Clipped Wings

She crooked her finger. When I bent down, putting my ear to her mouth, she whispered, “ ‘My balls are sweaty.’ ”

I burst into laughter, scaring a bohemian couple two paintings to the right. They shot me a dirty look, and Tenley broke into a fit of giggles.

I led her to the next exhibit. “So was your mom or dad the artistic one?”

“My mom, I guess,” Tenley said, stopping to stare at a work by Dalí. “Although she was more about photography, and even then it was just a hobby, kind of like my drawing.”

“You could have gone to art school if you wanted,” I said, kissing the top of her head. Being in a public place made it easier to be affectionate without succumbing to the urge to take it to the next level.

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “My parents never would have gone for that.”

“Why not? You’re insanely talented.”

“Hardly,” she said with disparagement.

I turned her so she was facing me, not the painting. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you how gifted you are?”

Her eyes dropped and her fingers moved along the exposed ink on my forearm. “I’m really not.”

“Hey.” I waited until she looked at me. “You really are.”

I stared down at her, wondering what she had been like before the accident. Had she bent to others’ whims in order to avoid disappointing them? It was entirely possible. She treaded a very careful line. Her piercings were subdued, pretty even. Her clothes stayed firmly within what would be considered “acceptable,” but she was edgy, at times even eccentric. It came out most when she was in the comfort of her own space. She still grabbed people’s attention, though. Not because she sought it but because her inherent beauty made it impossible not to be drawn to her.

“That’s sweet of you to say.” She rose up on her toes, and I dipped my head so she got my lips instead of my chin. She smiled and took a step back, breaking the co

“You must have taken art classes, though,” I pressed.

“Sure. All through high school and college. But I majored in sociology because there were lots of career options after I finished my degree. Then I got accepted into the master’s program at Northwestern, so that was that. Come on, I want to check out some of the medieval paintings.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes there’s nudity.”

I dropped the art school discussion, although I had a feeling there was more to it than she was willing to divulge at this point. Tenley was passionate about art; it was obvious in the way her eyes lit up when she discovered a piece that really spoke to her. Even the articles and textbooks she was using to research her thesis had some foundation in art forms, alternative or otherwise.

After the museum, I took her out for di

I liked taking her places, watching her get excited. It was the perfect way to get to know more about her apart from the painful pieces of her past. From what I learned about her, she struggled with who she was and what she wanted from life, but then, who didn’t? Beyond that, doting on her felt good. I liked that I could take her out, buy her di

23

TENLEY

Hayden folded after five days. His ability to hold out that long had been commendable. After our date I cranked up the heat in my apartment and strutted around in shorts and a threadbare T-shirt, hoping it would be enough to push him over the edge. Unfortunately, this was not the case. On the fourth day I pulled out the big guns in the form of frilly underpants and do

I discovered his ultimate weakness unexpectedly. In his haste to vacate my apartment after I brought out the frilly underpants, Hayden left behind his STRYKER hoodie, the same one he lent me the day after he completed the outline. I liked being able to steep in his smell all day. It made me feel safe. Letting me wear his hoodie felt like a show of protection as well as possession. It didn’t bother me the way it might have before the crash.

Co

After work on Tuesday night, I stripped out of my tights and dress. The tensor bandage Hayden insisted I wear to cover my chest found a home on my dresser. T-shirt, shorts that actually covered my behind, and Hayden’s hoodie were the outfit of choice. Then I set about tidying up so he didn’t feel compelled to do it for me. The coffee table was still disorganized, but the rest of the place looked decent. I settled into the corner of the couch and picked up my thesis so I could work on it while I waited for him to arrive.

When he came over an hour later, he stood in the doorway, gawking for a good fifteen seconds before he composed himself.

“I wondered if I’d left that here,” he said as if he hadn’t been staring at me, mouth agape. He locked the door and followed me inside, heading straight to the fridge.

I flopped down on the couch and tucked my knees up under me, determined not to push him, even though I was dying to have his hands on me again. My back felt the best it had since he finished the outline. It was still itchy, but that was the extent of the discomfort. Initially the stinging burn had been so intense that the meds had barely touched the ache. I might not have voiced the level of my pain to Hayden, but he was perceptive. That first day I was looking for anything to take the hurt away, physical and otherwise. He gave me what I needed, but the cost-benefit was questionable. Since then he was careful to avoid contact that might lead to clothing removal.

Beers in hand, Hayden sauntered over to the couch. He dropped down beside me and rearranged the books on the coffee table until they were perfectly aligned. Once the table met his organizational standards, he passed me a beer. He took a swig of his own, his eyes on my bare legs. His hand ran up my calf and over my knee until he reached the hem of the hoodie. He lifted the fabric to peek underneath.

“You have your meeting with Professor Douchebag tomorrow?” he asked.

He always referred to my advisor by some disparaging name. “Douchebag” was one of his nicer terms. I nodded, unable to gauge his mood. He was quieter than usual, his eyes hard.

“What time?”

I’d already told him. Twice. “Six. It was the only time he could fit me in.” I’d said that before, too.

He nodded and withdrew his hand from my leg, much to my disappointment. Remote in hand, he flipped aimlessly through cha