4

Eliza

I

push my hair behind my ear as I put the finishing touches on the painting outside the boutique. I’ve been anticipating Lev, but he hasn’t made an appearance. Of course, he

wouldn’t just show up here again for no reason, but I feel like I need to be prepared in case he does.

Maybe he forgot something, one last luxury item to grab from the store on a rare sunny autumn afternoon. I wonder what he does for a living to afford such expensive things. I’ve been in that store once, more out of curiosity than anything, and I couldn’t believe the prices.

Of course, everything is quite beautiful, but in what universe is it normal for jeans to cost a thousand dollars? In my hometown, you’d get them from the little shop down between the pancake place and the postal service, and they’d always be priced the same – $19.99. That never changed in the ten years I was shopping there.

I’d be lucky to get a pair for ten times that here, but I’m probably not going to be doing any shopping for a long time. I brought enough clothes with me to get me through the winter and subsequent summer, and I’ll wear them until they’re falling apart.

More out of necessity than thriftiness, though I like to say I’m just being environmentally friendly.

I think my clothes are cute, though. I usually wear mid-length dresses, almost always black and paired with leather boots. It’s simple enough not to be a hassle in the morning, but nice enough to wear I don’t feel like a bum the moment I step outside.

I’ve added a pair of black sheer black pantyhose with little cats printed on them. I got them before I left home, but I haven’t worn them because I was afraid of ruining them. Today, I’ve worked up the courage to wear them. It’s amazing what a little money can do for your confidence.

Painting today feels like freedom. I have a whole month to worry about making sales and paying rent, and it takes the weight off my shoulders and just allows me to paint. The brush runs across my canvas like it’s dancing to the music of the city, and I barely register anyone around me.

People pass, they gawk, and occasionally, someone hurls an insult from their car or catcalls me, but I’m blissfully unbothered by it. I’m painting two-thousand dollars onto a canvas. My subconscious makes the money and my conscious mind is at ease.

My phone buzzes, breaking my focus so hard that I drop my brush. It clatters lightly on the gum-caked sidewalk and I leave it there, pulling out my phone.

I just know it’s Lev. God, he’s texting me already.

My heart jumps up into my throat, but sinks all the way down into my stomach just as quickly when I see who sent me the message.

Noah.

Fuck, it’s like he knows I’m having a good time and he wants to spoil it for me.

I open his message because it’d be eating at the back of my mind for the rest of the day if I didn’t.

Um, duh. Where else would I be? I hope he’s not planning on paying me a visit. The only person who knows my address is Lev, and I plan on keeping it that way.

I text Noah back quickly, even though I know I should wait. Everyone in the world will tell you to wait at least a few minutes, if not an hour or more before texting your ex if they’re bugging you, but we haven’t talked in almost a month. Having him text me first feels like winning.

My thumbs fly over the keyboard.

That’s all he gets. Just one word, and I’m back to painting. I pick up my brush and resume where I left off.

The sky is different today, but I’m trying to picture how it was yesterday when I met Lev. The only thing I can remember was how blue his eyes were.

I mix a few colors together to get the perfect hue, and I put it down on the canvas. Perfect. It’s just like the color of his eyes, only it doesn’t have the same wicked intentions baked into it. It’s a bit friendlier.

My phone buzzes again.

I let out a sigh, checking it again.

I’m tempted to take a screenshot of my bank account and send it to him, but that wouldn’t prove a whole lot. A thousand dollars isn’t much proof that I’m not living on the street, especially when my rent is nearly twice that.

I have more in savings, of course, but it’s barely enough to get me through the next month. Noah doesn’t have to know that, though. I’d like him to think I’m selling my paintings like hotcakes, earning a comfortable living in the big city and leaving my simple past far behind me for something more glamorous.

Instead of sending him my bank account, I snap a picture of the boutique and tell him I’m busy shopping. He probably won’t believe it, but if it puts doubt in his mind, maybe he’ll leave me alone.

He texts me back almost immediately, but I ignore him this time. There’s nothing he could say right now that would convince me he’s right about anything. I’ve already proved him wrong. What he chooses to believe now is up to him.

My painting continues to develop effortlessly, as though I’m not even the one doing it. My hand drifts across the canvas, and every dot, dash, and stroke comes out perfectly. Not only does it look great, but it’s finished much sooner than I had anticipated.

Of course, there are consequences to my speediness. I have to let Lev know that it’s ready for him, and that means I need to prepare myself and my apartment for his arrival.

Will he come today? It’s already quite late. I didn’t realize it because I was so focused on my painting, but the sun is already setting, and it gets dark early here in autumn. The buildings block the sun the moment it starts to dip from the middle of the sky.

Ignoring the two new texts on my phone from Noah, I send Lev a picture of the finished painting, inviting him to come pick it up.

A message comes back faster than even Noah was able to text me.

Not, can I come in twenty minutes?

Not, is that alright?

Lev gets straight down to it, and he does so in a manner that can’t be negotiated. It’s both refreshing and concerning the way that he appears to command me, like I have no choice.

Like I don’t even want to have a choice.

I pack up my easel, taking great care not to touch the drying paint as I put a cover over my freshly finished painting. I’m not all that far from home, just a ten-minute walk, but I don’t have time to straighten up both the apartment and myself before Lev arrives.

And to be quite honest, I’m more worried about myself than the apartment.

I send Lev a quick reply, confirming that I will be ready for him.

Not the painting. Me. I probably sound crazy, maybe a bit too eager. I hope he doesn’t take that as an invitation. I’m not ready for something like that to happen. I don’t even know him, and I’m not that type of woman.

But why am I even considering it in the first place? He’s never given any indication that his intentions are any more than to buy a painting off me.

That’s it. That’s all. This isn’t an opportunity for him to take advantage of my innocence, slamming me against the window and pressing my naked body against the glass while he fucks me senseless in front of everyone passing by…

No, nothing like that. He’s a gentleman, and I need to get my mind out of the gutter before it gets me in trouble.

But that doesn’t stop me from running home, bursting into my apartment with a huge grin on my face, and slamming the door shut so hard behind me that I hear the neighbor come out to check on the commotion.

I plaster myself against the door for support, panting as I collect myself. My emotions are bubbling up so fast that it’s nearly impossible to keep them under control. I’m going to make a complete fool of myself but I’ve lost control.

I should know better. I’ve been hurt before.

But no, I’m running into Lev like he’s already professed his undying love to me.

And we haven’t even kissed. I’m just some crazy girl who’s obsessed with a man who is much older than her. So much

older. Probably too old, but why should I care? I’m in New York City, away from the judgmental eyes that tore into every little detail about my life in my hometown.

I get to start over, and I’m going to have it all, every last fantasy without compromise.

But first, I need to convince Lev that I’m even worth having. It should be the other way around, but I’m too star struck to behave any differently. I immediately change clothes, put on fresh lipstick, and examine every inch of myself in front of the mirror.

Then, I clean like I’m preparing for a drill sergeant to visit my room for inspection.