Just Kate.

Sigh. These two wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote this down. God knows where they came from- one from the shadow-filled alleys and one from a frikken penthouse. But here you go.

I walked down the unmoving escalator, the clicking of my bright red heels reverberating off the walls. It was such an isolated noise against the muted sound of the traffic above me.

 

I counted the steps and prayed I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.

 

The station seemed strange without the crowds of noisy, pushing people. The businessmen with their briefcases and ears glued to cell phones, the children who were late for school, the moms and grand-moms that did the weekly shopping.

 

The silence –apart from theracket my bloody heels were making- was deafening. I pulled my silk shawl around me closer.

 

At the bottom, leaning sullenly against the wall, was a boy. His face was hidden by the hood that was pulled up all the way, and he held his head in his hands- such beautiful hands, I thought absent-mindedly. The hands of an artist; and all of a sudden I knew that I wanted him. More than anything.

 

He looked up. I had no doubt that he had heard me coming, or even saw me from afar. But he chose to acknowledge me only when I stood directly in front of him, feeling like a fool.

 

His face was so cold, it chilled my blood.

 

“You’re here.” The tone of surprise in his voice reminded me of my earlier epiphany, the moment I knew where he went.

 

I realized that he probably thought he could come here because he would be safe from me- he hadn’t believed I could overcome my fears after all. Even for him. That hurt more than anything he had ever said to me.

 

“How do you know?” I blurted, somewhat breathless from the whirlwind of emotions that were suddenly flooding through me. “You have no rulers, no foundations, and no art techniques whatsoever. How do you know where the colour goes? How do you know it’s finished?”

 

“They tell me where they want to be, and I put them there.”

 

Another cryptic answer. Defeated, I lost all remembrance of lady-likeness and slumped against the wall beside him, running a finger through my no longer gelled hair.

 

I didn’t care about the way my legs, bare because of my stupid short cocktail dress, were freezing over the cement floor.

 

I didn’t care that the moisture in my eyes was making my eyeliner run.

 

I just wanted answers, no more guessing games. If I couldn’t get that from Devon, there was nobody else I could turn to. But I still rubbed my eyes furiously, not wanting to let him see me cry. But he wasn’t even looking at me.

 

Then he spoke, quietly; almost shy, even. “It’s like when you write a composition for the piano- you hear the melody in your head, right? Nobody tells you what it’s going to sound like, you just know.”

 

I nodded. I could see what he was talking about.

 

“How do you know where the next note comes from, which key to press? How does it sound right to your ear?”

 

I was silent. There was something happening inside me; the emotional tornado in my heart was beginning to settle into a conclusion.

 

I love him.

 

Do I? My palms began to sweat despite the cold- it was a battle between the heart and the mind.  The latter began its defences, reminding me of all the hurtful things- Devon the truant; Devon the irresponsible; Devon the boy who had stolen my money-

 

To buy a birthday present for ME, argued my heart passionately.

 

“Come back,” I blurted out again, this time in a pleading manner. “Please, Devon-“

 

But he shook his head though still staring forward, not meeting my eyes. “The streets are where I belong, remember?” he asked me sadly, and I could still hear the hurt, hear the heartbreak.

 

The tears were starting to slip now. One by one. I tried to hide the sniffling, but of course nothing escaped his hearing.

 

He turned his head slowly, as if in awe that I was letting myself cry. But I just couldn’t care anymore. I just couldn’t.

 

“The subway closes at midnight- how did you get down here?” His voice was odd; he was holding something back. Maybe he was stalling for time before he could find the right way to say “Get out of my life”. I sobbed even harder at the thought; every tear I had ever held back came down with a vengeance.

God, there better not be any photographers out on the streets when I walk back later...

 

He poked my foot with his gently. “Kate?”

 

I looked up, into his serene gray eyes that were absolutely... alive. With what?

 

“My heart told me where it wanted to be,” I said brokenly, “And I-“

 

“Shut up you idiot,” he suddenly whispered in a fierce manner, and before anything could register in my brain I was in his arms, my lips fastened to his. My fingers found his beautiful face- I just needed to touch him.

 

Love burned through me, mixing with my blood in my veins and capillaries, so that I felt it in every part of my body.

 

“I love you, Katherine Virtusa the third,” he gasped, as we broke away.

 

I laughed and leaned my face into his. "Just Kate, if you please."
 

Author's Note

Mm. Should I continue this?

Reviews

[Jaclyn]

I should think you should continue this. And you have a lot of really fantastic description in here. As always, as the grammar nazi, I am going to warn you to watch sentence fragments, spelling, and abruptness, but this has definite potential. I'd like to see more!