Manhattan

06.

SOMETIMES, THERE WAS nothing like a bit of painting to help Aidan relax. Painting was his getaway, a temporary escape from the real world when things got ugly or too much to bear. But this time, it only made it worse. Instead of clearing his mind, it only seemed to heighten his emotions, and now he painted with a sort of vigor - his hand clutched the paintbrush like a knife, and instead of gentle, careful strokes, he slashed it across the canvas furiously, until the colours began to swirl and blend together and all he could see was red, red, red.

He didn't realize he'd stopped painting until he was lying on the bed, staring up at the roof, his hands sifting through his hair. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't even sure this was just about Benji anymore. Sure, that problem took up a large amount of his thoughts, but ever since that talk with his mother, he'd been feeling a heavy weight on his chest, a feeling he hadn't had since the days just after his father's death, a feeling he'd pushed away, and buried deep, deep down inside him.

The sound of his mom calling him snapped him from his thoughts. He got up off the bed, and left his room without glancing back. He found her in the kitchen,setting the dinner table, and when she took one look at his paint-splattered shirt, she gave him a horrified look.

"Aidan!" she said.

"What?" he asked defensively.

She glared at him. "You are not wearing that to the dinner."

Aidan shrugged sheepishly. His mom sighed.

"Go change. Right now. Then help me set the table, they'll be here any -"

As if on cue, the bell to the apartment rang, signaling the arrival of their guests. Aidan's mom gave him a panicked look.

"Oh God," she started frantically. "I'm not ready. I haven't -"

"Mom," Aidan cut in. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You go get the door - I'll get changed."

She nodded, smoothing out her dress and shaking out her hands, as if warming up for a jog. She took a deep breath and headed to the door, while Aidan scrambled to his room. He changed his shirt, then gave a despairing look at the mess he'd made from painting. A sudden idea popped into his head and he grabbed the white cloth he used to cover his painting and flung it over the canvas, effectively hiding the terrible painting from view. He hid the paint in a drawer in his desk and placed a carpet over the mess on the floor. With a satisfied sigh and a last glance around his now reasonably tidy room, he made his way out.

His mom was in the living room, talking with a man in an expensive looking suit, and beside him was -

"Leah?" said Aidan.

His mom and the man - Mr. Davis - glanced at Aidan, who blushed, while Leah gasped.

"Aidan!" she exclaimed, and ran up to him, engulfing him in a huge hug, as if they were really good friends, and not two strangers who'd met on the streets once. Aidan didn't know what to do except hug her back, and when she pulled away his mom gave him a look.

"Aidan, you two know each other? Have you met before?" she asked.

"Yep," Leah said, patting Aidan's arm. "We've met."

"Huh," his mom said. "Small world."

Aidan shrugged, while Mr. Davis came up to him. He was tall and imposing, and his face was stern, all angles and hard lines. He held out a hand for Aidan to shake.

"A pleasure to meet you, Aidan," he said.

Aidan shook his hand. "You too, sir."

Mr. Davis laughed - it was the booming kind of laugh, the loud kind that filled empty rooms and made them warm and welcoming. Whatever intimidating demeanor he'd given out before fell away, and Aidan found himself relaxing.