Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“I’ll be back.”
“You’re not going out like that, are you?”
“Why not?”
“Those pants are obscene.”
“I’m just running to get coffee, seeing as I can’t make it here without creating a mess.”
I grunt. “Fine. I will get up.”
“Teach me how to make the good coffee.”
I rub my eyes and throw on whatever clothes I can find and stumble out into the bright kitchen and living area with Peyton on my heels. Though I lose him somewhere between my makeshift art studio and the coffee machine.
I hit the button for the espresso machine to warm up and turn to find him stalled at my latest sculpture.
Fuck. I really should’ve covered that up.
“What’s this?” he asks, pointing at an anatomically correct but small heart that’s being squeezed by a large hand.
“An assignment.”
“I love it.”
“Y-you do?” I’m … sensitive about my art, so I don’t know if I want to actually hear his answer.
“Well, it’s sad, and I’m guessing it has some deeper meaning than heartache, but it’s beautiful.”
“At least I nailed the brief.” I walk over to him and pick it up. “It was for an assignment where we had to express an obvious emotion without any prompts.”
Peyton turns to me, and his stare burns. “You chose heartbreak?”
I could lie here and say it seemed like the easiest one to do, but instead, I go into detail about it. “The heart is actually smaller than that of an average adult, representing someone who was never taught to love properly. They’re closed off. Perhaps uncompassionate. The love they have to give is small. The larger-than-average hand tightly squeezing the already small and frail heart represents … life. I guess.” Okay, that part is a lie. Not a complete lie, but not the whole truth either. It’s not just about Peyton and him running away. It’s the heartache of feeling unloved. From having little affection growing up to becoming an adult and not expecting much from others.
I’m not mad at Peyton for running. I’m mad at myself for thinking it was possible for my heart to grow. For it to be full.
“I want to say this must be about your family, but why do I get the sinking feeling this was about me?”
I avoid his gaze as I try to joke but don’t quite pull it off. “Wow. There’s the Talon genes kicking in. Conceited much?”
“Levi, look at me.” His gentle hands grip my shoulders and turn me to face him. “I am so, so, so, so sorry for how I left things the last time I was here.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. I freaked out because I like you so much, and that hasn’t happened to me before, but I should never, and I will never, make you feel used ever again. What I did was horrible, and if you had punched me when I kissed you yesterday in front of everyone, I would’ve understood.”
“I’m more of a bitch-slapping kind of guy.”
“Thanks for the warning. But I’m serious. I don’t know how to apologize more, but it’s owed. And if you make me grovel at your feet, write you a shitty poem about how much I suck as a human being, or … How can I make things better? Give you a lap dance, maybe? I’ll do anything you want until you believe I’m not going to run out on you again like that.”
He doesn’t need to do any of that because his words are enough. His words are everything.
Without thinking, I press my mouth to his, completely forgetting that I’m holding my art assignment that’s due on Monday.
As Peyton wraps his arms around me, I do the same, but it only takes a second to realize my mistake.
Our bodies are tightly pressed together, but the heart slips out between us and crashes to the floor.
It shatters into a million pieces, and we jump apart.
“Fuck!”
Peyton’s eyes are as wide as mine. “I guess I’m not done apologizing yet.”
“Shit, shit, fucking shit.” I scramble to pick up the pieces.
“It’s okay. We can fix it. I’ll help. I’m really good at jigsaw puzzles, and we can just … glue it back together.”
I give up trying and shake my head. “The pieces are too small. It’ll be too obvious that it was broken.”
“Can we rebuild it? I promise I’ll be better at it than making coffee. I’m a quick learner, and I’ve always wanted to recreate that scene from Ghost. You know, the one with the spinny wheel and the clay stuff with the hands and the—” Oddly, his nervous rambling and offer to help ground me, and I start laughing.
“That was pottery clay. This clay is different. But of-fucking-course that happens now. I threw out my first one and changed the concept, actually researched proper measurements for heart valves and the aorta, and it ends like this. Why did I throw out a perfectly good assignment that wasn’t in a thousand pieces?”