must have gone to a specialized school. You know how expensive it gets.”
Lucy had skimmed over some pertinent information but it wasn’t hard to deduce exactly what she had left unsaid. The father was dead. It must be a long, complicated illness to wipe out the finances of the family. A leave of absence was only good for a year. Her failure to return meant she had been gone from school for a while. Desmond saw faint lines under her eyes.
“How long were you at Camden?”
“Just a year.”
“Your father.” His voice was gentle. “How-how long? If you don’t mind my asking.”
She took a deep breath. This was still a hard subject for her. “F-Four years. Next month.”
Damn, she was young. At her age, I was chasing and fucking every skirt. I was doing what I wanted. It was embarrassing. He gestured that she help herself to the pizza and she hesitated. So he took a slice. She followed, but only bit into hers after he did so.
“I’m sorry. That must be difficult.” He remembered where she worked. “Still difficult.”
“Yeah, it is. I really miss my Dad. I have no family left, you see. There’s Mariet and the Lowells but they’re old family friends. They wanted to take me in before but I couldn’t. . . I didn’t want to add to their burden.”
“Mariet?”
“The girl I was with earlier? At your place.”
The boring one, Desmond thought. Going back to what she had said, he asked carefully, “There’s really no one for you?”
Lucy’s smile was shaky. “No.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Desmond knew how it was to lose a parent but he had never been alone. His father was still around. Gareth. His brother with his infuriating wife. As much as Gareth and Orissa annoyed him by treating him like a baby, Desmond was grateful. Without them, he wouldn’t have even thought of going to AA.
“You didn’t come here for my sad life story, Desmond.” This time, she was more confident in helping herself to another slice. “And I really would rather not talk about it tonight. What do you want from me?”
“I would love it if you gave me the opportunity to paint you.”
She made a face. He titled his head. “You find the prospect unpleasant.”
“Can’t you see what I look like?”
“And we’re back to that. What do you think you look like, Lucy?”
Anger reddened her face. “Have you come here to watch me humiliate myself even more? Like you haven’t done enough?”
“What exactly have I done?” He shot back, frustrated at all her assumptions. Her false, insulting, hurtful assumptions. “All I’ve asked is for the chance to paint you. I said I dreamed of you. Fantasized. What the hell is so humiliating about that?”
“You wouldn’t know! All my life I’ve been called ugly and made fun of, treated as something less than human. Desmond, people actually made bets as to who would get to fuck me. They pretended to be nice so that I’d drop my pants and let them fuck me! So forgive me for reacting like this whenever you say stupid shit like wanting to paint and dreaming of me!”
Lucy threw her pizza down and stood up, nearly jostling the contents of the table onto Desmond’s lap. As she stormed inside her tiny apartment, Desmond got to his feet. She turned, lips curls in a snarl and he seized her by the shoulders.
“Lucy-“
“I won’t let anyone humiliate and hurt me like that again. I’ve been through more than enough. No more!”
He shook her. “I’m not going to hurt you!” As she stared at him in disbelief, he said, more calmly, “Lucy, I’ll swear on my life. I will never hurt you. You have my word.”
Lucy stared at him, confused and still doubtful. But there was no anger now-at least, it had diminished drastically. But she still moved sharply away from him. “Why me, Desmond?”
“Why not you? Yes, you’re ugly. That’s the truth of it. But it is what makes you interesting. It intrigues me. It makes me. . .Lucy,” and this time, he sighed, shoulder slumping as the weight of the last seven years came crashing on him. “Lucy, when I saw you at the park, for the first time since I got sober, I wished- no, hoped, to paint again. To create. I could see again. Because of you. All it took was a fleeting glimpse of you. Now that you’re here, that I’m here, I’m- I’m overwhelmed. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Possibly never. Until now.” He looked in her eyes. “Until you.”
He let out a groan, but it wasn’t of desire. Exhaustion. That’s what it was. He brushed past her and collapsed on the loveseat, flinging an arm over his eyes.
The seat under him was dented, so he knew he was on her preferred spot. He smelled oranges too, and he wondered how many hours had she spent playing her blue cello here. He sighed again and let his arm fall to the side. He had said more to Lucy than he had to his brother since getting sober.
Lucy was still standing, staring at him. She was pale now although the freckles were still here. She looked uncertain. Unafraid, but uncertain.
“Lucy,” and this time he was pleading. “I need you. I need you more than I’ve needed anyone. I’m nothing but a has-been artist. I highly doubt if I’ll get back to where I was but right now, all I know is just the sight of you makes me want to try and create. . .something significant. That’s what matters,” he added, his throat dry. He searched her eyes until he was sure she wouldn’t look away. “Not being on top.”
He managed to hold her gaze before she put her eyes away. Desmond would have stood up but then she returned those to him. Does she know the power of such eyes?
“Please, Lucy.” He wasn’t accustomed to pleading but with her, he would. He couldn’t create without her. Couldn’t see without her. She had given it back to him without even knowing it, the ability to regard yet again.
“You said I’m ugly.” She whispered.
He hung his head then said, “I apologize-“
“No. Don’t. I’m not. . .I know. I’ve always known.” Her voice was bitter but also resigned. “It’s just that, you’re the first to say it without. . .without hate. Like it’s a good thing.”
“You’re not as ugly as you think you are, though.” This, he was truthful about. That friend of yours, the brown haired one, she’ll only be that pretty while young. Your eyes will always be beautiful.
She blushed. “I don’t need lies.”
“I don’t lie.” He snapped.
“Right.”
“I swear it, Lucy.” He liked saying her name, he discovered. A sweet name for a strong woman. It was perfect.
“I still don’t. . .I mean, I understand about needing to create, Desmond.” He liked the sound of his name from her lips too. “I just can’t. . .I can’t
