. There’s no other way to explain it. The way her eyes bleed into mine, the way her lips part when our eyes connect, the way she looks at me when I seem to be the only one who knows how to speak her language—it’s electric.