My eyes were shut, and my head was tilted back as Aidan and I cruised down the streets on his motorcycle.
Motorcycles were, without a doubt, godsend. The fact that they had the capability to allow a person to feel so free and energized, but at the same time content and sound was truly extraordinary.
I'm pretty sure if everyone rode motorcycles the world would be more at peace.
I let out a sad sigh when we came to a halt. "Aw," I pouted, opening my eyes.
"I drove you around for an hour," Aidan reminded me, putting the kick stand down. "You can't tell me you haven't gotten your fill."
"That's exactly what I'm telling you," I unwrapped my arms around his waist and hopped off. "You should let me drive it sometime."
"Do you have motorcycle license?" He asked expectantly.
I kicked the pavement and turned surly. "No."
"Then can you drive the motorcycle?"
"No."
He nodded and climbed off the bike.
"I'm sure you wouldn't let me drive it even if I did have a motorcycle license," I muttered bitterly.
"That is true," Aidan nodded.
I pulled off my helmet and noticed my surrounding environment for the first time. "Your house?"
"Yeah, I need to pick something up," he held out his hand, which I placed mine in automatically, and walked up to his front door. He glanced at his driveway. "That okay?"
"Sure," I followed his gaze to see that the Audi from the other day wasn't in the spot it had been previously. However, there was a rusty blue pick up truck in one of the spaces. "Am I allowed inside?"
"Why wouldn't you be?"
"Because last time you snapped at me when I asked," I reminded him.
"I didn't snap at you," he said, unlocking the front door.
"You most certainly did snap at me," I pulled my hand away from his right clutch so I could fold my arms across my chest. "I think you owe me an apology."
"That was how many days ago, Demi?" He asked, sounding exasperated with his hand resting on the door knob.
"It's never too late to say you're sorry, Aidan," I said wisely.
"I'm sorry, Demi."
I smiled, choosing to ignore the heavy sarcasm coating his tone. "Apology accepted."
He muttered something to himself, as he opened the door. His words had been so quiet that I couldn't catch it, although I'm almost positive they were nothing I considered to be polite.
I followed him into the house and looked around, taking in my surroundings.
The interior of the house was exceptionally unordinary. I was greeted to a wooded landing when I walked in. A straight staircase that led to the second floor was the first thing I saw, and to the immediate left of the staircase was the living room area.
There were two aging, green couches set up, a regular sized TV set, and tables with lamps on them. The floor was a disarray with toys that I guessed were Briella's. The white walls incasing the inside looked like they could do with a touch up, as they were more than a few chips in them.
"It's not much," Aidan said, swinging the door shut. "Sorry for the mess. Briella has a listening problem when it comes time to clean up after herself."
"That's fine. I'm a bit messy myself," I smiled. "And I actually really like your place. It has a nice feel to it."
"That's arguable," he said with a slight edge to his voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Okay?"
I sighed. Aidan's evasiveness was really starting to get on every single one of my nerves.
I watched him climb up the stairs, and found myself hesitating. I didn't know whether he wanted me to follow him or to stay where I was. That was, until he stopped halfway up and turned to me.
"Are you waiting for a personal invitation?" He demanded.
"Yes, actually," I took the stairs two at a time and followed him the rest of the way up. "I didn't know if you wanted me to stay there or not."
"What kind of host would I be if I just left you at the front door?" He asked with a smile.
"It wouldn't be the worst thing you've done to me," I muttered, which I'm sure he heard. He just chose to ignore it.
I walked down the length of the fairly short hallway and walked into a room Aidan ushered me in.
"This is my room," he said, pointing toward the bed that was set in the center of the room. "My sister has a sleepover tonight, I need to grab some of her stuff real quick. Sit and don't touch anything."
I huffed and took a seat on the bed. "You know, Aid," I began. "You don't have to tell me not to touch anything in that tone. I'm not going to go snooping through your stuff. I'm not some nosey child."
"Actually, Cupcake," he gave me a once over. "You are nosey, and you do act like a child ninety eight percent of the time."
I felt the urge to stick out my tongue, so I did. It didn't really help my claim on not being a "child", but whatever. Everyone had their moments.
Aidan laughed and walked out, leaving the door open a crack.
I set my bag down on the floor and looked around the room, tapping my foot against the cream colored carpet.
Aidan's bedroom was just as plan as downstairs was. There were a minimal amount of furniture in the room. In fact, there were only two. The bed and a wooden oak dresser pushed up against the wall to the furtherest right. On the dresser were two picture frames and then some toiletries.
There was a doorway next to the dresser that I guessed was his closet considering the pile of clothes and shoes stuffed hastily on the floor of it. The walls were painted a faded white color and were bare all around.
I stood up and walked over to the dresser. I examined the two pictures on it. One had a picture of five year old Briella sitting on a swing set with a wide smile on her face.
The other frame held a picture of a pretty woman with the same dark hair and dark eyes as Aidan and Briella. Her smile was gorgeous. Just as gorgeous Aidan's. I decided to assume that the woman was Aidan's mother. She looked far too similar to Aidan and his sister not to be their mom.
I remembered how Aidan had told me she had passed and bit my lower lip, backing away. I began wondering how she died. It had been something I had wanted to ask Aidan for a while, but kept biting my tongue on the subject because there was no way to ask that question without really stirring the pot that was Aidan's emotions.
I turned back to the bed to sit back down before Aidan walked back in and started scolding me for not listening to his instructions and remaining where I was suppose to sit when I saw a canvas peaking out from under the bed. Curiosity got the best of me, as it always did, and before I could gather some self control I was on my knees, pulling it out.
I stared in awe at the portrait of the women in the frame because it was so identical to what was in the picture on Aidan's dresser that it really could have passed for a photograph. I ran a finger over the artwork gently, just to confirm that was actual a painting, and confirmed it was by the bumps indicating pencil was used before being touched up with paint.
"Wow," I breathed. I zeroed in on the I initials at the bottom right.
A.B.
"Aidan Benson," I murmured.
Aidan was an artist.
I huffed, slightly agitated at the fact he had never once mentioned to me he had a thing for art. I had been more than willing to fill him in on my own passions.
My eyes drifted back to study the painting once more. I couldn't get over how stunning and lifelike the portrait looked. I took note to the fact that the painting was much more enhanced than the woman in the picture frame.
The painted woman was just more...beautiful. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about it, but the features were drawn in such a way that I found myself reminded of a goddess from ancient times. Maybe a modern Athena.
I peeked under the bed to see there were stacks of canvases shoved carelessly under the bed. I glanced at the door knowing full well if Aidan walked in and caught me looking at his stuff he'd blow a casket among other things.
Well....you only live once.
I set the painting of his mother down beside me and pulled out another canvas at random. I flipped it over and was greeted to a picture of me.
I stared at the perfectly done portrait and the immediate thought that he had being far too generous popped into my head. This painting made me look a lot prettier than I actually was, not that I was complaining. It'd be upsetting if he had drawn me looking like a troll that escaped underneath a bridge somewhere.
I traced a finger over my embellished pale pink lips, my brighter green eyes, and the long dark hair he had drawn cascading over my shoulders.
This is what I would look like if I had been somehow able to have a hand in what I'd look like.
I couldn't keep from smiling just by the mere fact that he had even thought to draw me. Everyone knew an artist only drew what they were inspired by. So, that could only mean I was inspiration to him which was nice.
It was truly wondrous feeling to know I, of all people, could inspire anyone even if it was just a little bit which I'm pretty sure it was. I wasn't naive enough to believe I had that much of an impact on anybody.
The door suddenly swung open, and before I could shove the portraits back under the bed, I was face to face with Aidan.
"Hi," I squeaked, fear encasing me when I saw the look growing on Aidan's face as he took in the sight before him.
"What are you doing?" He asked in a voice that was way too calm. Too calm to match the look of blazing anger overtaking his eyes.
"Uh....I...um," I looked down at the painting in my grip. "I was just um...," I pursed my lips. "Well, I-"
Aidan dropped the pink book bag he had been holding and walked up to me. He grabbed the canvas out of my hands, and the canvas from the floor, and tossed them back under the bed.
I stood up quickly, accidentally knocking over my bag which caused some of the contents to spill out. I ignored it and watched Aidan carefully.
I wouldn't go as far as saying I was scared of Aidan, but he definitely wasn't someone I wanted to be around when he was angry, and boy was he angry.
"You're really good," I offered.
I figured it wasn't the most appropriate response, especially with the look he threw my way, but it was the only thing I could think to say. It also happened to be true.
"I didn't know you drew," I tried again.
"I didn't tell you for a reason," he said tensely. "Didn't I tell you not to touch anything?"
"The corner of one of the canvases was poking out from under the bed," I said defensively. "I was curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat," he deadpanned. "Try to remember that."
"Is that suppose to be some low key threat?" I asked.
"Take it as you will," he said grumpily.
"I'm impressed by how talented you are," I said smiling a hopeful smile. Maybe if I paid him enough compliments he'd stop staring at me like I ran over his dog. "Like really impressed."
"Yeah?" He asked carefully. He had a mixed look on his face that contained caution, anger, and some embarrassment.
"Of course! Are you kidding? They're so lifelike, it's actually kind of scary. They could pass for photographs."
"It's nothing much," he shrugged, looking even more embarrassed than before. "It's just something I do to pass the time."
"It is not nothing much," I waved a hand impatiently. "It's a lot much. It's amazing. Do you want to pursue a career in art?"
"Art doesn't pay any bills," he snorted, sitting on the bed.
"You sound like my dad," I said distastefully, taking a seat next to him. "Not everything is about money you know. Plus, with your talent you could make a fortune. You could become a household name. You could be the next Picasso."
Aidan laughed. "I think you're getting carried away."
"I don't think so," I shrugged. "The painting of your mother is gorgeous," I said tentatively, not wanting to spoil his now good mood.
"How do you know that's my mom?"
His smile dropped and his eyes hardened. He glared at me almost accusingly, and I wished I could reel back in my words.
"It was a guess," I murmured, looking at the floor. "She looks so much like you and Briella, so I just assumed."
"You know what they say about assumers. They make an ass out of you and I."
I looked to see his lips curving in a good humored smile. I smiled back, relieved that his bad mood had passed on so quickly.
"You stole that from me," I accused.
"You didn't make up the statement," he rolled his eyes. "And just to confirm your sneaking suspicions, yes that's my mom."
"She's gorgeous," I complimented.
"Yeah she was," he nodded.
"Your painting did her more than justice."
"Thank you."
I pressed my lips together to keep from asking the next question dancing around front and center of my mind: How did she die?
That was where I had to draw the line with myself. That was beyond the point of pushing it, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Aidan made me walk home for asking such a thing.
He had to tell me. He had to be willing to tell me. It was common curtesy, not to mention an unspoken rule that I had no intention of breaking.
Now, to just keep my mouth shut.
I looked over at Aidan who was staring at me in amusement.
"You wanna know how she died?" He guessed, as if reading my thoughts.
"Are you a mind reader?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.
"No, you're just an open book."
"That's arguable," I snorted. "But, yes, to answer your first question. The how was definitely wandering around my mind. You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to though."
"It's fine," he sighed. "She had...been going through this ongoing battle," he said slowly, carefully wording his statement. "And eventually it kind of just," he shrugged. "Took her."
"An ongoing battle? So like cancer?"
He hummed in agreement to my words, and I nodded.
"I was 12," he added, his voice heavy with emotion.
"I'm sorry," I said, resting a hand on top of his. "I know it doesn't mean much, and that it doesn't really do anything for you, but I'm still sorry she was taken from you and your sister in such a horrible way."
"That does mean a lot," he accepted my condolences, flipping over his palm so he could squeeze my hand. "Thank you."
"At least she's in a better place," I offered.
"Do you believe there's even a place after this?" He asked curiously.
"I don't know if I believe, or if I want to believe," I answered honestly. "It would really suck is this was all eternity had to offer, don't you think?"
Aidan nodded in agreement. "It would majorly suck."
"So," I said after a short moment of silence. "Is that all you do? Portraits?"
Aidan seemed relieved by the change of subjects and shook his head.
"I draw whatever I feel like drawing at the moment."
"And you felt like drawing me at a moment?" I asked casually.
He sighed and shook his head, as if he was waiting for me to bring this up. "Don't get a big head."
"Too late," I snickered. "I'm very flattered you would even think to draw me."
"I didn't plan on drawing you," he said truthfully. "I was just letting my hand move across the canvas, and before I knew it, you were staring back at me."
"Wow, so does that make me your muse?" I asked with a smile.
"Something like that," he said jokingly.
"You were far too kind with me," I said. "The painting is gorgeous. A lot prettier than the actual me."
Aidan gave me a weird look. "What are you talking about? That's what you look."
"No," I shook my head, smiling. "It does not. Trust me, I'd love it if I did but I'm more on the average looking side."
"There's not a single average thing about you," Aidan stated. "You're gorgeous."
My cheeks immediately went up in red flames, and my heart began hammering in my chest at his words.
"Ummmm," I looked around the room, my eyes resting on everything other than him.
Aidan snickered . "Why do you look so embarrassed? It's the truth."
"Well, thanks for thinking so," I mumbled.
"I don't think so," I looked over to see Aidan shaking his head. "You are. You happened to have struck gold in your gene pool. Anybody with eyes could see that."
"Now, I know you're just being nice," I rolled my eyes.
"And you're being way too not nice," he frowned. "With yourself that is."
I shrugged and glanced down at my bag and the stuff cluttering his floor.
He followed my gaze and bent down to pick up my stuff.
"Thanks," I took my bag from him and zipped it up to prevent the contents from spilling out again.
"Oh, wait," he picked up a small bottle of pills and examined the label. "This yours too?"
I snatched the bottle out of his hand and shoved it in one of the small pockets. "Yeah, thanks."
"What are those for?" He asked, staring at the pocket where the pills now rested.
"Ummm," I hummed. "I get headaches a lot, and I find these help."
"Oh?"
I nodded. "Yep."
"You might have picked up the wrong bottle than because I don't see how Appetite Suppressant pills are going to cure your headache problem," he said with raised eyebrows.
I could feel my heart sinking at his worlds, but before I could open my mouth to do some damage control a loud bang sounded downstairs followed by obnoxious footsteps and loud cursing.
"Fucking kid," a man's roared. "I tell her over and over again not to leave her goddamn shit all over my house."
Aidan shot off the bed in a second, his eyes sparking with anxiety and strain.
"Shit," he cursed. "Shit, he wasn't suppose to be home yet."
I stood up, taken aback by his panicked reaction. "Who? Wha-"
Aidan pushed me back down on the bed. "Sit, and do not leave this room until I come and get you okay?"
"Aidan, you're making me really nervous right now," I twisted the strap of my bag anxiously and stared up at him. "Who just came in?"
Aidan stared back at me, and I knew he was contemplating on whether or not he was going to answer my question or just ignore my question altogether.
"My dad," he said grimly after a few painfully long seconds.
~~~~~~~~~
Cliffhanger!
Lol sorry guys, I actually intended on adding more to the chapter, but I really wanted to get this up for y'all so....here you go!
You're free to comment your thoughts in the comment section as well as vote if you enjoyed reading.
Hope everyone is having a lovely day, and I also hope you have an amazing weekend.
xxx,
Jess