Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

"But why, Pinocchio? I don't understand," he sighed, moving off of me, he sat on the floor, and using his hold on my hands, he pulled me into a sitting position in front of him. "Talk to me."

Meeting his blue eyes filled with unease and worry, I tried to give him a smile. Tried to soothe his worries away, but how could I do that when I felt like absolute crap?

"Do you really want to know?"

He nodded immediately, toying with my fingers, before lifting one of my hands and pressing his lips to the back of it.

"Because no one is going to be there, okay? No one wants to see paintings done by a Mathews," I shrugged, trying desperately to hide how miserable that actually made me feel.

"That's what you're worried about?" He asked, relief flooding his features, a slow smile taking over his face. "Porter, I'll be there. I want to see every single one of your paintings on display. I am so goddamn proud of you."

I couldn't help but return his bright smile, shaking my head. "Its not just that, Brayden...what if people do show up? What if they show up to make sure I have a miserable time? What if they show up to vandalize my paintings?"

"What are you talking about?"

I shook my head with a bitter smile, a pang in my chest. "This town doesn't like my family to know any type of happiness. Whenever my mom or I have any sort of good luck, they always make sure the other shoe drops. I can't remember a time in my life when something good happened, and it wasn't tainted by them."

"What about me? Us?" He whispered, nervously, his eyes flitting away from mine for a moment before finding their way back.

I smiled, sadly. "Not yet...but...we will be."

He shook his head, rapidly. "Not if we don't let them."

"That's not how it works," I replied, my eyes falling to our intertwined fingers.

"It's exactly how it works," he replied, fervently, and letting go of one of my hands, he cupped my cheek, placed his thumb under my chin, and tilted my head back; forcing my eyes to meet his. "There is nothing that anyone can say or do, to change how I feel about you."

Pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I looked away, no longer able to look him in the eyes when I knew the truth. "They think you're with me out of pity. Doing the right thing by trying to help her irreparable reputation they said. That's the only explanation. The only reason a Cavanaugh would bring someone like her to one of his games. It's already starting, Brayden, don't you see?"

He nodded once, "So that's why you looked sad Friday night."

"They knew I could hear them...they made sure that I could," I replied, bitterly, remembering the way the group had laughed, and snickered behind me. I'd wanted so badly to leave, go home and hide for the rest of my life, but I'd stayed. I'd stayed for him. I'd promised I would be there, and I would be damned if I let them make me break a promise to him.

They hadn't lasted very long behind me after Macy had turned around with a glare that could kill you in the spot and told them that if they uttered my name ever again, she'd make sure to beat the living shit out of them.

That's when the humiliation had really set in, my cheeks burning as I fought the urge to retreat into myself. I'd wanted to scream, hating that his sister had had to stand up for me once again. I hated that even more than their words. I didn't want him or his family to feel pity for me, didn't want them to see me the way the rest of the town did; the outcast who couldn't even stand up for herself.

But then I'd found Brayden's number between the many players, and brushed those feelings aside, plastering a fake smile on my face; reminding myself that I was there for him. I was there because he'd asked me to come. Peppered my face with kisses after I'd agreed, and beamed down at me the next morning when he'd mumbled that he'd see me at his game.