Manhattan

11.

THE SOUND OF the front door slamming shut brought him back to reality. His hands were shaking. He hadn't meant to say the things he did. It had been an overreaction, a result of his anxiety over the problem with Benji, and he'd channeled those emotions into anger and hurt the last person he'd ever want to hurt.

He knew it had been entirely selfish of him. He should have been happy for his mother, for taking charge of her life. For moving on. Just because he couldn't do the same, he didn't want to be the one who held her back.The best thing to do was to apologize. When she came back, he'd tell her he hadn't meant any of it. That he supported her just as she supported him.

He sat on his bed, sifting his hands through his hair. Things just kept getting worse. He sighed, looking down at his phone, not surprised to see that Benji still hadn't called him back. He scrolled through his list of contacts, finger hovering over Leah's name just as a knock came at the front door.

He got up abruptly, thinking it was his mother, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. But when he opened the door he was surprised to find Leah smiling back at him, her curls windswept and her cheeks reddened from the cold.

"Leah," he said. "Hey. What're you doing here?"

She shrugged, taking off her coat as he let her in. "Thought I'd come to see you."

He grinned, holding up his phone. "I was just about to call you."

"What for?"

His happiness upon her arrival quickly diminished, smile slipping. He sighed. "To talk. I had a fight with my mom."

A frown pulled at the side of her mouth. She gave him a concerned look. "About what?"

He looked at her and sighed again. "Never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

"But you just said -"

"I know," he replied with a grim smile. "I'd rather not think about it, actually."

"That bad?"

He nodded.

"I've been there," she replied. "I'm here if you need to talk, Aidan."

He smiled warmly at her. "Thanks." He paused. "Wait here." He rushed back to his bedroom, sifting through his drawers until he found two sketchbooks, along with two pencils. He came back to find Leah settled on the couch, having cleared away the numerous paintbrushes that littered it.

"Sorry about the mess," he said. "My mom's not a very organized person."

"That's okay," she replied. "I kinda like it." 

He laughed, clearing a space on the coffee table and sitting down across from her. "Try saying that when you have to live with it everyday." He set his things down.

Leah looked at him curiously. "What's that for?"

He grinned, passing her the sketchbook and a pencil. "We're going to draw each other."

She gave him a skeptical look. "I'm terrible at drawing."

"Doesn't matter. It's fun," he said. "I used to do it with my mom. Whenever I'd need a distraction we'd do this."

She looked up at him. "Pushing away your feelings doesn't sound like the best idea, Aidan."

"I'm not -" He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Look, please. It's fun, okay? Trust me."

She sighed, giving into his pleading. "Fine."

He grinned again, and opened his sketchbook, Leah doing the same. He flipped to a blank page, smoothing the paper of any wrinkles, and settled back against the couch, pencil poised to draw. When he looked up at Leah, she was giving him a strange look.

"What?" he asked.

She gave him a small smile, then held up the sketch book. "This is a really nice drawing."

His heart dropped when he looked at the picture. It was the one he had sketched the night he'd seen Leah - though he hadn't known who she was then. His cheeks flushed. "Oh, that's um, that's nothing. I just -" he stammered. He reached over and quickly took the book from her hands. "Let's um, switch books."

She stared at him, surprised. "I liked it, though."

He blushed, looking down at his sketch and hastily flipping to a new page. "It's, um, you weren't - it's nothing."

She raised an eyebrow, and he could tell she was holding back a grin. He pretended to be immersed in his drawing until she felt his eyes leave him. He began to draw the portrait, looking up at Leah a few times to take note of any details - the freckles over the bridge of her nose, the slight dimple in her left cheek. He couldn't help but think that she was pretty in a unique way. Her's was the kind of face that you'd remember for a long time, the kind of face artists wanted to paint. It was so full of little details that you'd never get tired of looking.

It was another thing about her that fascinated him, that drew him to her like a moth drawn to light, like the way Leah was drawn to the city.

She looked up, squinting her eyes and studying his face, then going back to her drawing. He went back to his own, sketching in a few more details.

"Done?" he asked her, satisfied with his own drawing.

"Almost," she said, frantically moving her pencil across the page. "Okay, done. You show me yours first."

He did as she said, turning the book towards her. Her mouth fell open as she saw it.

"Aidan, oh my God. That looks exactly like me."

He grinned. "Your turn."

She held it up for him to see. "Hey, not bad," he said. It certainly wasn't the work of a practiced artist, but it wasn't that of an inexperienced one either. "You're an artist in the making," he old her with a smile.

She grinned, opening her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Aidan's phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, his heart jumping when he saw Benji's name, and gave Leah a quick look of apology before he answered.

"God, Benji, I was waiting all day for you to -" he started, interrupted when the voice on the other end of the phone spoke hysterically.

"Aidan, it's me," said Benji's mom. Her voice was panicked and high-strung. He had trouble deciphering what she was saying. "Something's happened, Aidan, you have to -"

"What's wrong?" Aidan asked, his heart pounding. "What happened? Is it Benji?"

Leah looked up in concern at the change in Aidan's voice.

"Yes," Benji's mom said, voice cracking. He could tell she had begun to cry. "We're at - the hospital - Benji -"

Aidan stood up abruptly. "I'm on my way."