Did I?
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I think that if I don’t talk about her, it will be like she never existed at all. Like she’s just some figment my psyche conjured, or an imaginary friend I dreamed up during my childhood. And other times, I think I’d rather not remember anything about her at all, because then it wouldn’t hurt so damn much. I’d be free, normal, just like any other college girl. Worried about normal things like boys and homework and whether I’ll be invited to the Sig Ep party next weekend.
“But I don’t think about those things. I think about death, and loss, and heartache. I wonder why people bother to fall in love, when they know from the start that they’ll be separated one day – whether by infidelity or distance or death.” I took a deep breath, slightly shocked I’d just admitted all that out loud. “I’ve never had the luxury of being normal, Finn.”
“Normal is boring, Bee.It’s not something I’d wish for you.” He crossed the room to me, bringing one hand up to gently trace the line of my jaw. “Grief is a kick in the chest. It steals your breath, hits you so hard you think you’ll never stand back up again. And its not just because you’re grieving death or heartbreak or loss – you’re grieving change. You’re grieving the life that might have been, if it hadn’t all gotten fucked up along the way.”
His other hand joined the one holding my jaw, so he was cupping my face in his hands. I closed my eyes andturned my cheek to rest in one of his palms.
“You could spend forever thinking about the things you’ll never experience with your mother – infinity contemplating the memories she won’t ever be a part of. But at some point, you have to let the life you should’ve had go, and start living the one you’ve got,” Finn whispered.
Tears spilled out from under my lashes and he caught them with his fingertipsbefore they could fall. Ignoring the fact that I was a paint-splattered mess, he cradled me against his chest and his lips came to rest in my hair, bringing me comfort as I trembled in his arms.
“Let go, Bee,” he whispered.
And I did.
After atime, my tears subsided and I became very aware of the fact that I’d just had a full blown meltdown in Finn’s arms. I wanted to run. A month ago,would’verun; I’d have bolted as fast and as far away as possible. But now, I just moved a step back out of the circle of his arms and wiped the residual tears from my eyes.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not this person.I’ve cried more in the past two months than I have in the last fourteen years combined,” I said, forcing a laugh. “I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I think the primer is dry enough for us to paint on now,” I said with a sniffle, walking over to the paint cans resting in the corner of my bedroom. Finn followed, quiet for once, and crouched down beside me as I shook up the dark blue paint. He grabbed the lighter shade of blue and, after shaking it thoroughly, he used a screwdriver to pop open the lid.
“So, I was thinking we’d paint the walls the sky blue color, and then make the ceiling the navy, dusk color,” I said, explaining what I’d envisioned when I’d picked out my color scheme. “Like the sky at nightfall.”
“Bringing the view from your rooftop inside,” Finn murmured intuitively.
“Something like that,” I said, smiling softly at him. It was weird how well he understood my messed up brain – like we were on the same wavelength all the time.
We painted the walls first. The light cerulean I’d picked was perfect, like the cloudless sky on a crisp fall afternoon. It took nearly two hours, long enough for us to listen through two more full albums. We sang together again, and I could feel the tension and residual sadness from my breakdown melting away.
Being withFinn was as natural as breathing. He didn’t demand anything of me, didn’t want me to be anyone other than myself. The time passed quickly, and I was silently grateful for his bossy insistence to help; it would have been a much longer process if I’d had to do it all on my own.
WhileFinn made a trip back to his house to pick up a ladder so we could paint the ceiling, I wandered into the kitchen, threw together some grilled cheese sandwiches, and grabbed a bag of corn chips. It was well past dinnertime; dusk had fallen outside, and we’d been working hard for hours. The least I could do was feed the boy, after everything he’d done for me today.
We took a dinner break when he returned with the ladder, but quickly resumed painting.Lexi had vanished, assumedly to Tyler’s apartment, and I’d never been more aware of the fact that I was completely alone with Finn, in my bedroom. Granted, it was more of a disaster site at the moment, but still – standing in an enclosed, semi-dark space with Finn Chambers and my bed was nearly more than I could take.
Don’t think about him naked.
Definitely don’t think about both of us naked.
Definitely, definitely don’t think about both of us naked inmy bed.
The more time I spent with him in that room, the harder it was to focus on the task at hand. Being this near to him for hours and completely unable to touch him was torturousfor me, yet he seemed completely unaffected. Maybe I was the only one who felt the growing tension between us, filling the air with unspoken promises and unvoiced desires.
He painted with a single-minded determination I couldn’t match, evidently intent on finishing the project before the day ended. My arms were aching, my feet were sore from standing all day, and I’d been ready to call it quits hours ago. Between the darkness of the room, the hours of manual labor, and the exhausting battle I was having with my inner hussy – who wanted nothing more than to tackle him and show my eternal gratitude for all he’d done – I was ready to drop.
“Take a break,”Finn suggested quietly.
“Am I that obvious?” I asked. I thought I’d been successful at hiding my growing exhaustion, but apparently he was more attuned to my body than I’d realized.
“Brooklyn, you’re swaying on your feet. The ceiling is practically done, all that’s left to do is touch up the edging. Lie down,” he ordered, yanking the drop cloth off my bed to expose my comforter. I moved toward the bed in a daze, truly exhausted. It was past ten – we’d been painting for nearly seven hours.
“Wait,” he said, dropping the edger he was holding and walking over to me. I stilled, several feet away from my bed, and watched his approach. He had a smudge of indigo paint on his forehead and another by his jawline, places he’d likely touched absentmindedly with his paint-coveredhands. His dark hair was sticking up in wayward clumps and it looked slightly sweaty; for some reason, I found that incredibly sexy. He was usually so put together, so self-assured – Finn looking like a bit of a disheveled mess was a something I’d bet not many people had witnessed.
I smiled at the thought.