Because of You Page 12

  “You are?” he asked in interest.

  “My brother and I are fraternal twins.”

  “Then you must be really close with him.”

  “No,” I said with a loud laugh. “We can barely stand each other.”

  “Well, maybe you’re closer than you think.”

  Slade had been really nice to me since Arsen left. He took me to the movies and spent time with me to get my mind off of it. Even though he was a jerk to me most of the time, I knew he cared about me. He didn’t like seeing me sad. And I didn’t like seeing him sad either. “I suppose…”

  “How old are you?” he asked. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

  “Twenty-three.” The question didn’t offend me.

  “Good. I’m not too much older than you.”

  The waitress brought our coffees and I immediately drank mine.

  He watched me, and then seemed to realize he was staring again because he looked away.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “What about me?”

  “When did you start being an artist?”

  “When I was twelve.”

  “And then when did you start doing it for a living?”

  “When I was twelve.”

  Did I hear him right? “You were selling your work that young?”

  He nodded. “My mom had always insisted I paint. When I was young, I had trouble reading out loud because I would stutter. Kids would make fun of me, and being young at the time, it hurt my feelings. Every time I got upset about it, I would just paint. It got my mind off of it and reminded me how insignificant it was. Just because I stuttered didn’t mean I would falter in other aspects. So painting always increased my confidence.”

  “You clearly don’t stutter now,” I said with a smile. He spoke properly, like every word was crafted for a purpose.

  “Mother always knows best,” he said with a light laugh. “My mom entered my work in contests and my pieces usually won. It took off from there. People started offering money for my paintings, and then my mom started placing them in galleries. Then I became home-schooled so I had more time to focus on my craft. However, my mom never let me ditch my traditional studies, unfortunately. When I was seventeen, I was taking advanced calculus at a university. It was totally inapplicable but my mom was very insistent.”

  When he talked, he discussed his accomplishments but it wasn’t in a bragging way. He didn’t even seem that impressed with his own abilities. “That’s really cool.”

  “All the money I made from my work was shelved away in a special account. I never got to have it. Mom said it was for college.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “No. I didn’t want to.”

  “Did you ever get the money?”

  “Yeah. When I turned eighteen and moved out, my mom gave it to me. I bought a townhouse in the city.”

  Then he must have shelved a lot away. “That’s really cool.”

  “Good thing she didn’t give me the money before then,” he said. “Otherwise I would have spent it on toy guns, candy, and who knows what else.” He chuckled at the end.

  “Yeah,” I said with a laugh.

  He turned his gaze back on me, seeming to forget not to stare. “Thank you for having breakfast with me.”

  My stomach felt squeamish. When he looked at me like that, I felt like he could read my mind. The look was full of confidence and honesty. It was unnerving. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “When I saw you at that art show, I was determined to have a conversation with you. That doesn’t happen for me very often…”

  “What, exactly?”

  “You know, when you see someone and you have this undeniable need to know more about them. To talk to them. To hear them speak to you. It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself.”

  Actually, I had. But it was for a man that was serving time behind bars. The more I thought about Arsen, the more foolish I felt.

  “I apologize for assuming your father was your date. I was relieved when he wasn’t.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He looks very young. I can’t count the number of times women have hit on him in front of my mom because they assumed she was his sister or something.”

  He laughed. “He must love that.”

  “Oh, he does. But my mom doesn’t like it one bit. She’s the jealous type.”

  “A little jealousy is good in a relationship, but only a little, nothing more.”

  Arsen used to be jealous. It seemed to be the only time he showed he actually cared.

  “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “I guess.”

  “This relationship that ended eight months ago…did it end on good terms?”

  God, no. I hadn’t heard of a worse break up. “Not really.”

  “Foul play?” he asked.

  “No.” He would never figure it out.

  He didn’t ask any more questions.

  I didn’t want to tell Pike that my last boyfriend was sitting in prison. It was embarrassing, actually. “What about you?”

  “My last girlfriend was…” He tried to think. “About two years ago.”

  “You haven’t been with anyone since?” I asked incredulously.

  “No.” He said it simply.

  “That’s a long time…”

  “I don’t like to date anyone unless I know from the beginning she’s marriage material. Obviously, that hardly ever happens. Actually, I’ve only had one girlfriend. I just don’t see the point in dating someone if I already know I’ll never love her.”

  His words pooled in my stomach then made me tingle everywhere. Did that apply to me? He didn’t even know me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked away.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly.

  “I just don’t understand,” I said. “You don’t know me.”

  “Sometimes you just know,” he said simply. “I’m really good at reading people. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”

  His confidence was frightening at times.

  “Forget I said anything,” he said. “I clearly made you uncomfortable.”

  “I just…you’re a really sweet guy but I don’t know if I want anything serious.”

  “That’s fine,” he said calmly. “I’m not expecting anything serious. All I was trying to say was, I don’t hook up with people and hope it goes somewhere. I don’t use dating apps and just waste time with random girls, hoping that maybe one of them is compatible. I take my time and search for someone that I think I’ll genuinely like. And then I chase them. Does that make sense?”

  Now it did. “Yeah.”

  “So…please don’t run away screaming,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not one of those clingy stalker types. Honestly.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t seem like it.

  He visibly relaxed.

  “What inspired that painting?”

  “Of the rose?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s a mix between the rose bush outside of my house, and an old woman.”

  I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “Every morning since I lived at that house, an old woman would walk with her husband around the block. I usually sit at my window and paint, so I saw them the same time every day. This happened for years.

  “And then one morning, the rose bush froze over and all the flowers died, except one. And then the woman walked by alone. Every day after that she was alone, her husband nowhere in sight. I realized he had passed away.”

  The thought made me sad, but the inspiration for the piece was beautiful at the same time.

  “Love continues on after death. I guess that’s what that painting means.”

  “That’s…beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “When you loved it, I had to have the chance to get to know you. It was an inexplicable feeling.”

  It was romantic and unbeliev
able at the same time. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  I had a feeling he wasn’t this open with just anybody. “Why didn’t your relationship work out?”

  “Like all relationships, it was extremely complicated. Basically, she and I fell out of love. That’s all I can really say to describe it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes love isn’t meant to last. That doesn’t mean that what we had wasn’t real. And sometimes, it’s meant to last forever. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with she and I. Of course, we’re still friendly. We see each other every now and then. She’s engaged, actually.”

  “And you can still be friends with her?” I asked. “It doesn’t hurt?”

  “No,” he said simply. “I’m happy for her.”

  “You weren’t kidding about having the soul of a fifty-year old man,” I blurted.

  He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. As an artist, I’ve experienced the life and death of so many people. In a way, I’ve lived and died a thousand times. Naturally, that makes me all the wiser.”

  I nodded, understanding what he meant.

  “Can I ask what happened with your relationship?”

  Pike seemed to really like me, and he wanted something serious. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I did like him so far. But I felt obligated to be honest so he wouldn’t waste his time. That seemed to be important to him. “Well, we met in a bar when I was in college. He was my first love and boyfriend. I knew he wasn’t good for me. He was a bad boy who wore a leather jacket and sold weed. I loved him anyway, despite how stupid I was being. We were together for about a year, and every time I tried to love him and get him to change, it only pushed him further away. He had a lot of emotional issues that I could never fix. And then one day, he was busted for breaking several laws and he went to prison. We haven’t spoken since.”

  Pike stared at me silently.

  “I was stupid for believing I could change someone set in his ways. I was stupid for loving him and expecting him to ever love me back. I wasted my heart and my time for someone who didn’t deserve it. I still don’t understand why I loved him the way I did. Maybe it wasn’t love at all. Maybe it was just infatuation. But our relationship crashed and burned the same way it began. It was always a train wreck, and I had several opportunities to jump off before the collision but I never did. And in the end, I learned a lesson I never should have been taught.”

  He continued to stare at me, his expression impossible to decipher.

  “I understand if this changes your interest in me. I don’t want to waste your time.”

  “Why would that knowledge change anything?” he asked quietly.

  “The relationship shows how immature and naïve I was, to say the least. I was in a relationship I knew would never last; yet I stayed. I gave someone my heart that didn’t deserve it. It shows I have poor judgment and make bad decisions.”

  “When it comes to love, everyone has poor judgment. If that weren’t true, everyone would find their future spouse during their first relationship. I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  I didn’t expect Pike to say that. I assumed he would judge my ignorance.

  “And trying to help someone isn’t a bad thing either. Personally, I think it’s brave. And if you were in a relationship you knew wouldn’t survive but you chose to stay actually makes you love that person more. At least that’s what I think.”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. I guess Arsen hurt me so much that I wish I’d never loved him at all.

  “The real question is, do you regret it?”

  Regret it? Sometimes, I did. Sometimes, I didn’t. I couldn’t really answer that. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Well, there’s no rush to make a decision. And no, this doesn’t change my interest in you. However, I appreciate your honesty. Most people wouldn’t be forthcoming about such a painful relationship.”

  I sipped my coffee and felt the temperature increase as the sun started to creep over the horizon.

  Pike noticed it too. “Here it comes.” He stood up and pulled his chair next to mine. We both faced the street where the sun appeared between two buildings. It was a perfect view.

  Silently, we watched it rise. The sky turned deep purple to faint pink. Splashes of orange started to emerge, and as the light touched everything, the city seemed to come alive. Every few inches the sun rose, it became a little warmer.

  The sun finally broke the horizon, and a bright orb of heat and light filled the sky. Shadows from the building started to emerge and stretch over streets and over buildings. My eyes started to hurt as the sun became more intense.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” he whispered. “Life as we know it is fueled by that beacon of light.”

  “Yeah…”

  “It reminds you how special you are even when you’re insignificant relative to the universe.”

  “Why are we special?” I asked.

  He turned to me. “We’re alive aren’t we?”

  ***

  “Can I walk you home?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Spending a few hours with him made me see him as a friend rather than a stranger. I was a lot more comfortable with him than I was when he approached me at the art show.

  He put his hands in his pockets and walked beside me. “I like walking.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you have a car?” he asked.

  “I only use it when I drive to Connecticut.”

  “What’s there?” he asked.

  “Family.”

  “Connecticut is a beautiful place. It’s a good place to go if you need a break from the chaos of New York City.”

  “And it’s a nice place to see a tree other than in Central Park,” I teased.

  He laughed. “True.”

  The sidewalk had become more crowded with people as it became later in the day. They passed us, living out their own lives, in a hurry, as usual. The rose he gave me was in my hand. I was unexpectedly attached to it.

  “Was this the rose on the bush when the woman walked by?”

  “Yes. That’s the reason I picked it.”

  Now I felt more special. I had the painting and the flower. He’d given me a lot while hardly knowing me. “It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given.”

  He turned to me. “I’m glad you love it, Silke.”

  I twirled the flower in my hand while I walked beside him.

  “I like your name,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I wish I could accept your compliment, but since I didn’t pick it, I really can’t.”

  “And who did?” he asked.

  “I think my dad liked it.”

  He nodded. “What’s your twin’s name?”

  “Slade.”

  “Also unusual,” he said. “But that’s a good thing.”

  “Pike is pretty unusual.”

  “It is,” he said. “I like it. Most people hate to be different. I thrive in it.”

  We approached my building then took the stairs. When we reached my apartment, he didn’t seem eager to go inside.

  “We live fairly close to each other,” he said. “I’m just a few blocks over.”

  “Cool.” I unlocked the door. “Would you like to come inside?” I wasn’t worried he would get the wrong impression. He seemed to understand what type of girl I was.

  “Sure. I’d love to see where you put the painting.”

  We walked inside and I set my purse on the table.

  He examined the place then spotted the painting on the wall in the living room. “It’s nice to see it hanging on someone’s wall. And I like knowing you’ll see it every day.”

  I stood beside him. “It’s incredibly distracting. Sometimes when I’m reading, I’ll stop and look at it.”

  “You flatter me.” He looked at the rest of my apartment. “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you
.” I sat on the couch and crossed my legs.

  He moved to the spot beside me. “Do you paint?”

  “No,” I said with a laugh.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “I’m not very good at it.”

  “So, you’ve tried?”

  “Well…not exactly. But I can sculpt.”

  “Really?” he asked in excitement. “Can I see something?”

  I pointed at the statue on my coffee table. It was a Roman soldier about to strike with his sword. “I made that a few years ago. It was an assignment for school, but I actually liked it so I decided to keep it.”

  He picked it up and examined it. “Such detail…”

  “Thanks.”

  He touched the sword and felt the grooves and lines of the blade. “It’s sharp enough to cut me.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t know about that…”

  “Impressive.” He returned it to the table and leaned back. “Where do you sit when you create things?”

  “At the kitchen table.”

  He eyed it and nodded. “I like knowing where people do their creative work. It’s always interesting to hear their responses. I have a friend who’s a writer, and he sits at a desk in the corner of a room and faces the wall. He said if he doesn’t do that, he’ll get distracted and his word count will suffer.”

  “That’s dedication,” I said.

  “It is,” he agreed. He rested his hands on his thighs. “I would love to see you again, Silke.” He turned to me and studied my face.

  “I’d like to see you too.”

  His eyes shined in excitement. “Great. That’s really great.” He seemed genuinely happy, like he was afraid I might say no. I wasn’t sure why he was so fearful. He was extremely good-looking, he was a gentleman, and he was interesting. Why wouldn’t I say yes? “You know when you really want something, and you’re so desperate for it you’re consumed just by the thought?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel about you. You’re too good to be true.”

  I felt my cheeks blush. Arsen said nice things to me, but he never seemed so attentive or interested. I felt like I was always the one keeping us together. It was nice to see someone fight for me, to actually say my presence or absence meant something. “Well, thanks…”

  “How about dinner?”