Through Glass (5 page)

“Sometimes, someone has got to stand up for other people. You can’t let bad things happen to those around you. You can’t always hide in the shadows.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m one to hide in shadows,” I laughed, I may not be miss popularity, but I certainly didn’t hide behind people, either. My mom obviously didn’t think it was funny. She only scowled at me.

“There is always enough time to make yourself a better person, Alexis.”

“A little deep for Aunt Jenny and her cats, don’t you think?” I said, tapping the pen against the yellow laminate countertops as I leaned toward her.

“I wasn’t only talking about Jenny, Alexis. You are growing up; you need to start thinking about these things.”

I rolled my eyes at her in that over-exaggerated teenager way that even I was beginning to find uncomfortable and then went back to writing return addresses on the large pile of cream colored stationary envelopes piled in front of me.

As much as I hated to admit it, my mom was right. She tended to be right, of course, but I would never tell her that. Maybe in ten years, but not now. Besides, I kind of hated that uncomfortable tingle that had moved up my spine at her reprimand.

I knew I needed to be a better person, step out of that teenage world of irresponsible prejudices and choices to become—dare I say it—an adult. It wasn’t right to dislike someone because of their cats or even to say so. The fact that I had even done so made me feel dirty inside.

I opened my mouth to apologize just as a loud crash sounded from the front room, followed by at least three, loud, little boy voices running over each other.

“Oh, for goodness sakes!” Mom practically yelled, dropping her pen and running toward the living room. “If I find one thing out of place, I am cutting off fingers for my little finger collection!”

I laughed and went back to my pile, the yells from the living room only increasing as my mom discovered whatever disaster had taken place.

You would think that being an only child for four years, only to have four younger siblings—all boys followed in rapid succession—would have made me resentful of noise. Yet, it didn’t. I loved the rough housing and the screaming and the broken bones. Mostly because they didn’t involve me and therefore, I very rarely got in trouble. I simply felt bad for my mother. She constantly walked around with that tired slash I’m-stuck-in-a-mental-institution look on her face.

“Ah, I remember this.” I froze at his voice; I had somehow missed him coming right up behind me over the sounds of a land war occurring in my living room.

“Cohen!” I screeched in surprise, turning to face him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He smiled and I became keenly aware that this was the closest I had been to him since he had gotten home. He looked so much older without the ten foot gap. “Your mom just kind of opened the door and went back to yelling.”

“Welcome back to the Lucha Libre,” I said, trying my best at a Hispanic accent and knowing I was failing.

It must have been really bad because Cohen didn’t even laugh; he only rolled his eyes at me.

“I guess I should have gotten them brightly colored masks for Christmas.”

“And mouth guards, definitely mouth guards.”

Cohen smoothly slid onto the bar stool next to mine and pulled one of the invitations toward him, his eyes scanning over the ridiculous, mostly illegible font my school had chosen. I watched his eyes move, waiting for my mind to click back into place and decide to actually say something that could pass as logical when his eyes stopped scanning, widening a bit, and the corner of his mouth pulled up.

Oh no.

I had read the invitations once, not really caring what they had said, and hadn’t thought anything of them since. Not until Cohen walked into my kitchen, picked one up and discovered what the next year had planned for me. I could tell by the way his eyes looked up at me from over the cardstock that he knew exactly what my intentions were, too.

“University of Cincinnati,” he said softly.

Everything inside of me shuddered.

So much for subtlety. I guess it’s good that I never got my they-have-a-good-economics-department speech figured out.

“Hey, Alexis,” my mom said from behind me, her voice more haggard than usual, “I’m taking the boys to the skate park. We will be back soon.”

“‘Kay, Mom.” I didn’t even look at her; my eyes were unwilling to tear themselves away from the dark eyes that were keeping me captive.

I sat still as the screaming left, as the click of the door echoed through the now silent house, the loud snap of the lock cueing me back into the conversation.

“Cohen, I…” I started, hoping to explain before the idea of my following him around firmly cemented in his mind, but it was too late. He had placed the invitation back on the counter and was looking at me a little more intently than I was comfortable with. My words were lost after only two had found their way out.

“I thought you didn’t know where you were going?”

“I lied.”

“I can see that.” He smiled and I felt the tense muscles in my neck relax. If that smile was any indication, he really didn’t care. In fact I would almost say he was happy about it. What happened to “not jeopardizing our friendship”?

I smiled in the most sheepish way I could muster, knowing I was failing at keeping the tomato red blush off my face. It wasn’t going to work, however, so I quickly chose to give up and look toward the stack of envelopes I had been working on only a moment before.

“Is that okay?” I mumbled, not even sure if my words were audible through the embarrassment that had somehow affected my speech patterns.

“Of course it’s okay.” His voice was soft in my ear and I fought a shiver that wanted to snake down my spine.

“I mean, it’s not like I didn’t want to stay close to home… I mean, I’m not following you to school or anything…” I spouted the first thing that came to mind haphazardly and regretted it instantly. Did I really just say that? Lame. Lame. Lame. I tried not to cringe as the words left my mouth, but I am not sure it worked.

Cohen chuckled beside me and I turned my eyes stoically away from him, fully aware I had hit tomato status in record time. I wish I could give him some snarky quip to replace the train wreck that had just occurred, but nothing was coming. Any other girl would have run away in stress and confusion, but I just sat there, looking like a sunburned strawberry.

When I looked toward him again, he only smiled, his hand reaching up to grab mine from off my lap, restraining it on the counter with my wrist facing up. I tried to pull it away, but he only smiled wickedly at me with a look I had never seen before—it was the look he gave his paintings when he was studying them, deciding what to do next.

He had never looked at me this way. The intensity of the gaze froze me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t look away from the penetrating stare he had fixed me with. My body was heating the longer I looked at him. His eyes drank me in, as if he could see and feel and know everything about me. The thought warmed me further, my nerves prickling across my skin at the very thought. I listened to my heart beat in my ears; I felt the heavy pulse against my ribcage. It was all I could hear, all I could feel.

“Tell me a secret, Lex,” he whispered as he moved his charcoal stained fingertips up to trace the soft skin on the inside of my right wrist.

That sounded like something a girl would say to a guy when she was tip-toeing around something important. Which, judging by the look on his face, was exactly what was happening here.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, wishing he would clarify or, even better, just spit it out.

He looked at me before returning to focus on the soft movement of his fingers against my wrist. I fought the shiver of pleasure that moved up my spine that his touch was giving me. A quick inhale escaped me without my even knowing it. I clamped my mouth shut and held it in, hoping he hadn’t noticed it, but he wasn’t even looking at me. It was probably a good thing that he wasn’t looking at me, too. The emotions that were coursing through me right then were likely to disrupt my better judgment.

“I’m nervous for you to come to my art show with me tonight,” Cohen said as he looked up to me, his unusually dark eyes dodging my own. He was nervous. How odd. I hadn’t seen him this nervous in years. Not when he packed up for college, not when he was nominated for prom king. It was a side of him I had almost forgotten.

“Why?”

“Nuh-uh, a secret for a secret,” he said as he picked up the ink pen I had been using to address envelopes. “I told you one of my secrets and now it is your turn.”

He smiled and I felt everything freeze comfortably inside of me at the look he gave me. The penetrating stare left, abandoning me with a pleasant numbness. He turned away from me, pressing the tip of the pen against the skin of my wrist and drawing one long line down, the end curving into a u shape.

“Tell me a secret, Lex. You get a line for every secret.”

“Um…” I was drawing a blank. I had never kept secrets from him. He knew this. I had nothing to hide. Well, that wasn’t true. I still had a few secrets, but every one of them revolved around him and I wasn’t sure I was ready to part with them yet. It seemed I didn’t have a choice, however, and I had a feeling that was the entire point of this game. I wouldn’t give in quite yet.

“I haven’t liked hotdogs since your tenth birthday party,” I finally conceded, fully aware the grumbling in my stomach was not
only
caused by Cohen’s soft touch against my skin.

Cohen looked up to me, his lips pressed into a line as he tried to keep the laugh in.

“You mean, when you found the hair…”

“Yeah,” I cut him off, not wanting to be reminded.

“You haven’t had one hotdog since then?” He asked, his laugh escaping that time in the form of a throaty chuckle.

“No, Cohen, not one.” I smiled. “Now, what about your secret?”

He smiled and added another line, this one swooping alongside the other one and crossing at the bottom.

“I remember,” he began without even being prompted, his focus on another line he was already adding. “I remember every moment of the car crash that killed my family.”

I jerked a bit at his words, the meaning behind them slicing right through my heart. His voice was slow and deep, but I could hear the hurt and pain run through each syllable. The knowledge that he remembered that horrifying night froze through me. I held still, torn between crying for him and holding him.

He had been the only survivor. A semi had traveled over the center lane. His sister and both parents gone. It was a miracle he had survived. He had been only seven.

I still remembered my mother telling me about it, and the way it flooded the news. I still remembered the broken little boy that would cry in his window every night, the one I would give puppet shows to from behind my desk in an attempt to cheer him up. The little boy I would bring popsicles to in an attempt to get him to smile again.

We had never talked about it. Never brought it up; it was an unspoken truce. So to hear him admit it so freely… For all I knew he had repressed the memory. I swallowed heavily as my initial shock wore off, leaving me with a heart wrenching empathy that was almost crippling.

“Cohen, I…” He looked up at me, his eyes glistening a bit as he shook his head in a plea for me not to continue.

“A secret, Lex,” he reminded me, his eyes still focused on the line he was carefully placing on my skin.

I couldn’t talk about hot dogs or abnormally large feet after that. I couldn’t. He was being honest and I deserved to give him the same honesty.

I felt my chest tighten in nervous anticipation as I formulated the words in my head, preparing myself for what was coming.

“I didn’t eat for a week after you turned me down at Sadie’s,” I said it all very quickly, not willing to give him a chance to respond. “Your turn.”

He didn’t look at me; he kept his focus on what he was drawing on my wrist. However, I could see his lips turn up as he smiled at what I had said. I hoped it was a good smile. My nerves were not interested in finding out on their own, however, and I relaxed on instinct.

“I didn’t draw a thing after I left for college. I didn’t know it until I came home for Christmas, but I had lost my muse.” He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. He just kept drawing on my wrist, one line after another even though the secrets had stopped.

“Your muse?” I asked, not fully understanding. He only nodded in affirmation.

“At Christmas, when I handed you your present, you looked at me and smiled and everything opened up in me. I think I have painted more over the past five months than at any other time in my life.”

He stopped drawing and looked up to me, his eyes wide and welcoming. I gazed back at him, unwilling to look away until my curiosity got the better of me and I turned to see the intricate figure on my wrist; the profile of a woman intertwined with Cohen’s initials.

“What is it?” I asked, my breath obstructing my voice and turning it into a wisp of a noise.

I had seen Cohen’s sketch book; the bold lines and intricate shapes of so many drawings. They looked more like photographs, not sketches in a cluttered notebook. Just like this did. A photograph, engraved on my skin. I don’t know why, but seeing one of his masterpieces on me was like magic. It ignited my blood into a boiling fire, taking my breath away.

I couldn’t look away from it. I didn’t want to.

“It’s my mark. The signature I place on each of my pieces,” Cohen whispered, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath run over my skin. “So, tonight, if another artist admires you, they know you are already the object of someone else’s desire. Someone else’s muse.”

My eyes tore away from the work of art on my skin to his eyes, the dark orbs of ink only inches from my own. I looked at him in wonder as his eyes glistened, as his mouth pulled up into a smile; mine following suit whether I wanted it to or not.

“I’m your muse?” I whispered as Cohen’s hand came up to push my hair away from my face then to gently graze the back of my head.

“Yes, Alexis,” his voice was soft as his hand came to rest on the back of my neck. “You are my muse.”