I’m completely absorbed by it. By the rhythm and the feeling.
Until I hear a gasp. And then another. And another. And a low murmur spreads through the
audience.
And when I look up that’s when I see it.
See him.
Painting a mural on the wall behind me. A backdrop to accompany my piece. A backdrop of the
same colors from that night. From Salacious. A piece with meaning only the two of us could ever
understand.
For the briefest of moments, his gaze meets mine. And his lips mouth the words.
“Keep going, Chloe.”
I keep going.
I dance and draw and paint, using my entire body.
The energy in the building changes to a low rumbling excitement. And I can feel it thrumming
through my veins too. Bleeding into me. Infusing me with all of the emotion I need to complete the
piece.
He’s here.
He’s here for me.
My heart is aching when the music stops, but it feels as though a weight has been lifted from my
shoulders.
A catharsis.
And there is clapping. So much clapping.
The screen at the back of the room shows our paintings in perfect tandem. But I can only look at
his. At the man himself.
There are so many questions in my mind. Questions I need the answers to.
But Mrs. Hilliard is ushering me away before I get a chance to voice them. Into the fray where a
hoard of people await with questions of their own.
What does it mean? What do the colors represent? What is the piece called?
I answer them as best as I can before I make my excuses and slip into the back. Seeking him out.
I walk the halls and come up empty.
Another round of the room produces the same results.