Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
For a moment I think he’s frozen.
His frame, his eyes. That seem to be on my newly freed hair that flutters around my face and my shoulders. Around the small of my back too.
But then he moves and I think I was imagining it.
Nodding in response to my question, he clips, “After you.”
And I tell my heart to stop going crazy at the prospect of being escorted by him as I begin walking.
My heart doesn’t listen though.
It races and pounds with every step I take — we take. Because he’s walking beside me as he said. He’s keeping his steps small in order to match my naturally short ones.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know what to do with him.
Who is he?
What’s his name? Where’s he from?
How does he know the Halseys? Because that’s the party we both came from. Why did he look so still back there? So frozen, so breathless.
Lifeless.
Suddenly that’s all I can think about.
Him appearing devoid of life.
And I want to ask him about it. I mean, he asked me for my story even though it ended so abruptly like that. Shouldn’t I at least ask his?
I’m all ready to do that but I realize that we’ve stopped moving.
Or rather, I have.
Because we’ve reached our destination, and I don’t even remember walking or turning the corners and crossing the streets.
“This is my house,” I tell him, looking at the huge mansion we’re standing in front of.
It has tall, thick pillars and a lavish garden along with sprawling marble stairs that lead up to the large polished brown doors. A Lamborghini — my dad’s recent purchase — is parked in the circular driveway.
And even though my safe attic is waiting for me in there, I don’t want to go in.
“Would you…Would you like to come inside?”
It’s a last-minute invitation and I know he’s going to refuse it. I already know that but still I had to issue it. Because strangely, I don’t want him to leave.
I don’t want this night to end.
When he remains silent, I abandon the sight of my house and face him.
And it’s my turn to freeze.
Blue.
His eyes are blue. Finally I can see them; the driveway is lit up and even though we’re standing at a distance from it, the glow still reaches him and lights him up.
Dark, gleaming denim blue.
With which he’s taking in the house behind me before he focuses on my face. “You’re an artist.”
My tongue is thick in my mouth because I can see his hair too, somewhat at least and I think, it’s dirty blond. And so all I can do is nod.
He bores those eyes into my light silver ones. “You’re an artist because you are one. Because you draw. You paint, you sketch. Because that’s what you do and that’s what you love. Not because some asshole teacher told you that you are. He didn’t make you an artist. You were one long before you met him and you’re going to be one long after him. You will be one even if you give it up. Because that’s who you are. It doesn’t matter what the world wants or says. What your parents think. All that matters is what you want. All that matters is what you love, what makes you feel alive. Because this is your life. You’re the one who’s going to live it. So you should be the one to make all the choices. You should be the one who should do the things you want to do and dream all the things you want to dream.”
He pauses here because I think he has to.
Because I think something passes through his eyes, making them bright and fraught with mysterious emotions.
“Because sometimes you don’t. You don’t get to do what you want. You don’t get to dream. You don’t get to choose. Sometimes you don’t get to make your life because your life’s made for you. And it’s… hard. To live like that. It’s difficult.” His gaze flicks back and forth between mine. “So if you’re an artist, you should stay one.”
“H-how do you know the Halseys?” I ask.
Even though I can’t hear my own voice over the drumbeats of my heart, I still know I’ve asked him that.
I still know that I want to ask him so many things, so I just blurt them out. “I saw you at the party. The wedding party? I was there too. Before I ran out of it. I saw you in a corner, all alone and so… still. I thought you weren’t even breathing. I don’t… I don’t understand that. Why did you look like that? Why… Are you friends with the groom? The bride? What’s… Who are you?”
My words are disjointed. I know.
I might not even be making any sense right now. At least that’s why I think he hasn’t said anything.