Picasso's Promise

Episode 31| The Truth

Picasso threw himself out of the car at lightning speed, moving so briskly that I couldn't grab at him and stop him from leaving with such a vague statement floating in the air.

"There's something I have to tell you. It has to do with your dad," was all he said, leaving my mind to wander aimlessly on the plethora of outcomes.

What was it that he knew about my father? Why couldn't he tell me what it was he needed to tell me then and there in my car before entering his house?

It wasn't like he was incapable or in a rush, being drawn in by his sister or anything. He had the time, but resorted to filling me with mystery. One of my favorite aspects about him became something I dreaded. Forcefully, I made myself turn the car back on and refrained from running in after him, begging him for clarity.

I was pacing in my room, laughing at the mere thought of falling asleep as the clock struck nine and then ten. The second I walked in through the front door, my body felt as though stones were cradling the lining of my stomach. The pit of my belly was in a state of unrest and so was the remained of me, twiddling my digits behind me impatiently as if somehow Picasso could sense my distress.

At once, my breathing stopped. A faint white glow of my phone made me crash on to the bed. A sigh of disappointment rumbled through me when I saw that it was Noora, saying how we hadn't talked lately, and she wanted to know if I could stay over this weekend at her place to catch up on lost time.

In the middle of my reply, I got the call from Picasso I was waiting for—interrupting my text message entirely. I picked up without a greeting. "Are you outside?" I asked.

"I'm pulling up right now. Unlock the door for me, ok?"

"I'll do that now." I whispered in response, ending the call and tiptoeing to my door. I had expected for the nervousness in my stomach to calm, reduce at least, after Picasso's announced his arrival. But it did the opposite, jolting me with more anxiety than I'd ever felt in my life. My lungs felt compressed to my ribs, barely moving as I graced down the hallway into stealth mode.

Hastily, I scanned the living room and then watched the door that was Aunt Tina's room to see if she'd poke her head out to see me, defying her number rule about bringing boy's into my room.

This wasn't like the many times I snuck a guy in at my father's house. I was saying that partly due to the fact my father's estate was larger and his schedule was hectic enough that it produced perfect windows of time to do just about anything behind his back.

For a split second, my chest ached as I thought about the number of things I had kept hidden from my dad. He died not knowing the deceptive person I'd grown up to be, covering the blue and red love bites down my neck with concealer and taking my first pregnancy test at sixteen.

At my childhood home, I knew the password to the security codes and to the security camera. Whenever I had people over that I didn't want my dad to see in the files, I tilted the cameras in a new direction. By sophomore year, I'd become a pro at leading a double life.

In a heartbeat, the air in my lungs halted at the sound of a door down the hall opening. A hand floated to the collar of my shirt when I saw it was only Martin standing there, holding a phone to his ear.

Flattening his bottom lip, he peered at me with small eyes. After closing his mother's door, he walked down the unlit hallway and into the living room. "Were you about to leave?"

"No, I was..." I trailed off.

"You were what? I couldn't hear you. Say that again."

"I was going to open the door." I replied. "Is auntie asleep?'