Chapter 10

"You dragged me like a moth to a flame 
Don't you realize that this is part of destiny's game? "

- Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" 

Dad asked me the minute I entered the back door. 

Though I hesitated when I opened the back door to watch Dad pick up empty plates, my pace did not falter.

"I went on a run," I explained, gesturing to the sweaty shirt. "It's hot today." 

I stifled a yawn, the only evidence of the fact I stayed up all night searching for a woman that did not exist anywhere on social media. She was not on any social media. There were no pictures of her anywhere. 

It was like she never existed. 

She stayed in my thoughts for most of the night. That remained the case when I woke up early and went for a run. David was wrong. He must be. She couldn't be a family friend. I would've heard of a family friend who was that close. Even more strange, in the picture, I looked happy in the picture with her. 

"Uh huh. Just as your family came over for lunch and you just happened to avoid them," Dad continued with an unconvinced tone. He watched me warily as I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and took a long drink.

"I guess so. I'll see them eventually," I said, sighing at the refreshing beverage.  

Dad looked at me with uncertainty. 

"You can't keep avoiding them. This is the third time you have bailed on them here to go for a run," he insisted, putting air quotes around the word run. He broke eye contact and started to run his fingers through his hair, a typical sign of being stressed. 

Mom was usually the disciplinarian and I knew that Dad was struggling to have the talk that I was trying to avoid. 

My mouth grew taut before it released a heavy sigh. Dad only had his brother here, which left Abeula and Mom's four other siblings. I saw them once to help unpack and after that...I just try not to see them. They just remind me too much of her, and when I see them, all I could feel was pain. 

So instead, I run.

"I know."

Dad placed the plates in the sink. He leaned back on the counter to look at me. 

"Nathaniel I know it's hard," he began, his voice etched with exhaustion. "I know she passed a little over a month ago, but if you ever want to talk about Mom-"

"It's fine. I will say hi to them next time. Don't worry," I interrupted, giving him my most convincing smile. Dad looked at me for a minute before he sighed for what it felt like the hundredth time. 

"Alright. You better do that. I won't take it as an excuse. You have to start confronting this," Dad warned me with a look that matched the same level of exhaustion as mine. He glanced down at his watch and his eyes widened. "I have to do some errands for work, but we are not done talking about this yet." 

He grabbed the car keys on the table, and looked at me. 

"Do you want to join me?" Dad offered. 

I shook my head. 

"I already went for a run," I excused myself, suddenly feeling too tired and sticky to do anything else. 

He nodded, muttered good bye before shuffling his way out of the house. After hearing the door shut, I stood in the kitchen for a moment, staring at the empty, hollow walls. 

Mom hated empty homes. She was not the type of person who sits well in silence, and always looking for good company. She would play music loudly or talk to someone on the phone. She hosted events where different families come over. 

 I use to crave silence, but now, the normal silence was driving me crazy.

I managed to drag myself in for a quick shower, putting the closest pair of cargo shorts and a random black t-shirt I randomly found. A few shaky breaths slipped from my mouth when I saw the familiar box tucked away in the corner. I slowly approached it, and pulled out the guitar. The guitar felt sweaty under my palm as I held it, fighting the urge to hide it back in the box. 

My head was pounding, and all it wanted is to stop the silence. My feet managed to drag itself outside, into the back yard, into the words, and eventually towards the cliffside. It was the same as before, but something about this spot that was relaxing. 

It got rid of the feeling in my chest that made me want to disappear. 

I sat on the ground, carefully lifting the guitar close to my body. My fingers traced over the instrument like it was a familiar stranger. I plucked the first string, hearing the untuned note vibrate. I focused on tuning the instrument, and eventually, it began to play familiar tunes. 

I thought about Mom again. I couldn't help it. I wondered how she was, and if she was happy. The first tune came from her favorite song that I remember she would play loudly in the kitchen. Then her smile came back. She loved music and dancing with us and Dad. She did not care who joined or if she was alone. 

My fingers stopped the bittersweet music when the lump in my my throat became too painful to swallow.  

"You're guitar playing is very good," I heard a voice say behind me a few moments later. "But should I be worried that you are stalkin' me, Yankee?" 

Like a child just caught doing something bad, I dropped the guitar on my lap. I turned, watching Elise come with her sketchbook and coloring supplies. She placed them on the ground and slowly crouched at a spot I realized was her normal seating area. 

"Why do you think I'm stalking you?" I humored her. 

She shrugged. 

"You came here once, and now you are back," she pointed out. 

Not wanting to explain my reasons, I brushed her point off with a shrug. 

"It's a public space," I mentioned, gesturing to the open area. 

She sat down across from me.

"I am pretty use to this space alone. I like to come come here to do my art- I don't really know why. I don't know how to explain it. It's magnetic," she explained, placing her stuff down next to her. She looked at me. "Just to clarify, I am not talking about you."

Ouch.

My eyes narrowed. "Thanks for the clarification."

She shook her head fast.

"I don't mean it like that. I just want to say that sitting here is so...peaceful. Like it reminds me that maybe today was going to be a good day. That feeling might be right though," she said breathlessly, smiling softly at me.

A dimple formed on the corner of her lips that I did not notice before. Her teeth was a shining white, and her blonde hair was well past her shoulders, and the ends sticking out made it enticing.

My hand twitched at the idea of touching her hair.

"I think I know what you mean," I said as breathlessly.

It was her who broke the contact away. Her cheeks turned slightly pink, and she pushed some of her hair away, exposing her neck. I turned away, feeling unsure what to do with myself.

I was ready to do something stupid. I could feel it.

She gestured to her art work. "When I have those feelings, I draw them out here. That feeling of inspiration makes me want to color the world," she continued. "I like the quietness to do that." 

"What are your inspirations?" I asked, eyeing her sketchbook as it was opened to a variety of doodles as well as beautiful masterpieces. All collected in a small brown sketchbook.

She shrugged.

"Everything. People. Music. Emotions. Memories. When life gets hard, I just draw whatever is on my mind. It's all about process not the product," she responded thoughtfully.

She seemed more at ease compared to the first few times we hung out. Not as afraid of me in comparison to the first time or how turned off she was. As she was flipping through the pages to find a clean spot, I couldn't help but seeing beautiful images coming out at me. Some were still like. Others were doodles. Both equally as impressive and well thought out.

"They look amazing. You should draw a picture of me," I suggested jokingly.

She rolled her eyes. "You really value yourself a lot, Yankee."

I laughed. "I'm only messing. They look amazing. I wish I could do something like that- wait hold up. Right there. What is that?"

I stuck my hand out to stop her flipping, and flipped it to a drawing. Elise attempted to shut the book on my hand, but I did not let her. Instead, I pushed her hands away gently to open the book.

"Holy shit. You did draw me," I said in awe, feeling a combination of excitement and flattery. Her face turning beet red, she attempted to pull it away. "Let me see. It's too late now."

"It's not you," she immediately denied but her face only turned redder.

"That was what I was wearing when we last saw each other. You drew me," I repeated in awe. Forcing the sketchbook open. This time, she did not fight it, letting me open the sketchbook to the picture of me.

Well, it would've been me if she finished it. It was me in my running clothes, standing there. All of my clothes were drawn to my black hair gleaming with sweat. The only thing that stood out to me was my unfinished face. My eyes were not drawn in besides lightly sketched in. She even got the beard that comes after a couple of days of not shaving. 

"Don't be flattered, Yankee. Artists just draw what is on their mind," Elise huffed. 

So I am on your mind?

"You didn't finish it," I observed, stroking the drawing thoughtfully.

She took it back, turning it to a fresh page. "Because I can't."

"Why not? It's just my eyes."

She angled her head to look at her work.

"I couldn't capture them. There is so much behind your features that I don't think I can adequately captured them. They seem...conflicted," Elise explained, looking at me intensely. She started to bite her lip, making me focus on her pink lips. They had a slight shine that made them tempting.

However, my mouth became dry at her analysis, looking at the drawing rather than her soft face. I refused to look at her because she was right. My hands were gripping the sketchbook tightly, unsure how to feel.

"They are just brown eyes," I responded weakly. "Brown eyes are the most boring ones." 

She shook her head. 

"That's not true," she disagreed. "Brown eyes are the best." 

Her comment made me laugh awkwardly. 

"Said the one with pretty blue eyes," I countered, looking at her eyes with intensity. "Brown eyes are just boring. There's nothing special about it." 

She shook her head. 

"You're wrong. Have you looked at brown eyes in the sun?" she asked. I shook my head no. "When the sun hits your eyes, they are not a boring brown color. It suddenly becomes a thousand shades of gold. They are like pure sun rays." 

My brow arched, feeling my face burning at the compliment. No one ever described my eyes like that.

"Thank you. I never heard a compliment like that before," I admitted, clutching my guitar tightly. 

"I'm sorry," she rushed out, cheeks turning red. "That was definitely weird to say." 

"Don't be," I insisted, not wanting her to feel bad about saying something so...warm. 

So inviting. 

She nodded before gesturing to the guitar. 

"You seem good at it," she complimented. 

A laugh overcame me. I barely heard what I was playing, focusing on being able to play the notes without stopping and breaking down. 

"What is so funny about that, Yankee?" she asked.

I shrugged. 

"I didn't think I was that good. I guess Alabama brings that out of me." 

She cocked her head with a grin. 

"You found that? In Alabama? The one place you hate," she joked. 

"I don't hate Alabama, princesa," I dryly defended myself. "I never said that." 

She crossed her arms. "You sure as hell complain about it a lot about the place."

She was right. I did more than I was willing to admit because it was easy to. It couldn't defend itself from my words, and was just a symbol of everything that happened.

Blaming Alabama was an easy blame to this complicated situation.

"I use to come here every summer when I was young. My parents grew up here so we use to come here to visit family during the summer. I know Alabama isn't that bad," I explained, feeling the sudden urge to defend myself from her words. 

Elise nodded with no change of expression on her face with understanding. 

"I understand. You just miss home," she said softly, giving me a small smile before taking a pen out of her case before she started to sketch. 

I watched her draw, observing the small details. Her eyes were focused on her work, not looking up once. She was biting her pink lips in concentration, making them look almost addictive. The wind blew strands in front of her face, only adding to her look. 

My thoughts mulled over me when I looked back down at the guitar. The object felt suddenly heavy in my hands, I took a shaky breath. I looked up at Elise, who was silently drawing with her pen, her eyes too focused on the work in front of her to notice my hesitation to play. 

I wanted to play like before. I squeezed my eyelids closed to drain every bad thought in my head. I opened my eyes and to focus on the person in front me. 

Then, the pain faded. It faded enough to think about the songs that I use to play. It made me have enough strength to begin to strum familiar tunes that my ears haven't heard in months. It came free, like a broken hose that was overfilled and just burst. Tunes that were in my head that I haven't thought about since Mom died. My fingers played along the guitar as if I never stopped. 

I felt free. 

When I stopped, I rubbed my fingers together, enjoying the slight sting from my fingers rubbing against the guitar strands. 

"You have a good voice. The humming is nice," Elise complimented me. 

I froze.

"Humming?" I echoed.

She nodded.

"Yeah you were humming. Do you sing?" she asked, flipping her notebook to a clean page before looking at my guitar with interest

My throat closed the moment she asked. I even didn't realize that I was humming until she pointed it out, but the fact I did made my body was to break into a million pieces and hide away.

"Not really," I lied, looking down at the instrument in my paining hands like it was suddenly poisonous. It was partially true, I don't really sing anymore.

But she heard you humming.

I looked up at her innocent face before returning the look to the guitar. 

I thought that it was this place that made me relaxed. 

Now I'm beginning to wonder if it was actually Elise who made me feel that way.