I open my eyes and catch the image of myself in the huge acrylic mirror on the wall to my left. I sit up with a soft gasp of surprise.
I can hardly recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror, her face pulled up in a frown of confusion that’s similar to what I feel.
This is me…?
My pupils are dilated, and my face is as red as an overripe tomato. There is a strange sensual air about the woman staring back at me that I can’t relate to.
What did I just do?
Just look at yourself.
Mother’s condescending voice infiltrates my muddled thoughts.
You have been a disappointment since birth.
A feeling akin to shame washes through me.
I wonder what my mother would say if she saw me like this.
She’d call me a whore.
“Melody?” Abram calls, redirecting my attention to the present. “Are you alright?”
I turn my gaze to him, I’m still a little dazed from the reflection of myself in the mirror.
His eyes bore into mine, stirring up the heat that began to cool off.
Some of the aching pressure in my chest eases as I stare into the deep calming pool of his beautiful turquoise eyes.
Just like in the days when all I had was the painting of him.
His eyes held no judgment but a deep understanding and something else that I can’t decipher.
Desire?
Could Abram want me the same way that I want him? Do I dare to hope?
“I’m sorry,” I say with a self-conscious laugh. “I look a mess, right?”
“You look beautiful, Melody,” Abram replies in a pretty convincing tone. “You’re just perfect.”
I almost laugh at the contradiction.
I wonder who to believe. My mother, who’s beaten down my self-confidence till there’s hardly anything left, or this gorgeous stranger, whose intentions I still can’t figure out.
I suddenly feel worn out and overwhelmed.
He’s made me feel too many things with him in such a short time.
I glance down at my bare wrist and back up at Abram. “Look how fast the time has gone,” I say with a forced laugh. “I should go now. I have to prepare for my classes.”
Abram nods quietly. “I guess I’ll keep working on this,” he says, gesturing to the canvas with his brush.
I stand slowly, self-consciously arranging and smoothing my hand over my dress as the thought of the things I did earlier flash in my head.
I must have looked like a sex-starved hobo.
I duck my head as a mortified blush creeps up my cheeks. I throw one last glance at Abram and walk out of the room.
I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me as I leave.