“I understand what you mean.” More than he knows. I just lived it. Aaron being my adrenaline rush. “Well, I should head back.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Elle. I hope you’ll come more often.” When he gives me a kind smile, my stomach turns into a knot knowing this will never happen.
“It was great to meet you.”
Back at our hotel, Aaron and I barely speak to each other. This is the end. The end of an unforgettable week. I finish closing my luggage and curse my boss who needs me in New York ASAP. I have to be at the airport in an hour. Aaron offers to accompany me, but he has to hold a press conference at that time before heading to France for the next Grand Prix. This is over. I have to get back to reality, and it goddamn hurts.
We stand awkwardly in the hotel hallway facing each other. I hate goodbyes. I hate that goodbyes with Aaron feel like forever.
“I guess this is it. Our agreement is done,” I say uncertainly.
“I guess it is,” he adds in a perfectly calm tone. He doesn’t care that I’m leaving.
I shrug, somehow feeling hurt. “Right.”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes roam my face. My nerves are shaking. I don’t like being in a blurry situation. He owes me an answer on what we are. “Are we even friends?” My voice is perched. Totally fake. Totally emotional. Mother used to tell me to never push a man to commit, or you’ll scare him away. I did break all the rules with Wolf this few days. I showed him my jealousy and now my emotions.
“We will never be friends, Elle.” I swallow, pinching my eyebrows. I was not expecting his dry answer. He smirks when he notices my reaction. “I don’t want to fuck my friends.”
He is about to take my luggage for me, but I reach it before he does. I don’t need a savior. I don’t need him to act all knightly with me. I give him a proud smile. “Right. We are an obsession. Good thing you won’t be obsessed with me when you are a continent away.”
I want to believe we have some sort of bound, whether we want it or not. But I know the story too well. The next bimbo will come, and I’ll be a vague memory to Wolf. Insignificant again. He could have my body, but not my pride.
I kiss him on the cheek as a goodbye note. He frowns in surprise, while I limit our eye contact. The only thing I can control is to leave with class. I head toward the exit, my heart aching and ripping. My breath cut, I push my emotions out of my mind. He offered me the illusion of a world full of possibilities, but now I need to wake up.
“Ma belle.” Two words from him. Two words, and I’m melting.
I look back at him. “Yes?”
“You are stuck with me, don’t forget that,” he says in his usual confidence, darting his tongue out of his mouth to lick his upper lip seductively.
“A continent away or not. You won’t get rid of me,” Wolf promises.
Three words
This thing about feelings, they explode when you expect it the least. I have my blank canvas on my easel, paintings on the side, and I feel the urge to express myself. I tighten my hair in a bow, before taking black paint on my flat brush.
A hateful spurts of iron black on the canvas. Splattering shades of onyx. The blank space is my enemy, my brush for sword, my color shades as witness of the chaos I’m inflecting. The words of Nina are resonating through my mind. “It’s not what I asked you to do. This is crap,”she commented when I delivered her the interview about Wolf.I need more black.“There is no dirt. I don’t pay you to have a good time.”How come she could never be satisfied? The paint on my fingers is now on my cheek as I pass my hand through my face. I feel like screaming, ripping and damaging everything on my way. Since then, Nina analyzed each of my actions like a stark smelling blood, causing a shiver down my back. I’ve been back writing about meaningless gossips and I hate it.“Sleeping with your source should have its benefits. I need more. Give me more.”I guess she did watch the headlines of Wolf and I at the Canadian Grand Prix. I’m tired of this. I want only one thing.
Freedom.
I switch to a sword brush, writing in silver-gray the wordfreedomfrom the left to the right, lines after lines, like a kid doing her punishment. My column has gained more fans around the world—that’s probably the only reason why I’m not fired yet. Readers loved to plunge in the world of Formula 1 and to see the human side of Wolf. I’ve posted online the recording of the interview as Tania advise me, which changed Wolf’s image; from angry god to god-like. Some gossips articles came out about us. The nature of our relationship intrigued the fans—and so do I, where are we standing?
A key.
I paint the shadow of a key, blending the silver and onyx brushstrokes together. I smooth the edges with water. Wolf, the racer who has been occupying my mind is sending me mixed signals. After the French Grand Prix, we went on a few casual dates during his free time, even though they all ended up the same way. Our beach sunset dates ended up in making out sessions, until people began to stare and Wolf went all territorial, narrowing his eyes at them. As for dinner, we never made it on time—and most of the time I was without panties. We’ve developed a habit of talking by phone. Well, I talk. He listens. Sometimes he makes naughty comments with his usual confidence.
We are almost normal. Who am I kidding? We don’t do normal. He’s claiming me as his, possessively and ardently, but doesn’t let me in his intimacy. Wolf is secretive, there is a strong link uniting us, a whirlwind passion, but his heart is like the Excalibur sword, protected by an unbreakable stone. He’s unreachable, letting me see only a glimpse of his soul. We’re an obsession neither of us wanted, and right now I’m left with many unanswered questions.
A bird.
With my rigger, I paint a bird in the center of the canvas with sparkling colors of pink, blue, yellow, contrasting with the darkness surrounding it. He’s highlighting the whole piece. The bird is about to fly free, spurts of grenade dropping out of his wing. He’s his own light, winning over whatever chaos he escaped.Talk about subconscious.
I glance at my apron covered in paint, and I can proudly say I’ve completed my first art piece in months. I take a few steps back to observe it carefully, the brush between my teeth. I feel proud. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. It has a story.
And, for the first time, I want to share it with one person. I hold my phone to take a picture of it to send it to Aaron. After all, he’s been the one encouraging me to take a leap. He just won the Belgium Grand Prix today, I doubt he’ll answer me right away, but on my surprise he does—and my heart jumps each fucking time.
Aaron:I’m speechless. Have you thought about showing it to the world yet?
