October.
"So... where're your brothers?" I asked carefully. It was ten in the morning, and I had no idea where I was taking Luke when I had suggested for us to go do something. But I'm sure he didn't mind, walking around the city and getting him to open up to me was much better, anyway. And it was just a matter of time until I started opening up to him, as well. And I was dreading the moment.
So that's why he never stayed in the coffee shop and sat alone on the bench across from it. I was more aware on how I should act around him, now that I knew. I was surprised at how low he thought of himself just for having a disorder. He was absolutely lovely, regardless of any disorder he had. And I could see it in him, even if he never fully told me, how he looked down on himself, which I found utterly ridiculous. He's a normal human being, why does he treat himself like he's some exotic creature from Mars, or something?
I confound his parents even if I'd never met them, for leaving such an exemplary boy in the hands of someone else. I wonder where his brothers were exactly. He really had no one, and I felt a pain in my heart just imagining a young Luke, sat in his aunt's home, alone, no one to play with him, do any type of activity with him, or play Xbox or whatever young teenage boys did. I felt sorry, and guilty for some reason. After learning about why he seemed so secluded, it's almost as if I want to spend every day with him, which I'll probably end up doing. I'm not going to let him go.
"They stayed with my aunt and me until I turned seven, then flew with my uncle over to Minnesota, where he lived, for some reason. It's like they knew there was something wrong with me, before I even found out myself." he replied almost hesitantly, his voice quiet. I stopped walking and so did he, looking at me skeptically.
"Luke," I groaned, "Please stop saying that. People get disorders. Will you stop treating it like it's some sort of disease?" I didn't mean for my tone to sound harsh, but Luke ducked his head down, like what a five year old would do whilst getting scolded for breaking something. "Sorry," he stuttered. I was about to say something when a woman who looked around thirty something had bumped into his tall figure from behind, sending him stumbling forward.
"Can you not stop in the middle of the street? Jesus," she barked, fixing her blonde bun and adjusting her blazer and looking up at Luke distastefully. He might've been a whole head taller than her being the small woman that she was, but boy was she intimidating.
I glanced at Luke, who looked like a deer in headlights and that he was about to throw up as he gulped, so without thinking I stepped forward and grabbed his hand, ignoring the spark of electricity that shot up my arm the minute his hand touched mine, ignoring the automatic warmth that filled me, from the thought that he's holding my hand back, and how warm and soft it was, and how slightly calloused his fingertips were.
Ignoring the fact that this hoodie wasn't the reason why I felt so safe and cozy in this November weather - it was Luke, I thought as I caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye, and he had a small smile on his lips, colour rising on his cheeks as he bit his lip, eyes on the woman but I knew his attention was on me.
Yeah, I don't think I'm ignoring it, aren't I?
"Sorry, ma'am." I responded, focusing now on the grouchy lady smiling false yet sweetly as possible. Man, New York, such lovely people.
She huffed and walked away, back to wherever she was headed and I turned back to Luke, who was looking down at our intertwined hands. He then looked up at me, pupils dilated, beautiful light blue eyes sparkling, still filled with worry, only a teeny tiny bit. Then he beamed adorably at me, and I did the same. An idea of where our destination should lead off to popped into my mind.
"Ever heard of the Chelsea galleries?" I asked, already walking still hand in hand with Luke, pulling him to the direction of 11th Avenue on the West Side of Manhattan.
~~~
Luke.
"So... Harvard, huh?" I had let go of her hand a while ago after we had entered the art gallery, trying to hide my disappointment, already missing the warmth her soft, small hand gave me. She turned her attention from the painting in front of us to me, her small smile fading as she looked down. I took a step closer to her.
"Uhm, no." she muttered. "My mom gave it to me, though." she added and I stayed silent, hoping she'd continue. I could sense the sad tone in her voice when her father had come into the conversation, and it was about time I learned more about her. All I knew was that her favourite colour was lavender, she was an only child and that she was extremely beautiful. Okay, maybe that last part I had figured out on my own.
"I lived in Vancouver with my mom and dad," she continued, averting her gaze from her shoes to the next painting in front of us which happened to be a woman around the Renaissance period. She had a straight look on her face, sophisticated and formal, but didn't look happy.
"They had practically planned my life out since birth, and I hated it. I wanted to live my own life, I wanted to draw, and they wanted me in Harvard, overwhelming me with such crazy ideas and making my own feel like they weren't good enough." she ranted, eyes still on the woman in the artwork. "And if I ended up doing what they wanted me to, I'd end up like her," she gestured to the portrait, "I'd look intact, like my life was on track, but I'd absolutely hate it." And she was right, even if the artist of the painting had a completely different intention when he painted it, if I matched October's story with the artwork, it would make more sense.
I took in what she had said, intrigued by the way she described how her life could've been to image in front of us. She was fully amazing, how her mind probably had an endless amount of questions and ideas and imaginations that no everyday person would think of, she was different and she pulled me in deeper and deeper just because of that, and words couldn't explain how she astounded me every time, and each time kept getting better and better.
She turned her head to meet mine, smiling sadly. I wanted to comfort her, make her know she was good enough, because she deserved every last bit of complimentary I had in my head. I bravely took her right hand in my left and that smile on her face that was once sad and filled with gloom had transformed into a full on beam, teeth and everything.
"Well," I started, smiling back down at her. "Guess we both need a little fixing, don't we?" She giggled, and shrugged, nodding, her sweet laughter filling my ears and she gently pulled on my arm and started to walk off to another painting to analyze.
I was falling for her fast.
God, October, I thought in my head, following behind her. How did it end up like this?
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