The Weight of Rain (13 page)

“What do you think, Lauren? Is it better than sex?” King’s voice is bold with the edge of a joke hanging on the word sex.

I can feel my face heat with humiliation. Concealing my embarrassment is something I’ve never been able to master. It’s always been apparent by the deep flush that covers my cheeks and makes me feel like I’m in a sauna.

“Way better.” My throat feels too dry from the bite and his shocking question, but my words are clear. Parker’s eruption of laughter confirms they were also loud enough to be heard. My eyes move to King for a moment, my feet firmly planted in place to convey I’m not bothered by his innuendo.

“Really? So you’re silent while you do the dirty, huh?” King asks.

A new wave of embarrassment burns my cheeks, and I catch him raise his eyebrows for a second, before they fall back in place. His lips quirk ever so slightly—so slightly I don’t know that anyone would even catch the expression if they didn’t know to look for the truth.

“Not when it’s so good it deserves to be heard.”

Rather than narrowing into a glare like I’m expecting from his previous reaction, King’s eyes brighten with humor and he slowly nods a couple of times. Thankfully, Parker’s laughter distracts me, and I look over to catch him with his head thrown back and his mouth wide as he laughs like my words merit the reaction. But it’s only a second before my eyes turn back to King.

Lately I’ve begun sketching Mercedes here and there—something I have been grateful for after such a long dry spell—but my fingers and mind feel a familiar desire to draw King’s reaction with every detail my eyes are soaking in. I haven’t felt this buzz, this unattainable desire to draw and get every line I’m carefully storing to memory, for so long, I feel nearly drunk from it.

I need to go. I need to go now so I can draw while this yearning is still flowing through me. Even if King is my subject again, I need to feel the power only attainable when my charcoal is able to transform a blank sheet.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Without waiting for a reply, I head outside where the dampness from the air fills my lungs. It makes them feel heavier, stretched, like the air here weighs more because of how much moisture clings to everything surrounding me.

My thoughts are so consumed by everything I want to draw; I’m at the bus stop before it seems possible. I then watch everyone that passes me, noting details and sizes, shades, emotions—things I haven’t been able to see clearly for months. It’s nearly overwhelming, not just because there is so much to be seen, but because I am so relieved to once again see it.

The charcoal in my hand doesn’t hover with indecision as it has for so many weeks; it glides across the paper with ease. It’s as though I’m allowing myself to finally draw what I’ve been waiting to create for forever, though it’s impossible, because I have only known King a short time. Somehow, every single detail of him is perfectly stored to memory. So familiar, I don’t have to think to recall the line of his jaw or plains of his cheeks. I know each contour so well, it’s as though he’s been a constant throughout my entire life.

M
Y BACK
is tight and stiff up to my neck, and my wrist aches when I finish shading a final strand of hair. Still, I feel reluctant to stop. It feels so good to be able to draw once again. My eyes burn and my lids feel suddenly heavy. It isn’t a conscious decision, but my eyes seem to blink far less when I work and always feel gritty and tired after a long session like they just endured.

I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck before standing and noticing it’s after 3:00 a.m. I don’t feel panicked or exhausted by the thought of having to wake up in a few hours. I’m far too invigorated for anything to get me down at this point.

“L
O, COME
check these out.” I pause and take a step back to the open office door and peer into where Kash is sitting beside King and Summer. “Come here. Remember the pictures and video I was telling you about? Summer’s showing me the edits. I want you to check these out.” Both King and Kash are turned to face me, but Summer’s eyes remain on the screen as I slowly approach them.

“Summer’s crazy good.” Kash rolls closer to the desk and points to an image on the screen. “Show her what you did to this one.”

Two images appear on the screen side by side. The image on the right has a background that has been muted while Kash’s skin is brighter, enhanced. My eyes slowly trace over the differences between the two images, noting far more differences than I’m sure she thinks I can. The one on the left showcases a scar that’s been erased on the image on the right, and though his muscles are larger in the enhanced image, the definition isn’t as beautiful, and the shadows and curve along his spine are missing.

“Crazy, right?” Kash’s question stops my comparison, and I move my attention to him and force a nod which feels too slow.

“Yeah,” I quietly agree, trying to sound more persuasive.

King’s eyes meet mine. They’re narrowed with question and doubt, like he knows I’m lying.

“That’s a really great picture. You have to let me know when you have an event. I’d like to come see one.”

“Come back to the shop. We’re going to be working on a new trick. It will make you question physics when you see this shit.”

“Yeah, you should totally come out to the shop,” Summer adds, turning to look at me.

I nod a few times, my neck feeling just as forced and awkward as before, when I meet her eyes. “That would be cool.”

“You can even get on and ride, if you want.” Her voice rises with suggestion.

“Absolutely! I can’t believe I’ve been such an ass. If you want to, Lo, you can totally come check it out. Ride around with us.”

I casually lift a shoulder. “Mercedes and I went on a path out back a few weeks ago, but I think I’m better being a spectator. The whole balancing thing has never been something I’ve excelled at.”

“You’re going to be my new project! You’re going to love it, Lo. We’ll get you comfortable and then let you experience some really sick shit that will make you fall so in love with it, you may forget your art.” Summer’s eyes flare with Kash’s proclamation.

“I don’t know how great of a nanny I’ll be in a full body cast,” I tease while taking a few steps back toward the hall.

“Don’t worry. You’ll start off on the little track, work your way up.” Kash’s voice is calm and measured, his attention back on the computer screen as he flips to the next picture. “But seriously, I want your opinion on more of these pictures. I was thinking of having you do some sort of black and white drawing or painting. I don’t want it super clean. You know that sketch you had of all the hands? I want something like that with the harsh angles, all straight lines that still somehow seemed … I don’t know how to explain it…” He turns in his seat to look at me, his brows furrowed, seeking an explanation or designation. “It was like harsh lines, but you could still see curves and almost a softness even though it wasn’t.”

I shouldn’t be enjoying his description and appreciation of my work nearly as much as I am, but his lack of knowledge and technical jargon makes his accolade seem far more superior than those from my professors that often feel recycled and overused. Kash smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it.” He turns back to the screen, but King’s and Summer’s eyes are both on me, sparking a familiar sense of unease that has me taking another step back.

“You doodle?” My jaw clenches at Summer’s inquiry. This is one of the questions I have always loathed, more so when it comes from another person who likes the arts. It’s as though they’re looking for validation to see if I’m good enough at what I do to be considered an artist when really, who sets that criteria?

“I study art.”

Kash’s eyes move from the screen to my face, his eyebrows drawn. “You live it.” He turns toward Summer so I can’t see his expression. “Seriously, her art is amazing. I think she could make a really cool logo graphic to replace the current one we’re working with.”

“I thought you were going to have the team in Switzerland work on that?” Summer’s discomfort with involving me is evident in the softness of her voice.

“I don’t know. I can’t get her work out of my head. I want her to paint every wall in this house.”

Summer’s eyes flash to mine and her lips purse ever so slightly. “If you want to meet up, we can go over the branding materials. I can be pretty flexible with my schedule since I know you have like four jobs.”

My head shakes as I work to suppress my concerns of Summer thinking of me as competition for Kash, finding her fear almost humorous. “Why don’t you guys discuss the other option first? I’m truly flattered, but I don’t do marketing and logos. I don’t even—”

“Stop selling yourself short. Meet with Summer. You guys can go have coffee or go to dinner or whatever, on me. Summer can fill you in on what we’re gearing toward, and I want you to show her some of your work so she can see how good you are.”

“We can go next week.”

I turn to Summer, reading her indecision, envy, anger, and defeat even though she doesn’t hesitate to extend the invitation. It makes me feel guilty and reminds me just how tightly knit this group is. “Yeah. No problem.” I hope she’s putting it out till next week to allow enough time to think of a good excuse to cancel, or at lease postpone, until Kash changes his mind.

“Look at these,” Kash says, oblivious to our exchange.

I approach the desk again, standing a foot from King’s shoulder because he’s the closest one to the door. Kash clicks to the next image. It’s an image of him upside down, holding his bike in place with just a single hand. The shot is amazing, capturing movement and the adrenaline rush he was feeling, but the finished photo has been softened so that it almost looks like a blurred thought.

“Is it an illusion?”

King shifts, looking over his shoulder at me. His lips nearly draw my full attention as they part. He grips the back of a chair, and I glance over to see the familiar scar that runs along the knuckle of his index finger. “This is supposed to look like a dream sequence.” I process his words seconds after they’re spoken because I’m realizing the scent I have been catching while doing laundry is his.

“That’s a cool concept. I doubt many people can do … that,” I finish lamely, pointing to the monitor.

“Don’t worry, Lo, we’ll have you doing some awesome shit by summer. Just you wait.” Kash’s grin stretches from ear to ear as he looks back at me. “Wait until you see this next one. It’s my favorite.”

The bike is midair and he’s parallel to it, as if doing a pushup off the handlebars. It makes my eyes grow wider with disbelief. “That’s amazing.”

“Get your sketchpad, Lo,” Kash says, his attention remaining on the screen. “We’ll hammer this shit out now.”

“I have to get going actually, but if you send me some of your favorite pictures, I can try to create something.”

“Cool, okay, I’ll text you then,” Kash says, still lost in thought. I doubt he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow based upon his attention.

“Sounds good. Um, Mercedes is working on a report in the dining room, I made her a deal that if she finished it tonight instead of waiting until Friday, I’d ride bikes with her tomorrow.”

Kash’s attention is torn from the screen, his lips turned up in a grin. “You’re getting on a bike tomorrow?”

“Well, that depends on Mercedes, but yeah, it looks that way.”

“We have that fucking meeting tomorrow with Spencer,” Kash groans.

King shrugs, his attention shifting to me for a split second before moving away again, like he can’t be bothered with looking at me—he’s been doing this a lot lately. “I’m sure we can move it.”

Kash grips his baseball hat and lifts the bill, leaving it raised as he scratches his forehead. “We can’t. We’ve canceled on him the last three times. He’ll start taking it personally if we do it again.”

“I’ll be here,” Summer volunteers. “I can show her around.”

“You guys know I’m planning to just coast around the perimeter, right? None of that…” I lift my hand to indicate the screen still showing the impossible move. I notice the corner of King’s lips tip upward before he moves so I can’t see his face.

“That’s okay. It’ll get you warmed up so you’re ready to start doing shit like this soon enough,” Kash says, pushing his chair back.

I raise my eyebrows but don’t argue. I know what it’s like to believe everyone should be as passionate about what you love as you are, but I’m sure like me, he realizes that is often untrue.