21. Sylvan

21

SYLVAN

T he sun was shining when I left the dark, cold college. It left dappled spots on the ground as it broke through the branches of the trees, yet my walk home had never been more dismal. I kept looking at the photos Irving had given me, thinking back to that night with my former lover.

We had fun together, it was true. And I still liked how I looked in the images. I liked having a reminder of our time together, even if we'd long since moved on. I didn't even care that a stranger might see my naked body intertwined with someone else's body. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. I never had before, so why would my thoughts change now?

Still, these photos had affected Irving more deeply than I could have imagined. Was it really just the photos, or was it something more? The nudes made a good scapegoat for his frustrations, but if he wouldn't tell me what was going on in that fascinating mind of his, how could we possibly work through it together?

I walked past the hotel and briefly considered stopping inside to have a chat with Lachlan, but decided at the last minute that I would only make things worse if I went through with that. He wanted me out of the picture – the picture with Irving, that was – and talking to him now would only tell him that his insidious little plan was working. He'd gotten to Irving, even if Irving had played it off the last time they talked.

A spider nearly the size of my fist was spread across my door when I got back home. I tapped the wood next to it to move out of the way, but the little rascal refused to budge.

"You're worn out too, aren't you?" I asked, leaning in closer to examine its intricate details. "That's all right. You've found a safe place and that's all that matters. You can stay."

I cracked the door open, hoping the spider wouldn't seize the opportunity to scurry in with me, and slipped inside. The house was quiet and lonely without Irving. I was used to living alone, yet somehow in the last week, I'd grown so accustomed to having Irving around, that his not being here felt wrong.

There was only one thing I could do while I waited, and that was paint. I set up my space and got to work, hoping that I would be able to give this painting to Irving in person. He might like it even less than the first one, but I didn't care. It was the only I knew how to express my true feelings since the "I love yous" weren't getting through to him.

I got so engrossed in my work, the hours passed by easily. Painting worked well to take my mind off of my worries, even if they still gnawed at me in the very back of my mind. As time ticked on, it grew dark out and I forgot that I should have been wrapped in Irving's arms right about now.

The brush strokes came easily to me at this stage in the painting. Each shade, each swipe, each stipple was calculated yet free. I allowed myself to be swept away in the image that was coming together on canvas.

I got so wrapped up in finishing my work that I almost didn't hear my phone buzzing on the coffee table. When the sound finally hit me, I jumped up and scrambled to answer it without even looking at who was calling.

"Irving?" I asked excitedly.

There was a pause, and then, "Yes, it's me."

"Oh, Irving, I'm so glad you called. I was beginning to give up hope that we would talk again today. It's important to talk things through while the thoughts are still fresh. That applies to painting too, and I'm sure you experience that in your own work in short bursts of inspiration sometimes–"

"Lachlan came by my apartment this evening."

My breath caught in my throat. "Is he…is he there now?"

"No, thank heaven. I got him to leave, but not before he deduced that you and I talked after he left the college earlier."

"Was he pleased or upset?"

"It was hard to tell. I told him neither of us cared about the photos, but I don't think he believed me."

"That doesn't matter. He's not going to win this battle, Irving. You won't let him." Irving was silent a little too long for my comfort. "It's more than that now, Sylvan. He's opened up quite the can of worms, I'm afraid."

His voice was dreary and detached. I wanted to hug him over the phone, but my arms were too short to reach from my cabin to his apartment.

"Come over," I begged him. "We can talk properly at my cabin."

"I don't think I should," he replied hesitantly. "You and I both know where the night will lead and I think it's best if we spend some time apart."

"I won't initiate anything if you're not comfortable with it. I just want to talk."

"Well, all right. I suppose it couldn't hurt. I'll see you soon."

I hung up with a sliver of hope taking hold in my heart. Irving and I were always better at communicating in person. We would figure out a way to move forward, even if it meant making some changes. We had to. I couldn't live without him, and though he wouldn't admit it, I didn't think he could live without me either.