Authors: Anna Lee
For most of the day, I had managed to block out the onlookers and commentary. My thoughts were so flooded with Michael, I couldn’t think of anything or anyone else. I glanced around to see if I still had the onslaught of haters trying to tear me apart with their eyes.
And that’s when I saw him.
Jason was standing against the far wall of the dining hall staring directly at me. It was an anomalous stare. He had little to no affect displayed on his handsome face. He just stood there and stared at me. I felt a little pang of regret as I realized I had completely forgotten he existed. Ever since my first date with Michael, Jason had ceased to exist for me. I wondered how long he had been watching from afar.
“
Ignore him.” Michael squeezed my hand.
“
What?” I asked confused for a second.
“
Don’t worry about him. I will take care of him,” he decided, beginning to stand up.
“
Wait…what do you mean take care of him?” I didn’t like how that sounded. “I don’t want there to be any problems.” I refused to let go of his hand.
“
There won’t be.” A sure arrogance rolled off his tall frame.
I put my hand on his other arm, “Look, I appreciate the thought, but maybe it would be better if I talked to him.” He gave me a grave look. A low growl emanated from deep in his chest. I flinched.
“
He deserves to hear it coming from me,” I pushed on. “I’ll just let him know that there is nothing more between us, and he should move on.”
“
He doesn’t deserve anything from you.”
“
Ouch, that’s kind of harsh don’t you think?”
Michael looked at me with those deep brown eyes and brushed my hair off my shoulder. “There is someplace I want to take you tonight.”
“
Where’s that?” I perked up at the thought of another date, all concern for Jason lost.
“
You’ll see,” he smiled, “Be at your house at 4:00?”
“
Okay.” He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on my cheek as the bell rang.
I had barely finished reading
Medea
, when I heard the doorbell ring. A glance at my clock confirmed Michael was indeed perfectly punctual again. How does he do that? I have never been on time for anything.
I practically danced down the stairwell, excited to see his delicious face.
I swung the door open with more force than I intended. Michael stood there in all his hotness, looking amused, and just a little smug. He wore khaki shorts and a white shirt. Something was off though. It was a perfectly normal outfit, yet it looked odd on him. He wasn’t a normal guy, and wearing that outfit looked almost comical. It was like wrapping a machine gun in tissue paper.
“
Ready?” he asked assessing my outfit. I chose a flirty skirt and sandals.
I looked down. “I think so…”
“
Will you be comfortable walking?” he asked.
“
Sure,” I shrugged.
He led me down the battery and up Broad Street. “So where are we going?” I asked impatiently.
“
Somewhere I think you’ll like.” He wasn’t going to tell me. He liked keeping me on my toes, keeping me guessing.
“
How do you know I will like it?” I challenged.
He looked at me and grinned. Nothing, he was going to give up nothing.
I sighed, “Okay, well can you at least give me a hint?”
We turned onto Meeting Street. Michael tilted his head to the side in a gesture of contemplation. After a few chin rubs, he said, “It’s a place we have in common.”
“
Hmmm…” I thought. What do we have in common? He’s some sort of mobster’s son, and I’ve never even had a speeding ticket. He’s exotic and mysterious, and I’m rather ordinary and predictable.
I was lost in my thoughts, comparing the impossible dichotomy of our relationship, and hoping the ‘opposites attract’ rule was genuine, when Michael tugged on my hand, “This way.”
I looked up to see that we were headed straight into the Gibbs Museum of Art. “Oh, of course. We both love art.”
“
Something like that,” he laughed.
He paid and we walked inside, greeted by the current exhibit. I loved the mixture of artwork they presented regularly, but I especially loved their new exhibit.
“
What do you think?” he asked as we walked into the gallery. There were paintings of various biblical scenes from around the world.
“
Oh. My. God,” I blurted out. “No pun intended,” I added.
I heard Michael chuckle behind me. “I’m glad you like it.”
I browsed the artwork, getting the same chills I always got when I did so. There was something about biblical paintings that triggered a strong emotional response from me. They always seemed so alive, like they were real people telling a real story.
I studied one of the Virgin Mary, another of Abraham and Sarah meeting with three angels, and then another of the Last Supper. I was enthralled with each, taking in every detail and watching the story come alive in my mind.
I caught a glimpse of Michael in my periphery studying a painting across the room. I joined him, threading my arm through his. It was a painting depicting a young angel stepping on the head of Satan, and holding a spear, readying to drive it home. I looked up into Michael’s steady eyes. He seemed lost in deep thought. “Is this one your favorite?”
He gave a wry grin, “It’s my favorite story.”
“
That’s the archangel Michael, defeating Satan right?”
“
Yep,” he confirmed.
“
I like that story too, but-don’t you find it laughable?”
He turned to me, one eyebrow cocked, “Laughable?”
“
Yeah, I mean look at him,” I waved an unneeded hand toward the young, blonde angel. “He looks like he’s about sixteen years old, and yet he’s defeated this big, burly grown man, who appears to be twice his size. That just doesn’t seem possible.”
Michael’s face was nearly composed, except for the pressed lips and dimples threatening a smile.
“
I’m serious! He looks like he is more likely to break out in a musical performance at a drag show than battle Satan.”
A booming laugh escaped Michael as he bent over, slapping his thigh. I found it humorous too but not hysterical. I looked at him grinning questioningly. I few dirty looks from customers got him to quiet down a few moments later.
“
What?” I whispered.
“
I agree,” he announced. “I have never liked how they insist on drawing him. They make him look small and helpless.” He slanted his eyes at the painting. “But they didn’t really know what either of them looked like, did they?”
“
I guess not,” I said. Then asked, “Do you believe they existed?”
He quirked an eyebrow again. “Do you?”
“
I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I know there is good and evil out there, and I want to believe there are angels watching over us, but I’ve never seen any sort of proof.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then I asked, “What do you think?”
“
I think you are beautiful,” he said earnestly. His hand made its way to my neck and wound through my hair.
I began to blush under his gaze. “You’re crazy,” I breathed.
“
About you,” he added as he caressed under my ear. It was rousing. Tingling sensations spread through my body, urging me to fall into his arms and let those fingers caress wherever they wanted. Thank God he wasn’t a mind reader.
I heard a little giggle and glanced down. There was a small girl, no more than three years old, smiling up at Michael.
I chuckled, “Aw, she thinks you’re cute.”
Michael smiled down at her, and she waved at him. Then I heard a women snap in a heavy northern accent, “Abby, get back over here!”
I looked at her mother who was now power walking toward us, irritation marring her slender face. She swung the little girl up on her hip, gave Michael a suspicious look, and then promptly turned away.
When she was out of earshot, I joked, “We should go before you get apprehended on suspicion of being a child predator.”
“
She should watch her kids!” he defended himself.
I laughed, grabbed his hand, and we left the museum.
The temperature outside had cooled considerably. Dark clouds now covered the evening sky and gusty winds wisped down the street. My hair blew in my face when I looked to Michael for where to go next.
He shrugged, “Are you hungry?”
“
Sure,” I said. Making a mental note about how often he seemed to feed me.
We crossed the street and barely made it onto the sidewalk when sheets of cold rain began pelting us. I let a girly yelp escape and tried with no avail to cover my head with my hands. Michael grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the church closest to us. We ran down the jagged stone pathway and up the front steps. Michael swung open the large wooden doors to the church and quickly drew me inside.
We were both laughing as we took in the state of our clothing. His white shirt clung to him like skin, showing off his tanned, muscular physique. He smiled when he caught me looking, and I blushed for the thousandth time since I met him.
“
Come on,” he whispered, his mischievous grin luring me in. He pulled me toward a set of spiral stairs. I tip toed behind him as he approached a small landing with several doors. He opened one, peeked in, and then pulled me through. I covered my mouth, stifling a giggle as we cut through someone’s personal office to another door and then found another spiral stairwell. This one creaked as we clambered up the slats. I wondered if he knew where he was going.
Finally, the stairs opened into a small bell tower. The room was about the size of a janitor’s closet and was empty save a dusty old crate in the corner. “If we get caught up here…” I warned, still breathing heavily, excitement flooding my system.
“
We won’t,” he reassured me. I gave him a skeptical look. Then he added, “Trust me, I come here all the time.”
“
You do?” I asked floored. What would a guy like him be doing hanging out in a church’s bell tower. “Why?”
“
It’s a nice place to think,” he shrugged, “And no one bothers me.”
The roof of the tower jutted out just far enough so we weren’t getting wet, yet we still felt the cool breeze stick to our soaked clothing. I shivered and hugged my chest. Michael folded me into his warm, strong arms. I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes. He brought his lips to the top of my head and planted several soft kisses.
He sighed, “I can’t lose you.”
My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes popped open. What did he mean lose me? I wasn’t going anywhere, but did that mean he was? I glanced up, meeting his devilishly handsome face. “What do you mean? Are you leaving?” I asked.
His mouth thinned, “Not for long.”
“
When? Where are you going?” I felt ridiculously lost.
“
Tonight, I have to leave for a couple days, but I will be back, I promise,” he chucked me under the chin.
“
Can you tell me where you’re going?” I asked, feeling a little frantic. Was he finally running away like all my previous boyfriends? Was he even my boyfriend?
He tucked a wet chunk of hair behind my ear, “Boston.”
“
Oh…” my stomach sank to the depths at the thought of him leaving me. I had only known him for a short time, yet I had felt more in that time than I had in my entire life.
He cupped my face in his hands, “I won’t be gone long,” he promised. I gazed up into his gorgeous face, trying to memorize him. He still had droplets on his skin from the run in the rain. The dark sky cast sexy shadows along his chiseled features.
“
I can’t stand the thought of being away from you.” He leaned down and gave me a tender kiss that made my legs weak. I joined in with a vehement edge. I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him either, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would never see him again.
Several intoxicating moments passed before he pulled back. He still held my face, and I looked into those deep murky eyes, praying for at least a little more time with him. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep tonight?” I asked.
He smiled peacefully, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
When we got back to my house, I fetched him a robe to wear while his clothes dried. Then I changed my own. We camped out in the living room floor eating delivery pizza and discussing his travels.
“
So what’s it like in other countries?” I asked generically.
“
Which ones?”
“
I don’t know, any of them. I’ve never left South Carolina,” I admitted, feeling utterly unworldly.
“
Well, I would say it’s just the same as America, yet it would be just as accurate to say it’s completely different.”
“
What do you mean?”
He thought for a second, narrowing his eyes. “Name something you like.”
I thought the question was strange, but I humored him anyway. “I like flowers.”
“
Okay,” he leaned up on his elbow, “let’s say every country is like a different flower. They are all flowers. They all have stems, pedals, and leaves that make up the whole. Yet they are all uniquely and vastly different at the same time. Just like every country has the same make up. They all have good areas, bad areas, and everything else in between. But, they are all very different. Every country has small details within their culture and environment that make them unlike any other.”