Titanium Promises

Seven

Luke convinced me to show him my painting first so he could make sure I didn't back out of the deal. I asked him why I should believe that he wouldn't back out either, and all he said was, "Every promise I make is made out of titanium. Unbreakable." I bit back a laugh when I realized he wasn't being sarcastic.

I stalk up to my room and grab the painting that's hanging on the wall next to my desk. It's my most recent one—the one that took over eight hours to paint, and I loved every minute of it. 

I rarely ever paint faces, and this one is no different. It's a landscape of snow-covered mountains with a field of bursting lavender in front of it. I focused on the realism, losing myself in painting individual petals and blades of grass. 

"What are you up to?" my dad says, startling me and almost causing me to chuck the painting when I flinch.

I stare at him. "Don't scare me like that." I collect myself and readjust the way I'm holding my painting. "I'm going out."

He turns off the TV and turns all his attention towards me. "With that Luke guy?"

"Yeah," I say, resting the painting on the ground. "Is something wrong?"

He crosses his arms, muttering something. "I don't know if I want you hanging out with someone like...him."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Why not?"

"He seems like a tough guy—there's nothing wrong with that, but. . ." He keeps muttering. Starting, stopping, then starting again. "

I feel my throat getting tight. My foot taps nervously against the ground, and I keep glancing outside to where Luke is waiting.

"I just want to make sure he's trustworthy," Dad finally manages to say. "I know you've had problems with bullies in the past. I don't want this to end in you getting hurt."

Physically or emotionally? I want to ask.

I know what it's like to fall for someone who would—could never be with you.

"Luke already knows," I blurt out, filled with the urge to defend him. "He told me he was fine with it, and I know he meant it. Dad, you have to learn to trust me on these things. I know you want to protect me, I do."

He clears his throat. "All right, then. Just. . . You be safe, you hear? You have your phone?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Dad, I have my phone. I'll be fine, and I won't be gone for very long."

He nods. "Don't forget your curfew." He rises from the couch and walks towards me. "I love you, kid." He pats me on the head, a wide smile on his face. "And I do trust you. You're old enough to make decisions for yourself."

I smile. "Thanks, Dad. I love you, too."

I pick up my painting and go to the garage. The door is wide open, light from the afternoon sun spilling inside. Luke stands still, looking at the paint supplies sitting on the bench.

He turns to me as I step inside. "Welcome back," he says. "Do you have the goods?"

I smile, keeping the painting facing away from him. I feel heat rising in my cheeks, and Luke isn't fazed by my embarrassment. He actually looks excited to see my painting.

Like a dramatic prize being revealed in one of Silvia's game shows, I turn the painting and show him.

He absorbs it, examining every small detail, every stroke painted on with dozens of different brushes. His eyes drift up to mine, and I can't bring myself to smile back. Instead I look away, keeping my eyes towards the dirty floor.