penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (13 page)

“Hannah, go ahead and have a seat in the middle of the room on the pedestal,” the professor said and looked back at the class before she continued. Hannah walked toward the pedestal and she passed my chair as she did. The edge of her robe touched my leg and my hand twitched as I fought the urge to touch her and run from her at the same time. She took her seat and toyed with her hands in her lap. She kept her gaze away from everyone in the room and I wondered where the freedom went she wore the other day.

The professor circled the pedestal and continued telling us what she expected, but I didn’t hear a word of it. Hannah’s eyes went back on me and she smiled. I tried to smile, but I struggled to even look at her. I was left with what I was sure was a dumbfounded expression. She was exquisite.

Her eyes remained on me, and others in the class noticed the obvious attention she gave me. We were having a silent conversation and I wondered how much of it was in my head and how much was real.

Then, that instinct was back again. I broke eye contact and looked around the room. There were a couple guys that though they were here for the art, they still wore an infatuated expression. One’s jaw was even hanging slack and I wanted to push it back up and not allow Hannah’s robe to come off until they respected the fact that this was art, not a porn magazine. I scoffed to myself, because I was no different. I
had traced my eyes across her body, examining her as if she were here for my pleasure alone.

“I’m going to pose Hannah. Now, you don’t need to draw her as you see her, I want your interpretation of her. I want to know what you see when you’re drawing her.”
A sunrise.
Oh my fucking god, where the hell did that come from? I scoffed again and this time it must have been louder because others in the room looked at me as I put my attention on my easel.

The professor turned back to Hannah. “Dear, please remove your robe.”

Hannah pulled her lip in as she removed her robe. Her nervousness was apparent as she gave the robe to the professor, who set it on a chair next to the pedestal. She adjusted Hannah so her heels rested on the bar of the stool and her delicate hands held each other, resting on her knees. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun at the back of her neck and a few pieces were hanging out the sides. I was thankful the professor didn’t have her facing me. I couldn’t have Hannah watch me as I drew her. I wanted to draw every part of her without being insecure.

I
had looked at the picture of her on my phone several times over the last couple days and the determination in her eyes replayed in my thoughts. Though her eyes weren’t facing me, I was drawing them as I remembered how they were. It was a cross between the bench girl I saw and the way they were in the alley, filled with the sad freedom she wore as a burden.

I started at her lower back and took in the delicate curve of her hips and waist. I put my charcoal to the paper and began to draw without hesitation. I didn’t want to stay on any part of her for too long, because I wanted to remember all of her.

My heart began to beat in a faster rhythm the longer I drew. I found her interesting before, and beautiful was not the right word to describe her now. I couldn’t think of the right word, which was odd for me, because I always found the right word. She just
was
. She held an undefined allure containing every possibility and definition I could imagine.

Every curve of her body begged for a touch and I wondered how soft her skin felt. Despite her earlier nervousness, she was at ease the longer she sat there. She captivated the other students in the class as well. The guys who bothered me before now held the same artistic determination as me. I paused for a moment in my drawing to look at her without interference. I realized that though she was physically striking, it was her spirit I wanted to know.

I looked across her arms and up to her shoulders. She carried sadness and pain. I was selfish. I focused on what I wanted from her, without noticing how deep the heartache was she hid behind her false air of freedom. The other day when I saw her at the pub, she projected a free spirit. But I could tell she was playing a part. It was a facade, but it was the first time I wanted to break through one.

She was trying to get past a wall in her life. Every time she stepped forward she turned back and let it imprison her. She wanted to break free, but I understood her caution. I had my own walls.

“Okay, that’s it. Hannah you can stand now dear,” the professor said as I hadn’t noticed the time passing. I watched her stand to put her robe on and she hid behind her hair as she removed it from the loose bun. She left the room with her chin lowered as she passed everyone.

I needed to talk to her. It was weird, seeing her so many places, even for me. I put my drawing supplies back into my bag and checked it the usual five times. I looked under my chair to make sure I wasn’t forgetting something. I looked back at the pedestal Hannah sat on and tried to decide how to move forward. I took a deep breath and turned for the door and with each step, I breathed in what I was going to do.

I stepped into the hallway and didn't see her, so decided to head to the exit. I walked a few feet before I heard a wispy, yet deep female voice ask, “Do you want to get a coffee?”

I turned around and saw her standing there.
She dresses fast
. I smiled, because my thoughts were moronic. She leaned on the wall and gave me an expression that said she questioned what she was doing. She put her hand up to her mouth and toyed with her bottom lip as she furrowed her brow at me and raised it as if to say she was waiting for a response.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes, you know those little beans that smell divine.” She breathed in as if she could smell it now. “The drink people get when they want to converse with someone. When you go for alcoholic drinks, not much happens.” A broad smile formed across my face as the word converse reverberated through me. She said converse instead of talk or speak. She used her hands to express her statements as if she were making the coffee with her bare hands. She was amazing and I hung on her every word. “It amounts to, get a beer, loosen up, and talk about random shit. But coffee is reserved for more serious conversations. Coffee is life changing,” she said with a slight smile and tilt of her head, waiting for my response. I tried to gather my thoughts as her subtle beauty hypnotized me.

“Oh. Okay, that coffee. Yes, I could do that. But I may not be able to converse as much as you would like
,” I grinned at my choice of words, despite the tightness forming in my chest when I thought of speaking to her—sharing with her. The few dates with others before never amounted to something. I was nervous when I went on them, but more because I was in a public place surrounded by strangers. This nervousness was different. It came from the fear of her expectations of me. She was a woman with experience and wasn’t afraid to speak with strangers and my experience paled in comparison to hers.

But there as she looked at me, I saw that look in her eyes again. The look said she saw more than others and she tried to forget most of what she has seen. I understood that look. I saw it every time I glanced in the mirror. When I understood the similarities, it set me at ease because fear of what to say to her receded.

“Okay then. You driving?” she asked as she ran her hand through her hair.

“I suppose I can, but I have my bike
.” I tried to ignore the fear of the impending closeness of her on the ride to our destination. I resorted to distracting myself with subtleties, “My name is Wynn by the way,” I said as I put my hand toward her. She pulled her hand from her pocket and shook mine, quickly.
She was soft, but her shake was strong
—
delicate strength
.

“I know,” s
he said with a nonchalant smile. “So I like your bike by the way. It’s a Dyna right?”

I looked at her and met her smile, “Thanks. Yes, thank you.”
Okay, calm yourself. She understood the gratitude the first time.
We started walking toward the exit as she continued.

“This is weird how we keep seeing each other places, isn’t it?”
she asked as she pointed back to the classroom. “I always hated the saying, ‘everything happens for a reason.’ I think that’s a cop out and bullshit,” she said as she put her hands back into the pockets of her sweatshirt and still kept pointing her fingers as if they were out in the open. “You can’t tell me that people in Africa are starving for reason. Shit happens; there is no purpose to it. But I can't help wonder why I keep running into you Wynn. Are you a stalker?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

I liked hearing her say my name. She had a slight accent that made me smile. “No, I’m not a stalker
,” I said with a light laugh. “Remember I was in the class first and I was at the Pub first. The facts show that you are more likely the stalker than me.” I chose not to mention the alley.

She pinched her lips together as she looked to the ceiling then back toward me, “You’re right. I guess you shouldn’t go out for this coffee with me. I could be a serial killer
,” she said with a shy smile. My palms began to sweat as I tried to calm my nerves. I wanted to understand her, but at the same time she scared me shitless. She had the potential to rip the masks off and see right through me.

I forced a smile back as we approached the door and I stopped. I remembered the last time we were at the door and my smile broadened.

I opened the door and without speaking I held it ajar with my back waiting for her to exit. She stood there for a moment and gave me a deadpan stare though she was on the precipice of a laugh. A smile broke across her face as she walked through the door.

“Sorry about the other day. I was in a bitchy mood
,” she said as she pointed back at the door, still not letting her hands free from her pockets. “We just moved here and I needed to get a job. I was coming here to sign up to do the figure modeling gig and it pissed me off that I got here late.”

“You were late?” I asked a
s she nodded. “Then why were you sitting on the bench? If you were late, why did you sit and wait?” I laughed.

She raised an eyebrow at me. “So you
were
stalking me?”

I laughed, “No, I saw you sitting on the bench
.” I noticed that we were passing the same particular bench as we continued our way to my bike. We both looked at it and nervousness filled me as I met her smile.

“Yeah, I was late. I sat there to calm myself and not be as pissy
,” she grinned.

I looked toward my motorcycle. “Well, that makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, “Yeah it does to me.”

I looked at my bike then back at Hannah. “I have one helmet. You can wear it though.”

She smiled, “Why thank you, Wynn.”

I handed her the helmet and watched her fasten it under her chin. I became
even more nervous as I thought of her touching me. I never rode with a passenger. On my other dates we drove separate and I hoped that she had experience on a bike. My pulse increased from fear and anticipation. I hoped my hands weren’t sweaty and I struggled to grip the handles.

I remembered my bag and lifted it toward her. “Do you mind wearing this?”

“Nope, I sure don’t,” she said with a smile. I know holding someone’s bag wasn’t a big deal, but her reactions weren’t as other girls were. She was easygoing and it was as if the details didn’t affect her. She occupied her mind with important thoughts that left no room for bullshit false niceties.

I climbed on my bike and waited for her to finish. I watched her as she tucked her hair into her sweatshirt
. She smiled and I fought my nervousness as she settled in behind me.

I willed the tension in me to subside as best I could, but her touch and closeness was difficult for me. I didn’t want to react and I fought like hell to control myself. She wrapped her arms around my waist and the tense muscles across my abdomen reacted to her by twitching.

My environment growing up had tainted any act of intimacy. I closed my eyes and blocked images from my mind and focused on Hannah and the way she smelled. She smelled fresh as if she sat in the breeze and it now enveloped her skin.

She took several deep breaths behind me. “It’s been a long time since I have ridden a motorcycle. My friend used to have one, until his mom made him sell it. She thought he was going to kill himself on it. He was flippant with safety, so I understood her fear.”

I turned my head and forced a smile at her before I started up the bike. I couldn’t speak. My mind ran crazy as I imagined her hands around my waist were around my neck and it took everything in me to keep focused on the road. I didn’t even ask her where she wanted to go, so I headed to the closest coffee shop, though it was still several blocks away.

This was the closest I allowed anyone in years. I shook hands and gave the occasional “bro hug” to Blake, but nothing this intimate. I kept my distance, because letting people in, whether emotional or physical, made me vulnerable.

I made a sigh of relief as I saw the sign for the coffee shop and backed my bike into a spot. Hannah let go of my waist and the welcomed coldness returned to me. The warmth she was creating around me was foreign. Every part of me wanted to run away and hide in my experienced solitude. The quietness of my mind began to form a stronger thought though.
I need to know her. I need the closeness she brought with her.