A/N- Thank you to all of you who continue to read, review and recommend this little story of mine!
You're all amazing.
My little shiny, awesome team: LizziePaige, MarieSCullen, PearlyFox and SunflowerFran; I love you all.
As always, I own nada. Zilch. Sweet F.A ... sadly.
~oOo~
Chapter 10: BPOV
The weekdays pass in an educational blur. I absorb myself in my studies through the day, and at night, I lock myself in my room and learn what I can about the city without the means to explore it physically. It's probably a good idea I don't have Edward's phone number; I'd undoubtedly annoy him with endless texts filled with questions.
I make half-hearted excuses as to why I can't attend a party hosted by the school's resident 'it girl,' Rosalie Hale. The truth is, the thought of a party in an expensive apartment holds absolutely no appeal to me. It never has. Alice spends most of the week gushing over her designer outfit options. I fail to tell her I don't own a single designer item. Fashion has never been my forte; it probably never will be.
It's being held tonight, which also affords me the perfect excuse. It's Friday, which means I'll be at the youth center. Alice continuously begged me to attend once I finish volunteering, but the thought makes me die a little inside. Talk about one extreme to the other. Besides, I have something else in mind when it comes to how I'll be spending my Friday night.
Since Monday, I'd been steadily working my way through my homework, yet most of my focus falls to the mysterious artist, Inferno. He seems to illustrate, beautifully, all I feel drawn to within this city. The authorities have worked hard to keep the tragic plight of some people a secret, and Inferno works tirelessly to throw it back in their faces. I'm hopelessly intrigued. It's another puzzle piece I'm trying to fit into place. All I need now is someone who knows the city.
My mom arrives home just as I'm finishing the last of my sandwich, a desperate, fast attempt to curb my hunger.
"Do you want me to drive you to the youth center?" She asks, removing her shoes.
"I'm good," I mumble, my mouth full.
She opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. I raise an eyebrow as she sits her chilled bottle across from me and places a tall glass next to it. "Well, if you don't need a ride ... it's Friday," she shrugs.
"You know, if you and Dad would let me have a car ..." I trail off, leaving the statement open. She purses her lips and looks at me incredulously.
"We've been through this, Bells," she sighs. "You know how your dad feels about you driving in the city."
I huff and stand, my chair scraping against the stone floor. I don't say anything more as I rinse my plate and glass in the sink. Behind me, I hear the glugging sound as my mom haphazardly pours herself a large glass of wine. Dad has been working nights recently, so it looks as though Mom is settling in for a long, lonely evening. Good. If she finishes the bottle, she likely won't notice I'll be home later than usual.
"I'll see you later," I call as I make my way towards the front door, grabbing my beige trench coat. I hear her reply, but I don't listen and let the heavy front door close behind me.
The weather is beginning to cool as fall moves in slowly. The sky is darkening earlier every day; the trees are drier, a shade less green; the air has a slight crisp sting as the evening takes hold. I welcome it, having never been a fan of the hot, stifling summer months. My ankle boots break the silence of the street as I make my way towards Lincoln Park, smiling politely at those who pass.
The park is quieter than usual; a few sporadic joggers and dog walkers litter the vast, green, open space. I arrive at the youth center early and linger outside, admiring the looming buildings of the city. The lights from the skyscrapers twinkle, even in the muted daylight, like the reflection of sunshine on a lake's surface. I look on, in a trance, not realizing someone has approached me.
A throat clearing snaps me out of my daze. I turn my head towards the noise quickly, my eyes meeting those of Edward's. The first thing I notice is his crisp, dark leather jacket; the zips on the cuffs of his sleeves open. The green hoodie he wears underneath accentuates the deep emerald green of his eyes. I can't look away; my trance has transferred itself from the far-off buildings to the man in front of me. His deep indigo jeans hug his thighs, their color rich against the backdrop of grass. I look up, taking in his features; his smug smirk, his quirked eyebrow, and the glorious mess of hair atop his head. He's absolutely deliciously sinful.
"You like?" His voice is smooth, teasing. I feel the heat rush to my face and choke on air, trying to mask it behind my hand.
"I was just making sure your bruises healed." It's a lie and a blatant one.
"Uh-huh," he chuckles. "I'm as good as new."
I nod, willing the ferocious blush to disappear. He does look better, but the gash above his eyebrow is still a prominent feature on his face. It should have been stitched up, and I tell him as such; he rolls his eyes like a petulant teenager.
"It's fine," he groans, and I narrow my eyes at him, trying to keep my features as playful as possible. "What are you doing out here anyway? You make a habit of hanging around city parks?"
"Only on Fridays when I know hot men hang around." My eyes widen, as do his. I have no idea where my flirtatious sass has come from, and I'm almost mortified until Edward laughs. It's a glorious, loud burst of sound, and it makes my heart stammer fast in my chest. I can't help it, I slap my hand against my face and laugh at myself. "What the hell did I just say?" I whine, digging my fingers into my eye sockets.
Edward doesn't answer straight away. "If it makes you feel better, I'll pretend I never heard it."
I scowl and turn to him. "It's too late now."
"Yeah, you're right," he grins brightly before the smile falls from his face, and he feigns nonchalance, as though he caught himself laughing and berated himself for it. "You didn't answer my question, though." His voice is lower now, less jovial. I look at my feet, unhappy with the serious tone of his words.
"I was ... waiting. I didn't want to go inside yet." He nods, but doesn't speak, pushing his hands into his pockets and looking over my head towards the buildings in the distance.
As silence takes hold, I battle with myself, anxious to ask him a question. Or rather, anxious about the answer.
"Just spit it out," he deadpans, and I blink up at him, confused. "That damn lip, you're going to gnaw it off. Whatever you want to say, just say it."
"Um ..." I stutter, unsure of when he procured the ability to read my mind. "It was more of a question."
Okay," he drawls slowly, his intent eyes unwavering as he looks at me.
"What eh ... what are you doing after this?" I wave a hand behind me, motioning towards the youth center.
Edward purses his lips and quirks his head. "You asking me out, Princess?"
My eyes widen again. I'm not. I'm definitely not. Right? "Um, no. Not really." I have no idea why I can no longer speak. "I just. I need your help ... to find something."
He looks confused. "What are you looking for?"
"Artwork," I answer quickly. His brows knit together in confusion, so I carry on. "There's a street artist; a new one. Inferno. His work is amazing, and I want to see it."
His eyes widen for a split second before his mask of indifference is back in place. For a moment, I question whether or not he actually showed any emotion. It was too quick to gauge; I must have imagined it.
"Sorry," he shrugs, "no can do. I'm busy tonight."
"Oh," I whisper, a little hurt by his dismissive attitude. "That's fine," I smile weakly, "I know where they are anyway so-"
"You're going alone?" He cuts me off. I straighten my back against the wall of the building, determined.
"Well, yeah. If you don't come with me ... and it's no big deal, they're-"
"Don't you have any friends?" He cuts in again, his tone a little more aggressive this time, and it annoys me.
"Of course I do," I snap. "They're all at a party tonight, and I don't want to go, so I was thinking of finding the artwork instead."
He regards me silently, his face a stone sculpture, calculating. His jaw clenches and unclenches a couple of times before he sighs and runs a hand through his erratic hair. "Fine," he huffs.
"Don't inconvenience yourself," I bite, standing straighter. "Don't worry about it." I don't want him to accompany me unless he wants to. Now I feel like a burden.
"Jesus Christ, will you stop." I turn, not even realizing I had begun to walk away. "First off, I don't do anything I don't want to. Secondly, there's no fucking way you're walking around this city alone. In the dark."
I want to roll my eyes, but I don't. Instead, I nod and turn again, walking inside. Part of me is elated that I'll be spending a couple of hours in Edward's company again; another part feels like an annoying little sister.
For the next three hours, I absorb myself with tutoring. Or, I try to. In between teaching and explaining the joys of Shakespeare to two girls not much younger than myself, I throw quick glances at Edward. I'm not as inconspicuous as I think, and a few times, our eyes meet from across the room. He doesn't react, just meets my eyes briefly, and then turns back to his work, wrangling young boys who spray color haphazardly onto massive sheets of paper. I bite my lip and try to focus on the books, and the girls, before me.
When the kids start leaving, and after I've tidied up my area, I shuffle my feet towards Edward as he finishes bagging up the trash left behind by the kids.
"Ready?" He asks, throwing his hood over his head, not looking at me.
"Yeah," I answer, smiling softly as he walks beside me towards the exit. It's the first time he hasn't stormed ahead, and I've needed to follow in his shadow.
Heidi and Dean smile at us, though it's strained, as Edward holds the door open for me and makes an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his arm for me to go first.
"Thank you, kind Sir," I chuckle as he falls in step next to me. He smiles tightly but doesn't retort. I cringe at myself.
"So," he starts slowly, "what's this piece of artwork you're so desperate to see?"
"Well, there's four pieces," I answer, pulling my coat tighter to my body against the chill. He nods, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. The top of my head barely reaches his shoulder, so it makes it difficult for me to sneak a look at him.
We start with the closest one, just outside the exit, nearest to North Pond. The water ripples in the breeze, the twinkling light reflecting and glittering on its surface. The park is peaceful and relatively quiet, it's almost a romantic setting considering its central, hectic location.
Edward seems to know exactly where he's going, despite his supposed ignorance of the artwork. I think he knows more than he's letting on, but I don't question him.
My breath hitches as we exit the park and Edward stops, bringing my attention to the wall. It's there, illuminated by the closest street lamp. It's breathtaking; larger than I thought it would be. I don't speak as I take a few quiet steps towards the sprayed masterpiece. The detail is remarkable; the lines and shading, sharp and neat. I trace a finger over the dried paint, my fingertips grazing lightly across a colorful flame.
I look at it, study it. There's a young, neglected, very poor boy standing in front of a roaring bonfire. His hands are clasped, his pants holy, his shoes old and too-worn; his jacket is useless, and I can feel how cold he is. In his cupped hands, he holds a small, flickering flame. On the opposite side of the blazing centerpiece are three girls. They're obviously dressed for the elements, warm and carefree as they dance and laugh, enjoying the spectacle. They have no worries, no idea that the boy is there.
"What's wrong?" Edward asks after a few minutes of deafening silence. I jump a little, not registering how close to me he is standing. His breath tickles the back of my neck, causing the fine hairs to stand on end. It's then I realize that I'm crying as a single silent tear winds its way down, over my cheek, to my chin.
This close, with Edward standing so near, I'm overwhelmed. I can't tear my eyes away from the art in front of me; I don't want to. I want every small detail burned into my memory. I want to feel every ounce of pain reflected so emotionally in the black, empty eyes of the young boy painted on the wall. I can feel it; the suffering, the desperation. Art has never moved me in such a way, but I embrace it, letting the sorrow wash over me. The contempt for the sprayed figures enjoying the fun of the fire burns in my veins. The boy is lost and broken, a single flame offering the only light in his life. I move to stand in front of the jovial figures, and look past the bonfire, towards the poor, young boy. This is where I should stand; on this side of the fire is where I belong, with the kids who don't hold a single worry. But every ounce of my being, every cell in my body is pulled toward the struggling boy— the cold, desperate child cradling the flame in his palm.
"Say something," Edward pleads, his voice taking me by surprise.
"I don't know what I can say," I whisper, aware of Edward's penetrating gaze, as it never falters from my face. I don't think he has looked at the wall at all. Under any other circumstance, his scrutiny would be unnerving. "I've never seen anything like this."
"What does that even mean?" He asks, his voice still so achingly close, his face masked by his hood.
I want to take a step back, into his body, I want to hold him. I tell myself it's inappropriate, but that does nothing to banish the desire.
"It's remarkable," I speak, my voice so weak in the darkness. "The pictures don't do it justice. This is ..." I trail off, touching my fingers tentatively against the paint once more, drawn to the flame in the boy's palm. It's rough under my fingertips, the wall harsh, like the artistic depiction itself—like the reality highlighted in front of me.
"It's what?" Edward asks quietly. I can still feel his eyes on me, unwavering despite the hint of unplaced nervousness that cloaks his words.
"Powerful," I answer. "So devastatingly powerful."
~oOo~
I think ... you'll all be very excited by the next chapter. It's about time someone makes a move, right? *wink*
Until then, let me know your thoughts and thank you for reading!