Chapter 11 #2
The soft low curse caught my attention as I stopped at the bottom of the steps.
I let my eyes sweep over her as I jogged up them, escaping the rain.
Unlike my porch, which had an awning to shield me from the downpour, theirs didn’t.
Her black outfit only got darker with the rain, and the waves in her hair dampened enough for them to straighten.
In seconds she was drenched.
I watched her as I stopped at my door, her lilac nails picking at something in the lock. “Need some help?”
Her sigh wasn’t so quiet that I didn’t miss it, like I was the last thing she needed in this moment.
She straightened her body as she faced me, her mascara smudged on her bottom lashes, her face pale and damp, apart from her scarlet cheeks. “I’m fine.”
I simply smiled, the kind that I knew annoyed her. “Okay. Have a nice night.”
The key in my hand barely twisted before she stopped me.
“Wait.”
My face shifted to face her, finding defeat mingling with the raindrops falling over her cheeks. “Problem?”
She sighed again, her whole body slumping as she flexed her arm at the door. “My key snapped in the lock and the others aren’t home.”
The gleam in her eyes shone the same as it did when I found her at that event. And she might have thought that vulnerability only gave itself away when she admitted defeat, like this. But she was wrong. It was always there, hiding between the hundreds of shades of brown that lived in them.
I looked toward her door, then mine, before angling my head back to her, sinking into that look that was bathed in annoyance. “Would you like to wait in here?”
I watched her swill around every possible comeback in her mouth, before she swallowed, dropped her head, and nodded.
That Category Five had shifted to a Three.
“Here.” I held out my hand for her to take. But, for a beat, she just stared at it. The downpour drummed against her shoulders, dripping from her lashes, every second stretching longer than it should have. My palm hovered there, steady, waiting.
Then, finally, her fingers slipped into mine. At first they were tentative, then reluctant, and finally, warm. Electricity sparked up my arm like the storm had crawled under my skin.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the wall between the houses, landing lightly.
I drew her forward, ushering her inside.
A soft drift of dark jasmine trailed past me as she brushed by, pulling me in with her.
The click of the door filled the silence that engulfed us as we shuffled in.
The storm cut off in an instant, but the charge she left in my hand didn’t go anywhere.
I slowly closed my eyes, letting it pass, before opening them in time to watch her take in the barely furnished living room.
I knew I wasn’t staying here long-term, so I opted for the basics.
Couch. Rug. TV I’d borrowed from Oscar. And a few canvases that had come with me in every place I’d lived.
There was a fireplace against the exposed brick wall.
Not lit. Never had been by the looks of it.
But the lamps I’d tucked into the corners of the room lit the space with that soft, warm glow.
“Wow.” Cora exhaled, her arms wrapped around herself as she wandered around the centre of the room, eyes hopping over every detail. “It’s the same layout as our house, although this looks like it’s seen one too many exorcisms and is now devoid of personality.”
I shrugged as I hung my coat up, tossing my keys into the dish. “Better than having it possessed by demons.”
Her knees bent like she was hesitant to sit, but slowly her body sank into the soft fabric of the couch. “At least you could have claimed to have friends if they were still here.”
I eyed her, shoving the sleeves of my black sweater to my elbows. “What makes you think I don’t have any friends?”
Her shoulders lifted. “Well, for one, you’re always up my arse 24/7, leaving no time for other human interaction.” I bit back a laugh. “And two, when you’re not around me, you’re here, and no one ever leaves or goes.”
I walked past the couch, keeping my eyes on her, and wandered into kitchen, switching on the stove to boil a fresh pot of water. “For someone who hates me, you sure have tabs on my social life.”
Her breathy laugh still reached me, even in here. “You don’t know the meaning of a social life.”
“Oh, and you do?”
The silence that followed practically ate me alive as I let a low curse slip from under my mouth.
Fuck.
She hasn’t been out of her room in months because the security guard you assigned her groped her. Of course, she’s not had a social life, asshole.
That dead air swallowed me as I got a mug from the cupboard and poured the water into it, watching it slowly turn black before I added some milk.
It warmed my palms as I walked it back into the living room, finding Cora on the couch, her knees tucked up to her chest, the pad of her thumb wedged between her teeth.
She didn’t look at me as I stopped, so I made the first move. “Here.”
Her eyes didn’t move, not for a few seconds anyway, before they slowly ran up me and landed on the mug. “What is it?” she asked, reaching over and taking it from my hands.
“Earl Grey.”
Her head stayed bowed, gaze pinned to the mug like she wasn’t sure if it was real. For a second, I wondered if she’d ever actually looked at something that closely before. Then, slowly, she lifted her chin. Her eyes found mine, soft, almost fragile. “I love this tea.”
I let out a low huff, shrugging it off. “You’re English, I assumed as much.”
Her lips brushed the rim before she took a careful sip. Only when the tea slid down her throat did something in her loosen. Her shoulders sank. Her head tipped back, settling against the throw I’d left over the couch like she was finally allowing herself to breathe.
It was easier to let her assume that I thought she’d like the tea. I only knew because she took a cup with her to the classes she wanted to go to every time I took her. I guessed how much milk by the dark beige colour it always had. Picking the semi-skimmed one was pure luck.
But it was better that she didn’t think I cared that much about what she did, what her habits were.
She, potentially, had someone stalking her, and I didn’t want to add to that fire by admitting I’d kept a very close eye on her and scare her shitless.
Leaving her without me. Without security. And alone.
My eyes fell back to her as she took another sip. “Are you okay on your own down here, or do you want me to sit with you?”
Her head angled at me. “Don’t you have a social life to uphold?”
I huffed. “Of course. But as I made it clear, you take priority these days. And if you want me to sit with you, then—”
“I’m fine.” Her body moved as she said it, some of the tea swishing over the edge. She shuffled her legs until they were crossed beneath her.
And with that, I should have gone upstairs. I should have left her be. But because Cora Holland was like an itch I was never going to be able to scratch, my feet didn’t move.
My mouth, on the other hand…
“Just so you know, I haven’t believed you once when you told me you’re fine.”
Her eyes were back on me, her head shaking a little. “Good for you. I told you I’m fine.”
I set my sights on the arm chair across from her and sank into the black leather, groaning as my aching bones settled for the first time today. “You know that it’s normal if you’re not.”
The mug met her lips again. Her eyes rolled again.
“Yes, genius, I’m well aware of how it’s okay to not feel fine.
But what choice do I have?” Her stare dropped to her tea.
“If I hide away until I’m fine I’ll slowly lose my platform, and believe it or not, I need that to be fine.
So please just let me pretend to be okay until I am, because if I lose this, I lose everything. ”
I sat back. “And by everything, you mean the money for your mom’s care, right?”
Every bit of colour faded from her face as it rose. “How did you—”
“Background checks,” I added before she could respond. “And because I found it odd how a girl who never smiles outside of the confines of her house was one of the biggest influencers of her generation.” My head tilted. “Call me curious, but you don’t exactly come across as the socialite type.”
She shrugged, like it was nothing. Like there was no point in hiding from someone who knew.
“It’s survival. My mum is everything to me and I’d do anything to see her looked after the way she deserves to be.
Including doing brand deals that make me cringe and attending events that make me want to claw my eyes out. ”
I sat forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “So the art classes?”
For the first time all day, her face lit up, only a little, but I caught the way her cheeks were painted with a glow I’d rarely seen on her before.
“Painting has been my favourite thing in the world ever since I could hold a crayon. It was my way of getting everything I couldn’t say out. Which happened a lot considering I grew up with…” She trailed off, her head shaking. “You probably know all of that, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “A little. Sick mother. Absent father.”
“One shitty childhood.”
“I get it.” I sat back. “I mean, my family were pretty normal, but…” The words got caught in my throat. “The art stuff I get.”
“You paint?”
I nodded up at the canvas on the far wall, covered in dark blues, dull lilacs, depicting the tiny river behind our house, where we grew up in the smallest town in Chile. “I was non-verbal until I was thirteen. Painting was the only way I could express myself without saying a word.”
Her eyes softened. “Oh.”
I studied her as she let that thought swirl around in her head, before her eyes glided up to trace the canvas above the fireplace. I watched her watching it, wondering what on earth was floating through her head when her mouth fell open.
“So when you could talk, did you stop painting?”
I shook my head, enjoying hearing the little pitches in her voice.
She hadn’t spoken this much around me for me to clock them before, so I licked away the faintest smile, and answered, “I still paint. Just because I can talk now doesn’t mean there’s time when I don’t, or I can’t say what’s going through my head. ”
She sat with that for a few moments, her eyes gliding to the canvas above me, before they were all mine again. “Can I ask you something?”
My nod was soft. “Sure.”
Her thumbs twiddled over the handle of her mug, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth. “Have you ever had so much you wanted to say that trying to paint suddenly became impossible?”
She kept her gaze fixed on the tea, steam curling over her, but mine stayed on her. And somewhere in the quiet, my mouth betrayed me, tugging into a smile I hadn’t meant to give. The silence stretched, heavy enough for her to notice. Then, as if she could feel it too, her eyes lifted and met mine.
Her head pulled back when she saw me, her eyes jumping up and down my face. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”
I shrugged, my smile softening. “I’m just thinking about how a month ago, I’m sure you would have rather sat outside in the rain and waited for your friends to come home than sit here with me. And now you’re letting me in.” My smile pulled tight. Genuine. “Thank you.”
She rolled her eyes, like she was scrambling for a comeback. “Yeah, well… when you’re not being a total dick and micromanaging every second of my life, you’re not half bad.”
I didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, I let myself look at her. Really look.
Her fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles pale against the ceramic, even as a strand of damp hair slid loose across her cheek. She didn’t brush it back. The sarcasm on her lips didn’t quite hide the softness in her tone, and for a moment longer than I should’ve, I let it land. Sat in it.
And as I felt myself slip, I pulled myself right back out, forcing motion into my body. I pushed to my feet and headed for the canvas before she could notice me lingering.
I cleared my throat as I reached it. “I painted this after something awful happened in my family.” She kept her eyes on me as she set down her tea.
“It was that bad that I only painted this six months after it had happened. I didn’t paint in between, because I couldn’t.
I had too many thoughts to even process what was going on, let alone how I was going to deal with it after…
I knew—” I stuttered, then caught myself.
“What I mean is, the time will come when you feel like it’s right to paint what happened. ”
She didn’t need to tell me what was stopping her from painting. That part was as obvious as it was my fault.
Cora stood and headed over to the canvas, her hand resting along the fireplace as she looked up. “How will I know when I’m ready?”
I shrugged, eyes fixed on the peeling strip of paint, my arm resting parallel to hers. “You won’t, until you do.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
“It’s not something you can force,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be. “One day you’ll just… pick up a brush, choose your colours, and you’ll paint again.”
My hand drifted, slow, until it hovered a breath from hers.
“And if I don’t?”
Her fingers edged closer, brushing mine. The contact was fleeting, but it detonated low in my stomach, heavier than I could brace for. My gaze snapped to hers, caught there, tethered in the quiet.
A response trembled on my lips, but before it could escape, the sound of footsteps outside the door shattered the moment.
“Who’s fucking key is stuck in the door?” It was the other British accent that frequented the house, and as both of our heads turned toward the sound, our hands fell.
I cleared my throat. “I think someone’s home—”
“Me too.”
She rushed forward, tucking her now-wavy strands of hair behind her ears, before wrapping her arms around her torso. She turned to me, picking up her bag by her feet. “Thank you for letting me in.”
Thank you for letting me in.
The words almost came tumbling out, but I bit them back. Not sure why. But all I did was nod. “Anytime.”
Another frosty smile, the one I was used to seeing, and she opened the door, closing it like she thought I was going to try and stop her. And if it was still raining, I just might have.