Within the Lines

26.

It was the greatest idea Chiara had ever had: leaving Atticus and I home alone for the weekend at peak tension after a week of hardly talking to each other.

Okay, that wasn't fair. I couldn't blame her because she didn't know, and Chiara was lovely. She'd never put me in an uncomfortable position on purpose. Still, there was a bit of strain in my jaw as I tried to smile when waving Chiara and Dad off.

Atticus hadn't asked me to retreat into my room, barricade the door, and not come out until the weekend ended, but that was exactly what I was planning on, anyway. Either that, or meeting Becky at the mall, or hanging out with Jonah and his friends in the park.

Not tonight yet, though. Everyone was busy after school on Friday night, so I'd stay home. Probably paint or sketch or both.

I was ready to disappear from the planet for a couple of hours with a 'get in the drawing zone' playlist ready on Spotify and my pencil in hand. But before I could put my earbuds in, there was a knock on the door, which nearly made me jump.

Atticus was quiet like a ninja on stairs if he wanted to be. I bet he could easily sneak out to go to parties if he wanted to.

"Yeah?" I answered the door.

Atticus' head poked around the corner.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. "Uh, Mom forgot to say she'd left some food for us tonight in the fridge. Want to share? It was meant for us both."

"Sure," I replied with a small smile.

I planned on not imposing. But if Atticus offered, a homemade meal was always better than a soggy pizza from the freezer or junk food.

Atticus nodded. "I'll warm it up in an hour or so and call you when it's ready."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Okay."

Atticus lingered in the door opening like he wanted to say more, the same way I wanted him to say more, too. But eventually, he gave me a curt nod and left. I breathed out through my mouth.

For a moment, I just wanted to cry.

I turned to the blank sheet resting on my easel.

Instead, I would let my feelings pour out in paint splashing on paper rather than tears on my cheeks. I'd let go in the only way I truly knew how to.

The reference of a hawk in mid-dive on my computer screen, which I'd actually planned to paint tonight, went forgotten in the corner.

I closed my eyes and pictured Atticus' face. The curves of his lips, the colour of his eyes and skin. The texture of his hair and how it felt beneath my fingertips. I'd make one more piece of him, and I'd put my heart in it.

With my earbuds in and the curtains closed, I was lost in my painting, in the strokes and the lines I put on paper.

I forgot about the world. I forgot the time.

I didn't notice anything in my surroundings until there was suddenly a shadow cast on my paper of someone standing behind me. The brush in my hand fell to the floor as a startled jolt went through my body.

I yanked the earbuds out of my ears, whirled around, and stood face to face with Atticus.

Again, he'd managed to sneak up on me.

I stared up at Atticus with wide eyes, but his eyes were fixated on my painting. I'd made it from memory so it wasn't perfect, but I doubted I could casually play it off as it being someone else. It was clearly his dramatic portrait with stormy, sea-green eyes staring directly back at him, a serious expression, and a bare chest.

Especially that last part made my face grow hot. I promptly stepped in front of the painting, hiding it from Atticus' eyes with my body.

"It's not what it looks like!" I blurted.

I clearly hadn't learned from the last time I used that line in the school locker rooms. It was about as effective on Atticus as it'd been on Corey back then.

Atticus' cheeks had turned a reddish dark, but his eyes shifted to meet mine and he held my gaze.

"Let me see it," he said.

I cringed. It's not like Atticus hadn't already noticed I was making a painting of him. If I didn't show him, it'd probably only get worse in his imagination than if I did. I'd been caught red-handed... Quite literally, there was some red paint on my hands, too.

I did the only thing I could do at this point. I stepped aside, allowing Atticus to look at the in-progress painting again.

"It's, uh, not finished yet," I weakly defended myself. "So don't stare it it too long."

While Atticus looked, I couldn't bear watching his reaction. The silence, even if it only lasted a few seconds, was already way too long, and I had to break it.

"Were you goin' to call me down for dinner?" I guessed, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Maybe we should go downstairs and eat before it goes cold."

Slowly, Atticus turned and looked at me. He didn't say anything, and I had difficulty reading his expression. His eyes resembled the stormy ones I'd painted, but I couldn't tell what that meant except feelings brimming over.

Then Atticus suddenly stepped forward, grabbed me, and pressed his lips to mine. I gasped in surprise against his lips, but I definitely didn't protest. My eyes fluttered closed, and I went along with it. Atticus made my heart stutter in my chest from the intensity.

The kiss wasn't sweet, like usual. It was desperate and needy and made my skin tingle. When we broke apart, both Atticus and I were breathing hard.

Atticus' eyes close to mine were even darker than before.

"I know I have no say," he said. "But I can't stand the idea of you dating Jonah. Or anyone else."

Atticus made my stomach flip, and I was pretty sure he'd just provided me with enough inspiration to make a thousand more painting of him just with the sheer emotion in his gaze. Hopefully, he wouldn't catch me painting any of those because that would make it even harder to stand my ground.

"You're right. You don't get a say if you're not goin' to date me yourself," I replied.

I knew I should step back instead of staying in Atticus' arms. I shouldn't have kissed him in the first place, but there was no use crying over spilled milk. I'd already done it.

"And I'm not stayin' if you're ashamed of me or scared," I emphasised.

Atticus' eyebrows pulled together. "I know."

Again, there was a silence.

Again, I had the incessant urge to fill it.

"We didn't know each other growin' up and everyone in school knows that since my dad only married Chiara last year, and I moved here this year. It's not that strange, is it?"

Atticus took a deep breath. "It's not, I guess."

"And this happens more often. Probably more than people are willin' to admit, doesn't it?"

"Probably."

"We'd be able to explain it, Atticus."

I physically felt him react to my words. He almost seemed to shrink in my arms, and all my hopes and courage shrank with it. He wasn't ready. He wasn't going to put in himself in the centre of attention at school by being 'different' again for me this year.

"Let's just go eat," I suggested. "And pretend you didn't see this painting."