“Where are we going?”
“I told you. To my room. It’s the only place in the house that I can get some peace,” he explains, pulling me up the stairs.
I take one step at a time, noticing the armed security lingering around each floor.
“Your stepfather sure likes to keep your home secure. It almost feels like we’re in Fort Knox or something.”
Easton just nods, instead of answering my curiosity about the security of his home. I don’t insist since it’s obvious the last thing he wants to talk about is his stepfather.
“This way.” He tilts his head, opening the last door on the third floor.
When I step in, my chin almost falls to the floor. Easton’s room is just as I imagined it. Black walls all around, except for the floor-to-ceiling windows that give way to the stunning sunset falling over Lake Toxaway, which bathes the room in a warm, golden light. An elegant, four-poster, king-sized bed with a dark gray comforter is at the center of the room, but it hardly fills up the rather vast space.
One thing that stands out is the small touches to the decor that hold Naomi’s imprint on them. Like the white lilies on the mantel top of the bedroom’s fireplace, and the engraved family photo beside it. But that is as far her influence reaches within the room. Everything else is all Easton. From the lighter and ashtray on his bedside table to the pile of well-worn books by Vonnegut, Kerouac, Salinger, and Krakauer beside it.
Easton leans against a wall, his arms crossed at his chest while I peruse through his things. My fingers trail over his beloved books and furnishings, taking in a piece of Easton I wasn’t familiar with yet. I walk over to his desk, not surprised there isn’t a single textbook on it. However, when I come across sheets of paper with various sketches, I look to him for approval, not wanting to invade his privacy any further than he feels comfortable with.
He nods, taking two steps closer to me so he can watch as I discover his world through my own eyes. I flip from one drawing to another, amazed at what I find. Each charcoal sketch is more breathtaking than the last. Elegant and yet so raw. Each black stroke was done with purpose, but also with heart as if he bled black onto the white canvas.
“These are remarkable, Easton,” I confess, stunned at the incredible talent he keeps from the world. “I never knew that you draw.”
“It’s not something I usually tell on a first date.”
“Hmm. Have you been on many?”
“No. Just this one.”
I lower my eyes from his intense gaze and continue to be captivated by each creation, his soulful artistry captivating me, body and soul.
“They really are extraordinary,” I praise, as I take in the details of one with a woman’s hands set on her lap, strangling a pencil in them, almost as if she’s impatient for something.
Another one grabs my attention, and carefully I pick it up. I’m completely mesmerized by how he made the image of a woman’s long neck look so seductive. Sinful, even. I swallow dryly as I place it back among the others, my eyes now enraptured by a pair of cupid bow lips taking in a full breath. It’s only when I find a portrait that contains nine faint freckles on a nose, the rim of black glasses just at the base of it, that my heart begins to flutter profusely.
“It’s me. All these sketches… they’re me, aren’t they?”
“Took you long enough.” He grins, eating away the small gap between us, placing his chin on my shoulder as he wraps his arms around me from behind.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. The look on your face is enough for me to know you love them.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“No, Scar. You’re beautiful. These are just poor imitations of the real thing,” he whispers, placing another kiss on my shoulder.
“Did you do them from memory?” I stammer, trying to keep my drumming heart settled in my chest, rather than letting it leap out onto his hands.
“Kinda had to, since I didn’t think you’d ever pose for me.” He chuckles lightheartedly.
I bite the corner of my lip, still in awe, not only of his talent but also of the fact that he would use me as his muse.
“Although… you’re here now,” he whispers in my ear, pulling my ponytail playfully. “Would you pose for me?”
He turns me around, trapping me in his silver-eyed gaze.
“What do you think?”
“Okay,” I finally pant, unable to deny him while he’s meddling into my soul with just one stare.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I confess, licking my lips when his mouth comes so close to mine that I can almost feel his breath on my face.
“Then come here.”
Easton tugs me by my sweater, walking backward closer to the window. We stop at the center of the white plush rug on the floor as he caresses my cheek softly, eviscerating any will to resist him.
“Just trust me, Scar. It’s just you, and me,” he coos in my ear before his fingers find the zipper of my skirt.
Once it falls at my feet, he bends down to pick it up and carefully folds it before placing it on top of a nearby chair. He then takes off my flats, my hands gripping his shoulders for support, as he massages my soles before placing each foot on top of the rug. It’s only when he rises back to his full six-foot-three frame that my bravery starts to collapse.
“It’s me, baby. Just me.” He continues to reassure me as he reaches for the hem of my sweater, but I grab his wrists, stopping him from taking this any further.
“I… I… can’t.”
His gunmetal eyes turn soft before he leans in, kissing his temple with mine.
“You are the most amazing creature I have ever laid eyes on. There is nothing on your body that isn’t perfect in my eyes. Nothing, Scar.”
I close my eyes shut as I release my grip, letting him peel my sweater off in one slow movement. The beating of my heart is all I hear as he unclasps my bra, followed by pulling down my underwear, leaving me completely naked. Each second that ticks by without him saying a word, as he stretches both arms to inspect the burned tissue, only disheartens me more. I keep my lids closed, not wanting to see the repulsion in his eyes.
Or worse. Pity.
But then I feel it. Delicate, feathered touches running up and down my scarred forearms, only to be replaced with soft lips, gently kissing each visibly discolored area. I hold my breath as Easton continues doting on the raised patches of skin that, over time, changed from an ugly red to shades of bluish-purple, and then the white monstrosity that it is now.
“Look at me, Scar.”
Slowly, I do as he says, my heart shattering at the reverence plastered on his face.
“You’re perfect.”
“I’m not.” I choke, shaking my head.
He turns me around to face a standing mirror, his fingers lightly trailing up and down my arms, as his gaze stares into mine through the mirror’s reflection.
“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. If you did, you’d see how exquisite you are. There isn’t a part of you that doesn’t make a fool out of me. A lovesick fool,” he mumbles that last part to himself. “Don’t hide your battle scars from me when they are as much a part of you as you are a part of me.”