Behind His Lens(88)

After he made sure I wasn’t physically injured, he just laid there with me, never pressuring me to talk. Mrs. Jenkins brought me tea and soup, and Jude fed me bite by bite. I fell asleep with him on the floor, but I stirred when he carried me up onto my twin size bed and wrapped himself around me. I let myself soak in everything about him. His intoxicating aroma, his soft words wishing the darkness away, his strong arms wrapped around me telling me he’d never let me go.

I’ve never slept so peacefully than cradled in his arms on that tiny twin bed.

But he left ten minutes ago and I’ve used those few minutes to assess the complete mess that is my apartment. Hopefully all of the acrylic paint will come off the wood floor or I’ll owe Mrs. Jenkins a fortune.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to look at the canvases in the light of day, as though the dark secret was better kept in the night. But I don’t glaze over them. I lay in bed, flicking my eyes from one to the next, taking them in from the distorted angles of my horizontal position. They’re truly haunting, but so magnificent. I don’t have any idea what I’ll do with them.

Suddenly my door crashes open. “Up and at em’!” Jude commands, storming into my room just like he stormed into my life: fast and uninvited.

I jump back against my pillow. “What? Why?” I ask as he strides across the room and places two bagels and two small coffees on the nightstand by my bed.

“Up. Get dressed,” he demands, leaning down and kissing my hair. His hand strokes down my cheek and I glance up into his earnest blue eyes. He’s the one I always dreamed of. A dream I can’t possibly possess.

“Jude… I don’t know. I think I just want to res…”

“Charley. I will drag you out of this room or you will come willingly. It’s up to you.” He grips the sides of his waist in a predatory stance. His broad shoulders tug on his dark green shirt that he’s paired with grey pants. His brow is raised in a cool arch, as though he welcomes the challenge of dragging me out of bed.

I groan and crawl out of my warm blankets to throw on some clothes.

“There’s a bagel here for you. Sesame or blueberry?”

“Who eats sesame bagels?” I glare over my shoulder teasingly as I tug on my jeans.

“A lot of people.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss me with strong, tender lips. I arch my neck to kiss him back. It’s such a natural feeling to open up to him and I’m tired of fighting it.

“Blueberry, please.” I smile wistfully.

I’m absolutely ravenous now that he’s here.

“I picked up some cream cheese as well,” he offers with a contented sigh.

We’re not out of the storm, more like we’re in the calm eye of a hurricane. Jude and I didn’t have a heartfelt discussion about how much we’ve missed each other; it’s written all over our actions. When I wrapped around him with every inch of my body last night, I gave him every apology I could muster. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but we’re in it together. That much is clear.

After I’ve dressed in a sweater dress, cashmere scarf, and warm boots, he pushes me out of the apartment and locks the door behind me.

There, on the ground beside my door, are the first clues to where Jude is taking me. My breathing shallows.

Jude

I picked up a New York Times and some red roses from the shop across the street, but I left them all outside of her apartment, lest she catch on too soon. I don’t know how she’ll react when I tell her we’re going to her father’s grave, but I know no matter what, I’ll try to persuade her to let me take her. There’s no way of knowing how it’ll affect her, but it’s clear that she’s built a wall of guilt around her heart in the past four years. Hopefully today she’ll begin to break away some of it, enough for her to start letting love in.

The moment her eyes fall on the contents outside her door, her posture straightens and her coffee pauses mid way to her mouth. Her eyebrows furrow in thought and then her eyes slowly scan up from the newspaper toward me.


“Do you know the address of the cemetery, Charley?” I ask calmly, trying to gauge her reaction. Her tongue dips along the edge of her bottom lip as she examines me, trying to read between the lines.

“Yes,” she offers simply. The plastic wrapper around her bagel crinkles as she moves to tuck it under her arm. With her spare hand, she reaches down to grab the fresh roses. Their fragrance wafts through the air and the ends of her mouth curl up gently when she gets a whiff.