LITMIR.BIZ

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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 understand why me, though. Why not somebody like Mariet? Isn’t she intriguing too?”

      Now Desmond had to be blunt. “I suppose. If you have no imagination.”

      She frowned.

      “She’s beautiful. But beauty on the surface like that, beauty that’s obvious, that’s the way things always are, aren’t they? You see it and that’s it. There’s nothing to mine from it. Nothing more to get. You, on the other hand. . .” He couldn’t stop himself from caressing her figure with his eyes. She did not have a womanly shape but her limbs were long, she was covered in freckles and those nipples. Still hard. He hoped they were long.

      “Are so much more than you think. More than you and I can comprehend, to tell you the truth.”

      “You don’t know what you’re seeing.” Lucy sounded helpless. “You’ve imagined me a certain way.” She choked. She was remembering the nude sketch. “I’m not. . you haven’t. . .you don’t know me, Desmond. You have these expectations and I don’t want. . .I can’t disappoint you.”

      “How can you think that?”

      “You-you haven’t really seen me, Desmond.” Lucy’s chin was wobbling again. “And-And I think before I agree, there must be something you should know first. I can’t. . I don’t want lies, Desmond. I want the truth. I want you to see me as I am and paint me as I really am. You have to see me.”

      “I am seeing you.”

      She shook her head. “No, you’re not.” She sounded morose.

      “Lucy-“ he moved to stand but she stopped him by holding up a shaky hand.

      “Please, Desmond,” she whispered. “Let me. . .I have. . .” Then her eyes glittered and there was a determined set to her jaw. “I have to do this.”

      She took a deep breath then reached for the bottom of her tank. Desmond’s eyes got big as she pulled it off, flinging the threadbare garment to the floor before she straightened up and looked at him. He was right. Soft, gentle swells rising from her broad chest, splashed heavily with freckles. His breath sped up when he discovered that her aureoles were pink and huge, nearly taking the circumference of her meager breasts. Her nipples were plump and hung long.

      He swallowed. He wanted one of those nipples in his mouth.

      Her waist was straight, with a flat stomach. If not for the softness of her eyes, even when they were laced with defiance and challenge, or the shy rises of her breasts from her chest, Desmond would think her a man. He watched her undo the laces of her drawstring shorts before shimmying them down her wide hips and trunk-like thighs, down to her long legs.

      Then she straightened up again, this time fully nude. Desmond’s eyes were quick to fall on her bush. It was thick with springy curls, a mix of pale and dirty-blonde. His cock pushed against his pants, wanting inside. Lucy was hairy, much hairier than all the other women but damn.

      He must capture her on canvas. He must.

      Lucy was blushing violently, as if red paint had been spilled on her. She was embarrassed and afraid but it was clear she was ready to see this through.

      “You have to see,” she said, stubbornly, defiantly. She met his eyes. “Don’t you make fun of me, Desmond Gorman.”

      Конец

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