Secrets and Sarcasm

The muted spray and splash coming from the bathroom kept him company. He refused to acknowledge the direction his thoughts were going.

A beautiful woman was naked and wet just through the wall as he tidied his makeshift bed away, scratching Storm behind the ears to distract himself. A strong flame lived within him, the familiar longing he’d never been ready to name.

But it demanded one now. Even the dog knew how to gain Emilia’s affection. A bitterness in the back of his throat and the weird twisting sensation in his gut made him straighten up with a scowl.

Great.

He was jealous of his own dog. How pathetic was that?

He gave himself a good shake and cast a sly glance toward the bathroom before he forced himself to keep moving. The longer she spent here, the more arduous a task it would be to return to his world without color.

Doomed never to forget the sound of her laugh or the pink in her cheeks when he caught her staring.

He often wondered just how far that flush spread. Heat snaked up his neck as he focused on mundane tasks and slipped inside his room while she was occupied.

For such a tiny wee thing, she left her mark everywhere she went. She was a cyclone in human form blasting through his carefully ordered life.

He scanned the bed. A mess of her clothes, her hairdryer already plugged in and waiting for her, a scatter of toiletries with names he couldn’t pronounce finished the messy scene atop his dark duvet.

His brows rose high on his forehead, surprised the mess didn’t irritate him. He quickly grabbed a change of clothes out of the chest of drawers and closed the door on it, all while waiting for his turn to shower.

The water had stopped running as he ambled into the kitchen. He made a mug of tea for her, the bedroom door snicking shut as he carried it through and set it on the coffee table.

Storm sat guard outside his bedroom. He didn’t know who was more enamored, him or the bloody dog.

He locked himself inside the steam hazed bathroom and stripped off his jogging bottoms, socks, and t-shirt. Soon he stood under the stream of warm water and pretended he wasn’t inhaling the last of her scent hanging in the misted air.

It enveloped him, akin to a forgotten memory demanding his attention and reminding him how deeply she’d permeated his life.

Condensation beaded and ran down the glass walls, encasing him as he soaped up a cloth with mint scented shower gel and scrubbed himself clean.

He put his back to the shower head, the water beating down on his tense shoulders as he rubbed his sore neck and rolled his head.

Two nights on the couch and his constant fretting that he’d let something slip had worn on him. But he dreaded returning to normal. He didn’t know what that looked like anymore.

It was often quiet, too quiet, in his apartment, and the perpetual crash of sound in his head drove him up the walls like his brain was overcompensating for the lack of noise in his life since moving to America from Scotland.

Growing up, he had to fight to be heard, and now someone wanted to listen.

He didn’t know what to make of it as he squeezed some shampoo into his palm and lathered his hair.

For months, he’d noted everything she said to him in the hall and cataloged the things she liked or didn’t like.

A man learned a lot if he could speak to the silence and listen to what it had to say.

And he’d become fluent in it. She wasn’t what he expected that first day she moved in, calm and shy. No, she smashed through the world like it owed her something. His curiosity grew wilder with every scrap of her he hoarded from their interactions.

He was a child scouring the beach, sifting through golden sand for frosted sea-glass and unique shells to build an abstract picture of her with whenever they chatted.

And now, he had received a feast of time and an opportunity to learn all he desired.

He stifled a groan as soap suds circled the drain. The familiar smell of his body wash soothed him, and his head cleared.

He steeled himself for another day of clinging to his restraint. Hoping to make it through the next few days without embarrassing himself.

After he switched off the shower, Luke dried himself down, taking his time. He tossed the damp towel on top of the pile Emilia had left beside the sink.

He picked up his toothbrush, the tube of toothpaste, and wet it under the chrome tap, and brushed his teeth.

He swiped a hand over the steamed mirror after he rinsed his mouth and toothbrush. He returned both items to their white acrylic holder.

Roughly towel drying his unruly hair to buy more time as his blurred reflection gazed back at him. The thump of a heavy object hitting the floor somewhere in the flat shattered the quiet.

He waited for a cry of pain that never came. Even when Emilia was alone, she made noise. She hummed under her breath, tapped her fingers along all available surfaces, or whispered to Storm.

All the while, he pretended not to memorize the alluring sight of his pet falling all over her like the animal knew precisely how Luke felt and didn’t care to hide it.

His T-shirt clung to his still-damp skin as he left the humid area and returned to the living room, only to find it empty.

He strained his ears for a sign of life. Shoulders slumping as nothing happened.

He immediately chastised himself for being disappointed she wasn’t waiting with a list of topics she wanted to discuss that day, deciding to make his own tea when she burst out of the bedroom.

She skidded to a halt at seeing him.

Their eyes locked as though connected by an invisible cord. Tension wound around and pulled taut between them.

She gazed at him, arms wrapped tight around her middle and hands curled into fists, a frenzied gleam in her lustrous eye. Her hair hung in sopping twisted ropes, soaking her fuchsia shirt. She didn’t seem to notice as they stared each other down.

He couldn’t make sense of her expression. 

It swirled with a strange combination of panic and bubbling confusion. With a tinge of brightest uncertainty loitering in the roiling depths of her indigo eyes.

She was spooked and didn’t look likely to explain why.

“Is everythin’ alright?” He asked.

His tongue curdled as she backed toward the door and bobbed her head yes.

“Fine!” She cringed. “I’m fine. I need to go grab my hairdryer! I forgot it yesterday. Won’t be long,” She said in a tone that made him think she wasn’t fine.

His muscles stiffened, pulse kicking up, and hands balling at his sides—ready to fight whatever had upset her. He wanted to call her on her blatant lie or say something reassuring.

She didn’t give him a chance. Emilia spun in a whirl of dripping hair and vanished like a wisp of smoke before the words took form.

Luke’s heart fell into his stomach, his mind wheeling with a maelstrom of jagged, conflicting thoughts. Confusion knit his brow as he failed to decipher the sudden turn of events.

All the warmth she’d injected in here and in him had gone with her. The space she’d carved for herself had transformed into a void he couldn’t ignore.

Something had happened, and he dove into his bedroom to figure out what.

Emilia sagged against her door the moment she shut it. A fog of unreality had wrapped its tendrils around her in Luke’s bedroom.

Time had petrified as she’d bent down to retrieve the folded leaf of creamy paper that fell out of the book she dropped. What it contained left her rooted to the spot and utterly overwhelmed.

The fog had swallowed her whole then. Her brain short-circuited as the oxygen in the room abruptly vanished and all she thought she knew turned on a dime.

It only thickened as she panted.

Under her breath, over and over, she said, “What the fuck?”

Her brilliantly painted hallway loomed like an endless tunnel, darkness creeping into the edges of her vision. A visible shake ran through her limbs. The man next door’s comely face swam across her vision and brought forth a small smile despite her tornado emotions.

She sucked in a mouthful of gelid air, holding it, and tried not to crease the sheet of paper she’d stuffed under her shirt before leaving Luke’s. The ever-present cold couldn’t touch her.

Her blood raced too hot and fast for it to tighten its glacial grip on her. She ran down the hall, footsteps thudding as she grabbed the chilled door-frame and swung herself inside her room.

She was on her knees at the left side of her bed, in a blink. With sweating hands, Emilia slid the paper free of her shirt, quivering fingers smoothing it out on her Lindsay Tartan comforter and trying to make sense of it.

Oh, how she wished she hadn’t been so nosey!

I stole it. Crap. Oh, well…

While Luke had showered, she went through his bookshelf. People’s favorite books said more than they did; she was nothing if not a curious soul. A few surprises had made her smile.

Children’s fantasy books with dog-eared pages and cracked spines she assumed had been with him longer than most people.

But everything else seemed to fit what she knew of him. His collection of mystery and cerebral novels and nonfiction history books didn’t shock her.

It wasn’t until she pulled the oldest-looking book off the shelf that she got something that knocked her world off its axis. It had chased her out of his house.

It made little sense. Or maybe she was senseless. That sounded more likely. Her mind couldn’t decide as she drank in the portrait, and the blood rushing in her ears deafened her from everything else.

It was a drawing of her.

She looked away from the artist’s view, smiling as the wind tossed her hair in all directions. Fine strands like webbing draped over her face, caught in her lashes. Repeatedly, he had rubbed out and redrew the dimple in her grin.

It was so simple to visualise him bent over a desk, scratching away at it furiously. Dragging his hands through his short, wavy hair, getting ready to try again.

As was typical for him, he composed her image mainly in black and white. A burst of blue in her crinkling eye, so vibrant, it appeared violet peeked through the charcoal, and crimson stained her grinning lips.

Sooty thumbprints and smears marred the blank space as if he’d battled for hours to get it right and gave up. Her bedroom may as well have been an empty room for all she saw of it.

Even unfinished, the sketch was gorgeous—his talent clear. She gave a slow shake of her head, hand pressed against her chest, fingers splayed and digging in.

She hadn’t ever dreamed he was hiding an artist’s touch underneath that grumpy attitude. Her heart seemed to pause before it pounded even harder, the warmth inside her heightened, a peculiar giddiness making it difficult to breathe.

It was as if someone had pumped her full of helium. Only sheer force of will kept her tethered to the earth.

She searched her memory for the signs she so obviously missed. Sturdy concrete under her feet had cracked and split wide open.

It left her tottering on the crumbling edge and desperately trying not to topple into the chasm—unsure how far the fall would take her.

Her thoughts whirled in a raging tempest, mirroring that outside her window. A torrent of questions and doubts threatened to swamp her.

Deep lines of worry etched themselves across her face, hands full of static. She replayed every moment she shared with Luke, searching for clues she overlooked or wasn’t willing to see.

It had been too easy to know him once he let her in. And even simpler to let him know her, growing more in tune with him the longer she spent with him.

She grappled with the knowing that if she hadn’t needed his help, she might never have known how he felt.

“Shit. I am an idiot.”

How could she have missed it? Did he guard it that closely? Or was she just too self-absorbed to see something was blooming wild and free, whether or not she tended to it?

Unable to untangle her thoughts, she reached for her phone. Once she unlocked it, Emilia called her best friend.

Mel had seen Emilia through every crisis so far, she’d know what to do now. She snatched the drawing up as she jumped to her feet.

The paper quaked and crackled in her hand as she circled the floor and waited for Mel to pick up. A crackle down the line made her flinch before her friend’s hot-honey voice trickled into her ear.

“Do you need me to get my shovel?”

“No. I need advice. Quickly. I don’t know if he’ll come check on me.”

There was a pause as Melanie switched her tone to match Emilia’s frantic babbling. She almost heard the snap from teasing to serious.

“Okay, calm down. What happened?” There was a short pause. “You didn’t try to hike out of town, did you?”

Emilia laughed, a strange high-pitched sound as she glanced at Luke’s portrait again.

”Nothing like that. You know my neighbor? The one I—”

“The one you talk about all the time? Yes, I remember,” Mel interrupted, a teasing lilt in her voice that made Emilia frown.

“I don’t talk about him—anyway, yes. Him. I found something in his house, and I don’t know what it means.” She shook her head. “No, I do, but I don’t want to be wrong and embarrass myself.”

A door closed on the other side, and when Mel spoke, she murmured.

“Found something as in—creepy or cute? You need to give me something to work with here, Lia. I watch too much true crime for you to be vague.”

“Look, I don’t know!” She sounded absolutely unhinged even to her own ears. “I’ve been staying in his house because my heating broke and he offered. I was snooping through his things—”

“That was your first mistake. Never go snooping if you’re not prepared to discover something that will require years of therapy to get over,” Mel said, every syllable dripping with amusement at Emilia’s expense.

“Well, it’s too late now. Melanie,” she could almost hear her friend standing to attention at the use of her full name. She rushed to get the rest out. “I always thought he didn’t like me. Or he probably thought of me as a wasp that wouldn’t stop buzzing in his ear whenever I saw him. But I found this—this drawing inside an old book. Mel, he drew me.”

Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Heat flashed too hot over her face. How could she not have noticed?!

“He drew you? Like from a distance, or was he watching you sleep through the window?”

Emilia growled, “Be serious, please. It’s not creepy—is it?”

Melanie chuckled, “It depends. Is he hot?”

“Yes! I mean, I think so?” She cringed as Mel all but cackled at her too-fast reply.

“I knew it. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”

“What does that mean?” Emilia said, her shrill tone not helping matters.

“Emilia. I’m going to be honest: Drake and I thought you had a crush on him and didn’t want to admit it.” She cleared her throat, tone softer now. “Did you really not notice it? I know more about him than I do my own neighbors. There’s obviously something there. You talk about him more than you ever did Daniel, and you were with him for two years.”

She spluttered, face going beetroot. She spouted denials that sounded hollow even to her. No. She was right.

There was no way to deny it. Unless she fancied stealing a boat and sailing down the famed river to avoid it. She’d likely capsize it. 

She recalled all the times she brought Luke up to her friends or thought about him when he wasn’t around. Her skin was too sensitive, stretched tight over her bones, and nerves exposed to the cold wafting through her apartment. But the hot current humming in her veins roasted her.

“I think I smell your brain burning. Have you finally figured it out?” Mel’s question sounded far away as Emilia shushed her.

“Almost. Give me a second.”

Mel didn’t respond to her, but yelled out to Drake as Emilia huffed.

“Babe! Lia knows she’s got the hots for her neighbor now!”

Drake’s reply was nearly too far away to hear. Emilia went rigid and cracked a maniacal laugh as her other friend’s cheeky comment echoed in her head.

“Took her long enough! Pay up. I said she’d realize before the year was out.”

The line went quiet again. Emilia resumed overthinking. Every interaction went through a mental microscope. Her body tensed and went loose all at once. Her pulse ratcheted up and made her twitch as she paced.

Every smile, laugh, and word he’d ever given her played on a loop in her mind.

Crystal clear and full of screaming color, like a filter had been removed. Everything had returned to full saturation as her vision honed in on the summer freckles he’d recreated on paper.

He’d seen everything.

Somehow and without her noticing, Luke had crept into her mind and heart like a mischievous thief. Leaving behind a trail of stolen glances and thoughts until she finally realized it had taken hold of her, too.

An ember kindled low in her stomach as she swallowed convulsively and eyed Luke’s work, eyes prickling and chest stuttering at the thought of facing him again.

“What do I do? I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“Just do what you’ve been doing. It’s worked until now. Seek him out and see if he still feels this way, or maybe all this worrying is for nothing.”

Nodding, Emilia said, “And if it’s all in the past?”

“Then we’ll talk about it once you know for sure.” Her voice took on a reassuring, gentle note. “I doubt it is, though. Or he wouldn’t be going to such lengths to ensure you have someplace safe to stay.”

“True. But that just makes it worse. What do I say to him now?”

Mel sighed, and Emilia heard the smirk in her voice.

“Well, you could go in and act like nothing is wrong and slowly figure it out. Or do what you do best. Take charge, and show that you’re open to something more. He might be afraid you don’t like him.”

Both options sounded like a terrible idea, but one was more palatable than the other.

“He doesn’t seem to mind me bossing him around...”

Yeah, he let her drag him to the basement just fine. She could do that again. Not to the basement, though. It was creepy down there.

“You know what to do. Follow your instincts and ignore the racket I know you’re causing in your head. See what happens. It’s all you can do if you don’t want to ignore it.”

No, she didn’t want that. The thought slipped and slid like oil in her mind. It was too dishonest. She cleared her throat and dragged a hand down her flushed face. A veil had lifted and revealed much.

The delicate, but potent, emotions she’d hidden emerged from the shadows to reveal themselves to the world and, most importantly, to herself. Took me long enough, indeed.

Life was often fast and furious, for her at least. She rarely took the time to examine why she was so invested in getting Luke to talk to her.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t feel as though she were about to burst at the seams and splatter herself across his white walls. She would know how to approach it with him.

“What if it blows up in my face?” She dared ask, breathing quickening as her hummingbird heart fluttered its tickling wings against its shivering cage, frenetic energy making her jumpy as she wore a path into her scarlet carpet.

If Luke clammed up again, all this would be in vain, but she had never given up before—and she wasn’t about to start now.

Melanie’s straightforward answer ignited a slow, burning blaze in her chest she knew would soon grow into a wildfire.

“What if it doesn’t?”