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DISCLAIMER – I don’t own anything.
Music and Art
There is trepidation inside of her, almost miniscule and tucked away from the light of day and the dark of night. She isn’t afraid of burglary or of being alone the way she was just six months ago, just her in a small apartment with nothing but an overly loud television to keep her mind occupied. She isn’t afraid that she will lose a parent or that she will lose her job. Her greatest fear is that one day she will wake up and the past five months that they’ve spent becoming them will vanish, that she’ll wake up one morning alone, without him sleeping next to her, without his arm slung low across her hip, without the sounds of his morning voice greeting her, his lips kissing hers as the sun crosses over the horizon.
In the five blissful months that they have been together, she truly has come to believe that he knows every single thing about her. There are no stones unturned, no questions of her love for him, no ghosts in the past ready to jump out and scare the daylights out of them. He’s given her every reason to feel whole, complete and loved. He supports her in every way, just as he did the day prior to this one, when she studiously created an animation for their boss’s advertisement, knowing full well that it would never see the light of day beyond those who worked in corporate. But the shadow of hope that it could potentially reach an airwave or two pushed her to stay and perfect it through the wee hours of the morning.
She lies with her head tucked under his chin and remembers how the night before as she fell asleep on her keyboard at her desk, she imagined his arms wrapped around her, holding her closer than anyone had ever held her. She feels closer to him after five months than she ever felt with the person she spent nine years with. This person, the man she has been friends with for five years, including the year that just passed – even if they hadn’t been on the best of terms, he makes her feel like she can do anything. It’s as if she can do no wrong in his eyes. That thought is mutual - she knows in her eyes, he is imperfectly perfect. No one has ever looked at her so intently while she speaks of colors and styles and artists. No other man has ever given her the courage to be who she wants to become.
For a moment yesterday afternoon, she realized that she had not been doing the same for him. That she had possibly become so consumed with receiving that she left little time to give him what he needed. It was a fleeting thing, as they watched their coworker immerse himself in a virtual world, she knew - they both know, that sometimes the best way to escape pain is to create a universe where none exists. She noticed something then, about the man that she’s more in love with than anything in the world.
The concern went away for a while, replacing itself with the drive and will to create and show the world what she’s capable of. And as they lie still, wrapped in a sheet, her in his t-shirt, legs entwined, arms holding tight to one another, his breath in her hair, the fear that they aren’t invincible, that all they’ve been doing to create a life together could all disappear.
She lifts her head, her cheek gliding across his chest, finding him smiling at her. She lets out a sigh and grins, pressing her index finger to his nose, drawing a line to his lips. He kisses the tip of her finger and brushes his hand through her hair.
“I missed you so much last night,” he whispers, his lips warm on her forehead. “But I’m so proud of what you did.”
“Thank you,” she replies, pulling him closer, so close she thinks she’ll end up with permanent double vision.
“What if you started looking into it, the graphics world,” he suggests, running his hand over her forearm up to the hand that she holds to his cheek.
She stares at him, takes in the sincerity of his prod and the honesty in his eyes and her heart feels like it expands with more love than she had for him a moment before.
“I mean it,” he continues, the words coming out slowly, imploring her to believe him.
She nods, smiles and kisses him, thankful that everything she ever imagined he would be to her actually exists and is real. “I want to know everything about you,” she whispers.
“You do. You’re changing the subject.”
“No, I’m not. It’s relevant,” she shakes her head slowly.
“How is that going to get you into thinking about graphic design,” he whispers, shifting to his side to stare into her eyes.
She shrugs. “I want to make sure we get … you know. Know everything about each other first.”
He studies her for a moment, licking his lips. “So what you’re saying is you want us to be good before you consider anything else.”
“Something like that. Yes. I want it to be easy, you know… transitioning into things.”
“Why do you speak in code?”
“Now who’s trying to change the subject?”
He inhales and lets out the air slowly. “What would you like to know?”
“I didn’t know about the guitar.”
“Oh,” he laughs out, his lips pressing to the palm of her hand. “That’s what this is about?”
She moves her head up slowly and kisses his cheek. “I just want to know everything about my boyfriend. We’ve known each other for so long and I never knew you played. And I never knew you wanted to be a writer.”
“Ah. The writing thing, yeah. Like literally impossible to get into. I mean, it’s like saying when you’re a kid that you want to be a Superman. It’s impossible.”
“All right,” she mutters. “And the guitar?”
“That is a hobby, if you can call it that. I’m really bad at it. It’s an ego thing, definitely nothing to brag about and nothing to talk about. I played for a while, but Mark begged me to stop.”
“I bet you’re good at it,” she says honestly, running her hand over his arm.
“No. I’m terrible. Trust me. It’s why I never mentioned it.”
“I want to hear you play,” she pleads, pushing her nose into his jaw.
If she were apprehensive about the things she doesn’t know about him, she can rest assured that she does know that if she draws her lips down just a little and bats her eyelashes just so, he’ll do absolutely anything for her.
So she does it, holds the expression for thirty seconds before he relents with a dramatic sigh. “You know, one day you’re going to ask me to rob a store and then you’ll make that face and I’ll do it.”
“I’d never ask you to do that,” she says with a slight snort, sitting against the headboard as she watches him put his pajama pants on.
“I hope not,” he laughs, smiling at her with a dopey grin that she adores.
She folds her legs up, resting her chin on her kneecaps, wrapping her arms around her calves as she eyes him intently while he rummages through his closet. “It’s not that big of a closet,” she deadpans, laughter stopped by the frustrated noises he makes as he searches and her desire to have him close to her again.
“Okay,” he slurs, standing tall, holding his guitar, the pick hanging from his lips. “I’m not good. Brace yourself.”
She nods and winks at him, tapping her fingers against one another to distract them from their itch to roam through his hair. It’s grown in over the past five months, not quite to where he had it before, the way she loves it, all floppy, adorable and boy-like.
He stares at her from his perch on his desk chair, lets out a small laugh and grins.
“What,” she whispers in question.
He shakes his head and lets out another breathy laugh. “Am I really about to do this?”
She widens her eyes and grins as she bobbles her head, shrugging her shoulders in anticipation.
“I don’t sing, just so you know,” he jokes, adjusting his fingers on the strings, grazing the pick over the edges, making the guitar squeak.
She can’t help but bite her bottom lip as she grins. She watches his smile fade slightly as he stares at his fingers. Her eyes follow, watching as he slowly strums the chords to a song she’s never heard before. He licks his lips and focuses his eyes at a spot on the wall in front of him, swallowing and letting out a breath she can hear over the melody.
She stares at his left hand and knows that five months in isn’t a good place to begin thinking about those types of things yet. This has to be it though, she thinks. She lets herself drift toward those thoughts as he plays. She doesn’t want to tell him she’s terrified of trying for anything more. She can’t lose him again. Of all the unknowns, that is the one thing she’s absolutely sure of.
She can’t help but see the little boy behind his eyes, the one that may have said he wanted his band to make it, or wanted to be famous on his own, by his own rights. He’s in his zone, the way she imagines she looks when she works on her art projects. She wonders if he loves this as much as she loves that.
When he closes his eyes she suddenly feels as if she’s intruding on something private to him. She wants to tell him to stop, wants the vein in his neck to stop straining and for his hands to stop shaking as he tries to find the right chords. She does not want to ask when the last time he played was. There’s a sense about the way he grips the handle of the guitar that tells her it very well could have been a year and five months ago. She does not want to ask why he kept this from her, the words I started and stopped because of you could not be more evident if they were spoken in the midst of the music.
She steps in front of him, touching her hand to his cheek and he stops playing, looks up at her with dark pained eyes and she leans down to kiss his lips. His smile returns as she pulls away slowly, holding her hand to his shoulder.
“You’re really very good,” she tells him.
“You’re really tone deaf,” he grins.
“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head. “Will you teach me,” she whispers.
He grins and shakes his head. “That’s not even a real song. I made it up.”
She laughs at that, low and quiet, just loud enough for him to be the only one to know she’s this happy. “Can I try, at least?”
He moves back on his chair, rubs his hand over his leg and invites her to sit on his lap, crossing the guitar in front of her. His chin rests on her shoulder and she leans her cheek against his as he places her fingers along the handle and shows her how to use the pick.
“I think this is right,” he says, nipping his teeth along her collar bone.
“Yeah,” she breaths out, his nearness making her want to drag him back to his bed. Instead, she strums the pick over the strings.
They sit for a while, humming along while he moves her hand over the handle, arranging her fingers in different positions, different sounds coloring the room as they flow through the air.
“You’re good,” he mutters, his lips warm on her skin.
“Now which one of us is tone deaf,” she jokes.
“We’re really talented, what can I say,” he says, his hand taking hold of hers as he moves it along the strings, strumming faster. “Big finale time,” he laughs.
They both laugh tiredly as they sit joined at the forehead. He places the guitar on the floor and wraps his arm around her waist, lightly kissing her cheek.
“So, what else do you want to know,” he asks. “And what don’t I know about you yet?”
With a shake of her head, she stands and takes his hand in hers, leading him to his bed. “Will you play again tomorrow for me?”
“Yeah, you think your ears can take it,” he breathes out.
“Stop, you’re really good, I don’t lie.”
“’kay. Will you look into graphics programs?”
She wants to say maybe. When he leads her to the bed without words, and he wraps the sheets and his arms around her again, he repeats his question. She remains answerless.
“Don’t worry about the money, or whatever time you’d be busy. I can handle both,” he whispers.
“When do I get to do these amazing things for you,” she blurts out.
“You’re already doing them,” he says, rubbing his hand over her back.
She’s still skeptical, but she’s hopeful that by letting her see this small part of his life that this may very well have been the last thing she didn’t know about him.
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Chapter End Notes:
Okay, I'm not sure why this idea didn't come to me while I was writing Fifteen Months, but then again, had I done it then, what would I have done now? I hope you liked this. I know, it was mostly pointless. :)
Deedldee is the author of 19 other stories.
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