Work of Art

Chapter 11

Nick's thoughts trailed back to Dr. Carlisle Cullen more than she'd like to admit to anyone. She couldn't seem to help but recall the tingling sensation that his hand had left on her shoulder. Not that she'd ever really tried drugs, but it was much like what she thought addiction would feel like, and as the days passed it almost felt like withdrawal.

Instead of anxiously checking around corners at the hospital to avoid the man, she instead would glance down the long corridors hoping to see his form. But as the days lengthened to become a week, Nick had no such luck. It was as if the doctor was purposefully avoiding her, which unbeknownst to the girl, that was precisely what he was doing.

Carlisle was sitting at his office desk with his head buried in his hands, trying to block out her smell which she could sense was growing closer. He went as far as to plug his nose, but her smell still permeated his senses.

He could almost feel a physical tug towards the girl as she walked by his office door on her way to her supply closet.

Carlisle had to put a great deal of thought into not thinking about why the girl pulled him in so strongly. As the week had passed since what he referred to as 'the incident', he had developed a pretty good idea about the cause of his newfound infatuation, but he still refused to admit the truth to himself.

So as Nick walked by his office once more, he mentally scolded himself for wanting to follow her as she walked down the hallway.

The days continued in a similar manner. Each day after school, Nick would arrive at the hospital and set her personal supplies down by her wall then walk past his office to her temporary supply closet. Then, she would walk past his office again to get back to her wall with the paints. When it came time to clean up, she'd walk by his office twice more.

He'd developed the bad habit of anticipating her scent to drift by his door, counting the number of times each day— always four.

So when her scent drifted into his office six times, not four almost two weeks later, he found himself intrigued.

Against his better judgement, he stepped out of his office and made his way over towards where he knew the mural resided.

The walk felt laboriously slow, the inexplicable tug in his chest urging him forward at a quicker rate.

As he spotted her, standing paintbrush in hand in deep concentration, the pulling sensation fizzled out. He contemplated approaching the girl, going as far as to take a step towards her, but remembered himself before he could get too far.

Instead, he walked over to the coffee kiosk and ordered a small black coffee, the cheapest item on the menu. While he waited for his steaming cup, he watched the girl paint. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and he could see the headphones hanging from her ears. As she painted, she bobbed her head along slightly to the music, but her hand remained completely still, producing crisp lines of color.

Carlisle's staring was interrupted by his cup of coffee being slid across the small cart towards him. With a nod of thanks, he took the cup and slowly walked by Nick, watching her paint. Lost in music and in her art, she didn't notice the burn of his eyes that never seemed to leave her.

Not wanting to be caught staring for too long, Carlisle turned his head forward and quickly made his way back to his office. He had barely set down his cup of coffee when his pager buzzed. It wasn't as if he could drink the coffee anyways, so he picked it back up and tossed it in the trash can in the hall as he walked to the patient room.

Nick on the other hand, just continued to paint none the wiser. She stayed, working on her wall, slowly getting more and more covered in paint until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Nick startled and pulled out her headphones when she was greeted with a gentle voice.

"Sorry to startle you dear," the voice Nick recognized as Grace. "I wanted to let you know that it's nine."

"Damn, really?" Nick questioned, receiving a pointed glare from the receptionist. "Sorry," Nick apologized wide eyed. Grace shook her head and tsked at the girl, but Nick could see her fighting off a smile as she walked back to her desk.

"Thank you!" Nick shouted over as she put her headphones back in and began the process of cleaning up.

She had to make more trips than usual to return all of the supplies that she had brought out earlier after school. As she made her second trip over to the converted supply closet lugging a couple of cans of paint with her, she couldn't help but wish that she had invested in some sort of cart to haul around all of these paints. She considered herself more of a runner than a weightlifter and the full cans of paint were fucking heavy.

Just as she was contemplating the weight of the cans, one of them slipped out of her grip. "Well shit," she grumbled as it began to roll down the hallway.

Luckily, it appeared that the lid was on tight enough not to make a mess, but chasing a runaway paint can proved to be more difficult than Nick anticipated, especially while her hands were still full.

She passed a nurse in the hallway and nodded her head in greeting as she continued to stumble after the can which was thankfully losing speed.

"Do you need help?" he called.

Nick briefly turned to smile at the man, "I think I'm good, but thanks!"

He nodded, but Nick was turned and in pursuit once more before she could see. He laughed at the girl a moment more, happily anticipating telling this story to his coworkers. The staff all seemed to love the girl, but the more they got to know her the more they realized how accident prone she was, which caused for a great deal of entertaining stories to be passed around the hospital.

With a slight thud, the rolling can finally came to a stop. With a huff of relief, Nick bent down to pick it up, but only succeeded in accidentally dropping a paintbrush that she had yet to wash. She gasped as the paintbrush barely skimmed the wooden door that the paint can had reached its end against, leaving a small blue streak against the wood grain.

Nick groaned and set everything in her arms down, using the bottom hem of her shirt to attempt to wipe the paint off. Some came off, but for the most part, all she succeeded in doing was smearing the bit of paint further into the wood grain. Deciding there was nothing else she could do without proper cleaning supplies, she stood up, looking for some sort of placard to identify the owner of the room so she could issue an apology.

To her great dismay, she was faced with a small metal tag that read 'Dr. Carlisle Cullen'. Nick grumbled, not believing her luck. She couldn't escape from the man that Maggie continually reminded her was hot, not that she needed Maggie's incessant input to come to that conclusion.

Deciding she'd try her luck and hope he just didn't notice the small splotch of paint, Nick quickly gathered her supplies and hurried as fast as she could with the load she was carrying to the closet around the corner. After putting everything away, she returned to the waiting room, grabbed her bag, and headed home for the night, formulating yet another apology to present to her mother about why she was home so late.