Beneath The Skin(98)

“Hey,” he says quietly.

The sound of his voice reminds me instantly of how we left things. I feel a stab of sadness right away. I’ve fucked everything up, haven’t I?

“Hey,” I return anyway.

He comes a bit closer, three more steps. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Y’know … I’m not exactly afraid of heights, but … uh … It’s a really long fall, and you are super close to that ledge, and I’m not sure if you know this, but there’s a bunch of fire and artwork down there.”

“I know.”

“You … wouldn’t have happened to have anything to do with all that, would you?”

I shrug ambiguously, playing with him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” Brant circles around the roof, drawing closer to me at the ledge. “Well, perhaps I can enlighten you. It seems like some art students … took to setting up their own End Of Year Showcase.”

“That’s what it seems like,” I agree. “I … hope it didn’t ruin the real one going on inside.”

Brant comes to rest near the edge, just beside me. He crouches down, the gravel of the rooftop crunching slightly beneath his shiny dress shoes. “If I’m perfectly honest, I think it’s the coolest damn thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of cool damn things,” he adds with a cocky smirk. “And … I’m not alone in that opinion. Do you see all the people down there?”

I take a short glance over the edge. “I can’t tell if they like it from up here. What are they saying?”

“They’re moved. They’re excited. They’re drawn in by the pieces, perhaps even more so than the twenty-two selected. Hell, you see that person right there? The one with the big ol’ feather comin’ out of her head? Even she’s impressed.”

I squint, trying to find the person he’s talking about. Then my eyes widen. “Is that Brigand??”

“I mean, she was a bit miffed at first. I guess you sorta lit all the torches during her big ‘Hey, congrats to the students, but let’s make this whole thing about me and my latest brilliant work’ speech. This whole …. courtyard display … it made her forget about her own damn ego for a second. She was giving an honest look at the pieces. Hell, I think she was even smiling.”

“Smiling …” A smile of my own twists my lips.

“And I saw your piece.”

I turn away and watch the people slowly moving between the different exhibits, the whole scene disrupted slightly by the flashing lights of a couple parked campus security vehicles. I wonder if even the campus security folk are looking at the exhibits, perhaps after they’ve determined that no one was in immediate danger.

I can’t really say anything, and Brant seems to sense that—in the brilliant way he seems to know exactly what I need at any hour of the day and in any state of mind—because he takes off his jacket and lays it over my back, cuddling it into my sides. Then he lies down next to me, propped up on his elbows with our shoulders touching, as we both stare down at the scene below.

“I miss you,” he whispers.

I press my lips together, feeling pained about how I’d left things, the emptiness consuming me despite his efforts to show compassion. Do I really deserve his compassion?

“The truth is,” I start to say, then stop, clenching shut my eyes as I feel too much emotion rushing up to my face too quickly. For some reason, the last thing I want to do is cry, maybe because I know in an instant that he will try to console me and make me feel better, and that’s the last thing I deserve.

“Yeah?” he prompts me gently.

I blink away the tears that are trying to happen. “You have been … ceaselessly kind to me. Maybe when we first met, I just assumed it was your flirty way of getting me into bed. And a part of me wanted that too, but I knew that once you had your fun, you’d be gone. I couldn’t have that. There’s too much in my life that comes and goes. I’m so used to saying goodbye. Whenever I finish a piece of art, I suffer a little death, having to say goodbye and let it go. I couldn’t stomach another goodbye in my life. I was just biding my time until you’d had enough, and the fear consumed me.”

“I’m afraid too,” he returns. “I’m afraid of how I’m like around you. I’m afraid of what you do to me. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, Nell. You are the only person I’ve ever met who … makes me feel like a better person. Like someone who’s worth more than their dick. Like someone who’s worth more than their charming smile, or their sexy body, or—”