Page 22 of Portrait of A Lost Artist

“Not really. He’d shame me for eating, I guess.

I had a complicated time understanding that there was more to me than my body, so.

..I would just not eat. That’s how I picked up alcohol.

” I confess, feeling more ashamed by the minute as I tell her that.

I push my body away, looking to the side and shaking my head. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a mess—”

Veronica, however, always manages to contradict my assumptions.

She envelops my hands in her own, her warmth a comforting cascade as she brings them to her exquisite lips, pressing soft kisses against my knuckles.

Finally, she settles our intertwined hands onto her lap.

“I’ll say it a million times and repeat it if I have to, but you’re not a mess.

Do I think you had it all? Yes, but at a cost that no kid should ever go through.

It worked in your favor that you didn’t have to go through certain things, but that doesn’t mean other matters cannot take place.

” She lets those words fall ahead of us, twirling a nail across my index and middle finger.

Someone with Veronica’s understanding should have been there for me earlier.

It’s not to paint everyone in my life negatively—I’m fortunate to have Renna, Jun, his family, and my own.

Yet, there’s been a persistent sense of isolation, a belief that confiding in anyone would mean lost income.

Their well-being was so tied to my productivity that seeking help felt like a selfish act, steeped in guilt.

“Either way, yes. That’s it. Didn’t have the same connection to food for a while, but coming here...feels good. There’s so much to discover, myself included.” I watch her with intent, clapping a hand against her own as if to move the conversation forward. “Enough about me.”

“I’m just...okay, I stayed quiet a little too long there, but I promise it’s not because I didn’t want to say anything,” Veronica whispers, the strap of her dress falling off one shoulder.

“I’m just glad. That you made it here, I mean.

I am guessing it wasn’t easy to make it another day every twenty-four hours and.

..to have you here, aiming to be better, and doing it as well, makes me proud. ”

Ridden of speech, I am just left there to gawk at the beauty that she emanates.

Past the obvious physical attraction, I can’t sit here and say that there is not something deeper that grows within me like leaves after autumn for her.

Veronica is, in a word, spectacular. She’s not someone who will be written about in textbooks, but her extraordinary character and rich soul are such that encountering her even once would be a valuable experience for anyone.

“It makes me embarrassed to talk about myself.”

Veronica chuckles softly. “Because you’re a man and you were probably raised like most men.

You think these kinds of things shouldn’t be talked about.

” Without granting me a chance to really think about it, or perhaps fight on that subject, she takes the pillow on my bed and places it on her lap. “So, we’re not sleeping.”

I hum. “Most likely, no.”

“Hence, we need to find ways to kill time. And since I still feel like there’s so much that I don’t know about you...” Her voice trails, perking up with the appearance of a smile. “Let’s play twenty questions.”

Only Veronica Del Real would ask me to play such a thing at age twenty-seven. “As in, the middle school game.”

“I think it’s a good game.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

“Then, you’re down?”

Down bad for her? Absolutely. “Sure, I don’t mind.” I respond, jotting a hand in between the locks of my dark hair. “You first.”

Caught in the act of focusing, Veronica’s tongue traces the line of her upper lip, a fleeting, unconscious movement that precedes the sudden, decisive snap of her fingers. “First thing you look forward to in the morning.”

“Breakfast.” Simple as that response, her shoulders drop before letting out an amused laugh. “What? I love breakfast. Now that I have it, I mean. I used to wake up way later in L.A.”

“Fair enough.” She responds. “Your question.”

Somehow, I don’t think deeply about what to ask her. Not with her, because baring another layer of her persona was a benefit that I couldn’t believe I had. “When did you have your first kiss?”

“I don’t know, must’ve been sixteen or seventeen. I think it was around that time.” She sounds like she’s trying to play it off as something that she doesn’t care about enough.

“More details, please.”

“You said when!”

“Yeah, I phrased that wrong.”

“Tough luck.” Veronica plays around, fluttering her eyelashes. “Who’s your favorite musician of all time?”

“Elton John.” I confess easily. “My mom made me take a picture with him when I was a kid and he got to sing something to me. That’s when I lurked through my mom’s album collection and fell for his music.”

“Just like everyone else,” Veronica replies, though I poke fun at her by throwing another question her way.

“My second question. How was your first kiss? Details, please.”

“Nathan...” Her breath comes out in a soft rush, a smile contained by the press of her lips as she rubs her neck.

My eyes trace her, from the bright, excited flecks in her eyes, down the perfect arch of her nose, along the smooth column of her neck to the gentle roundness of her chest, now framed by the fallen strap of her dress. “Why are you so curious about this?”

“I don’t know. I have a feeling that the man that broke your heart so badly that first night we met holds some kind of meaning that...I don’t know, I’m curious about.” Though, when I hear her sigh, I spread my hands forward. “You don’t have to respond if you don’t want to.”

“My best friend, Ezequiel, has a brother, Lorenzo. I kissed him when I was seventeen. It was frankly the best that one can get from a first kiss...I’ve only kissed two men in my life.”

“Really?” The surprise is evident in my tone. Heck, I can’t remember how many people I’ve made out with at parties.

“I guess I just have to feel something for someone for me to kiss them, so whenever I kiss someone...it escalates to something else. Something deeper.” Veronica shrugs.

I can picture what others must have thought, even her best friend’s brother.

Veronica exudes that rare sense of permanence, making you wonder if every past experience, good or bad, was simply a path to this moment.

With her. “Any other questions you have about me and kissing?”

That question shouldn’t trail to that portion of my brain, clouded by a whispering voice, that tells me that what I feel for her is growing.

This escalating interest, this undeniable pull, this burgeoning liking has me studying her mouth, hoping for a silent consent.

Veronica’s lips are flawlessly shaped, a captivating sight made even more so when she traps her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up with an innocent air that hints at a hidden depth.

A layered intensity, a secret wildness revealed to only a chosen few.

“I don’t want to ask...” I sit up straight to tell her, my elbows planted on my knees, and I watch her face as a smile flickers across mine.

Sleepiness might be loosening my tongue, making me say more than I intend, but I let the words flow.

“What is in my head right now is a matter of doing, not talking.”

Part of me expected Veronica to pull away, perhaps striking my shoulder and saying I was crazy, yet she didn’t.

However, she leans forward, spreading a palm on my shoulder and caging the pulse on the side of her neck with the cupping motion of her hand.

The artery must be palpitating to surprising extents against her skin, distorted by her.

A hot gust of breath flies across my lips as her own brown eyes study my mouth.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” she asks softly, staring at me through her set of short lashes.

“Look at me like you’re thinking about it.” I prove, only to have her getting closer. Her legs spread until she lays them across my lap, her hips ending up on one of my thighs. My hand flies to the curve of her pelvis, tugging the skin with the closing of my palm when she adds something more.

“Right, because you don’t think. You do .”

“Veronica—”

Her mouth claims mine, a tender capture of my lower lip.

Her hands frame my neck, thumbs a soft pressure against my jaw as she kisses me with a world of delicate intention.

Despite her gentle touch, a tremor runs through me, my hands instinctively tightening on her hips, urging her closer.

Our initial embrace lacks perfect unison—her kiss a patient unfolding, mine a rush of heat—but I let her lead the dance.

I succumb to the soft persuasion of her mouth until her tongue, a delicate invitation, traces the curve of my upper lip, and I finally open myself to her.

Harsh breaths escape our bodies, lungs wishing to understand what our brains and hearts are trying to tell each other.

I move to get more of a glimpse of her, laying her down on the bed opposite to the headrest, where her waves expand beside her like a halo.

Her mouth has gained a reddened color, swollen as if she had eaten spices, glistening under the soft lights with the gleam of the slightest bit of saliva.

A huff leaves her lips when plopping on the hard bed, one of my knees propping her legs open so I can settle there.

Not getting too close to keep the kiss passionate yet respectful enough, though my hands spread on her waist, wishing to get another savor of her mouth.

I’m swept away as I kiss her, unable to fully process the intensity of the moment.

Kissing has never felt this personal and deeply gratifying, as if something I once thought of as innocent and playful has unexpectedly become an interesting new addiction, entirely because of her.

I relish on the curve of her bottom lip, on the way she opens her mouth and trembles out a sigh before capturing my mouth once again.

She doesn’t stop for more than a few seconds, tugging at the back of my hair to pull me closer, toying around with the strands and messing them up in a way that had me thinking how they would feel like as I went lower on her body, tasting all of her, feeling like she was mine just for a mere second. ..

Everything about her screams perfection.

Music to my ears is the moan that she lets out when I stop kissing her mouth, trailing open-mouthed touches down her cheeks towards her neck before biting on the skin there gently, just along her pulse.

She’s just as caught up in the moment as I am.

To my surprise, the hand that was laced in my hair now glides down my back before she nudges me onto my side.

Her leg follows, intertwining with mine.

Fuck, I just hope she doesn’t feel me getting hard—

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long...” I tell her, pressing my forehead to hers, only to receive another kiss. Her hands dip under my shirt, though not going that high up, only caressing the skin of my abdomen before pulling away.

“Are you okay with just kissing?”

Respectful of her decision, I am, but my mind is definitely going through all the bases instead of just settling on what we have right now. Flawless, it is, but I can only imagine how much better everything else must feel. Cherishing and worshipping her right here, in the rain, sounds inviting.

“If it’s with you, anything is okay.” I confess with a soft smile, twirling her hair as I kiss her again.

Her hands settle on my abdomen, and I can’t help but wonder if she feels the frantic beat of my heart, the obvious message of my desire.

If she does, she remains perfectly still, neither encouraging more nor pulling away from our shared closeness. “You’re so beautiful...”

She smiles into our kiss before pulling back slightly for a soft peck. Her thumb then dances lightly across my lower lip before she snuggles her face against my chest, a tender chuckle escaping her. “You say it so seriously.”

“Because I mean it.” I tell her, pulling her body away so we can exchange a glance. Those lips are tainted red just because of me. And as long as I’m here, it will only be my doing. “And I’d make it a routine to remind you if you needed it. You’re absolutely beautiful, inside and out.”

Not as talkative as I am, she dips her face until we are kissing again.

This is enough, at least for now. And I get lost in time as I learn more noises from her, like how her breathing grows ragged when I kiss behind her ear, or how she can’t handle it when I bite down on her bottom lip.

Without knowing, we lose our nights to ourselves, stopping when sleep overtakes us, kisses growing softer, more spaced, and delicate.

The rain continues pouring when my eyes close, definitely bothered by her, but also incredibly comfortable as we keep our legs intertwined, using that awful bed to share the best night of our lives.