“And why not?”
“Because my parents might be home. I don’t know whether my dad is on a shift or not.”
“Those people don’t concern me. You do. And I’m coming in.”
I frown at him. “I’m getting a little tired of you ordering me around.”
He doesn’t move, and after a while, I have no choice but to go to the front door and unlock it. I open it a fraction of the way and listen carefully, but there is no sound from inside.
Pushing it open, it hits several old bottles, but the main living room is in a better state than I expected.
I step inside, and Lucas follows me. His face is blank as he looks around. The living room is littered with cans and bottles.
“Sorry,” I say automatically. “I usually clean up after them.”
Lucas shuts the door. He looks ridiculously out of place in the tiny house. It doesn’t suit him—squalor. He’s made for finer things.
“What did you need from here?” he asks briskly.
“They’re not bad people,” I blurt out, surprising myself.
Lucas looks around the room, and it’s a long, assessing stare that seems to take in everything I try to hide from the world.
“These are the people who were having a huge fight when I dropped you off yesterday?” he asks, stepping over a wide stain on the carpet. “The same people who have abandoned their eldest daughter, leaving her to care for her younger sibling, forcing her out of her home, and ignoring her needs?”
I can’t speak as his eyes meet mine. “They don’t sound like good people, Amelia. You shouldn’t live here anymore.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I already decided I’d move Annabelle out. I don’t need you to take charge like this; I can manage it myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
I expect him to get angry, but he just smiles at me, cocking his head to one side.
“Noted. So, what did you need to get?”
“Just some things from my room.”
“Lead the way.”
I want to protest his coming with me, but I know he’ll just find a way to do it anyway. I walk through the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom.
Lucas makes little comment as he enters, glancing around with interest. I’ve always wanted to paint the lilac walls, but I never had enough money to get the paint I wanted.
I go to my closet, pulling out some clothes and dragging a bag from under the bed, setting about collecting everything I might have missed. I don’t notice how quiet it is until I glance back at Lucas, and my stomach drops to my knees.
“Oh my God, put that down!” I shriek, leaping across the space only to have him hold my notebook up and out of reach.
“Is this me?” he asks, holding up the picture I drew of his naked ass the week before. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I’m beet red.
“You weren’t supposed to see those,” I whisper.
He laughs gently, flipping through the pages. “They’re wonderful.” It’s so sincere that I look up at him in amazement. “These are excellent, Amelia. I had no idea you were so talented.” He turns to the canvas between the cupboard and the wall. “May I?”
I shrug; he’s already seen the worst of it.
He pulls out the abstract drawing of my face. I've come to quite like it now. Although, strangely, standing here with Lucas, the face looking back at me from the canvas doesn’t seem so familiar any longer. I feel like a different woman from the one who painted it.
“This is amazing,” he says solemnly.
“Th…thank you,” I mutter, turning back to my bag. “I don’t have any expensive canvases; the paint will probably start chipping off that one soon.”
