A/N: Oh my, two chapter in one day, holla.
When we entered the art gallery, all eyes were drawn to us. But not because of our powerful energy that surrounded us or our extraordinary fashion statements. Instead, it was because we had gotten stuck in the unexpected downpour on our way to the gallery. Everyone around us looked like a million bucks, as they sipped bitter wine and ate shrimp, while we looked like something the cat dragged in. Tyler and I looked at each other from the corner of our eyes, trying to control our laughter that was itching to further disturb the peace. Eventually, the attention left us as the host clinked a fork to the side of his glass, gaining attention to make a speech. As a waiter passed by us, Tyler grabbed two wine glasses by their flukes, nearly spilling the contents.
“Ty, we’re underage..” I whispered in his ear, grabbing onto the sleeve of his flannel.
“C’mon, Lil, live a little.” He winked at me, passing the wine glass to me, as he raised his along with everyone else. I followed suit, attempting to ignore the eruption of butterflies.
Once the man finished his speech, which obviously no one payed attention to, everyone went their separate ways. Older women went into a corner to gossip about their husbands and neighbors, while the men went over to wherever cubed cheese went. On the other hand, Tyler and I sprinted over to the first painting that we saw, which happened to be ‘The Storm on the Sea of Galilee’ by Rembrandt. At each painting we would attempt to decipher the hidden meaning that was mixed in with the paints. Neither of us knew that much about art, but we didn’t care.
As we walked along the simple creations of the past, we talked about everything that crossed our minds. I learned that his favorite color is red, he was born on July 17th, and he hates feet. These were all simples things, but my brain rushed these facts about him into the ‘must remember’ file cabinet. While we talked, a certain picture caught my eye. I had never seen this painting before. It was named ‘Singing Butler’ and created by Vettriano. The redness of the women’s exquisite dress, and the way the man held her, caused me to stare a bit longer. A snap of camera yanked my eyes away from my newfound love of this masterpiece. When I looked at Tyler accusingly, he lowered his phone and looked around innocently, while whistling a random toon. It took everything in me to not laugh at his childish antics.
“Tyler.” My hands on my hips.
“Lilian.”
“Was that a picture being taken that I heard?” I inch closer to him as he hid his phone behind his back.
“Camera? I have no idea what you are talking about,” He must have seen the mischievous gleam in my eye as I leaped to snatch it out of his hands, but as I did he put it well out of my reach, as my fingers desperately grasped at the device. It was no use, I was a short girl up against a guy that was 6 feet tall. Tyler burst into giggles, myself quickly joining along. “Imagine what we must look like to the people here.” He managed to say between his chuckles.
“Why haven’t they called the mental asylum, yet?” My hand slid down to rest on his chest as I tried to pull myself together, but my rhetorical question sent us into another round of loud laughter. Soon enough, our laughter died down. Once we finally stopped, Tyler looked over my shoulder at the painting I had lost myself in. He hummed, before straightening his back. As he turned around, I had an idea of the stunt he may pull.
“Why, my dear Lilian, might I have this dance?” Tyler asked, talking in the most poorly executed posh accent I had ever heard. I giggled, nervously, before deciding to play along.
“Of course, Sir Tyler, it would be my pleasure.” I curtsied before taking his hand, as his other rested on my waist. My hand went to his shoulder, as he began to sway and hum ‘Teenage Dirtbag’. A man after my own heart, I thought teasingly before realization hit me like a runaway train. I thought back to every time this strange guy had crossed my mind, and how many time the butterflies had ran into the confinements of my stomach. Do I like Tyler? Could I like him?, I thought in a panic, we just met and we have barely seen each other. I mean, there is no way someone could be this affected by an almost stranger.
“Lilian, are you okay?” I hadn’t realized that I had stopped swaying, until Tyler had said something. For both of our sakes, I shoved the overwhelming thoughts to the back of my mind. I’ll worry about it later.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” I gave him an enthusiastic smile, but by the hesitancy in Ty’s smile, I knew I probably put too much into the act. “Isn’t this place about to close?”
“In five minutes,” he answered, looking at the time on his phone, “wanna go back to my place? Not like that, of course.” I laughed as his cheeks turned a rosy color.
“Sure, why not?” We made our way to the exit doors, hand in hand, which didn’t at all help my predicament.
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The car ride was short and relaxing. The city lights blurred past us, one of my favorite things about living in New York. The city was so alive, a constant reminder that I am, as well. However, one of Tyler’s hands were on the steering wheel, while the other was intertwined with mine. It was getting harder and harder to ignore my earlier thoughts, turning this relaxing car ride into a claustrophobic one. When he parked his car, I breathed out a puff of air I didn’t realize I had been holding in.
“Don’t get out yet.” Ty commanded, as I looked at him weirdly. I had nothing to be afraid of though, because he went to my side of the door, and opened it up for me.
“Whoa, what a gentleman you are,” Tyler rolled his eyes at my teasing, but continued to help me out. We walked up to his front door, which was close to a mile from where he parked, “do I get a foot massage after this?” As soon as I mentioned feet, his head turned to look at me like I was some kind of alien.
“Lil, if you valued your life, you would keep those nasty things away from me.” I laughed out loud at his empty threat. Tyler gave one last shudder before unlocking the door, allowing me to walk in first. When he turned on the light, I wasn’t expecting the many pictures coating the walls or the smell of chocolate chip cookies coming from the kitchen.
“Tyler Anthony Scott, do you have any idea how lat-,” an older woman came from the kitchen weilding a spatula in her hand, but she stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on me, “oh, I didn’t see you there, dear.”
“Mom, this is Lilian, my...friend.” His uncertainty made me feel better about my own. I smiled at her, before holding at my hand as a greeting. However, I was taken by surprised when she grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug instead. The warmth of her embrace brought wishful thinking into my mind of my own mother.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I whispered, loud enough that she could hear me.
“Likewise, Lilian. My Tyler hasn’t shut up about you.” To which Tyler responded in a drawn out ‘Mommmm’. I giggled at their playful exchange as his mother pulled me into one last hug. “Well, these cookies aren’t going to bake themselves, so I will be in the kitchen if any of you need me. No funny business, though. Sara is asleep.” Her brown eyes, that resembled Tyler’s, winked as the two of us. She went back into the kitchen, laughing at her own joke.
We went up the stairs, passing a few closed doors. One of which, was coated with all things pink. That must be Sara’s room, I thought as we walked past. We continued until we reached the end of the hall, stopping at a door with police tape coating the surface. When he opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could see the floor. Band posters were hung up, along with some Sports Illustrated posters. I continued to observe the room, noticing a few guitars near the window.
“Do you play?” I asked, pointing to the acoustic guitar.
“Uh, yeah. I’m not very good, though.” His hand weaved through his hair, as he shifted on his feet.
I smiled, “you should play me something sometime.” He nodded.
“Yeah, I’d like that. So, want to watch a movie?” He sat against his headboard.
“Depends, what do you have?” He spread out the selections he had to offer, ranging from Titanic to The Grudge. We finally decided on White Chicks, one of my all time favorite movie. We put the disc in before propping ourselves up against the headboard with a blanket over the both of us. The night was full of laughter and aimless conversation between scenes.
Half way through the movie, I could feel myself doze off to the sound of ‘A Thousand Miles’, eventually my eyes fluttering shut as my head fell softly onto Ty’s shoulder.
YOU ARE READING
Cigarettes
Short Story"Is it a metaphor?" "No, it's a cigarette." {Book 1 in The Toxic Series}