Aesthete - CH. 10

"You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated." - Dr. Maya Angelos

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In my sleeplessness, I was drunk on communication. Communication with myself. My thoughts were infatuated with one another – bonded over questions I didn't know the answer to. Why?

Why the lying? Why all the lies? Was I really that blind? Had it actually all been just a game and I had been mistaken it for something greater?

I should be used to sleepless nights after all, but this one was particularly frustrating. Eight hours in bed, an hour of sleep.

I was always late if it wasn't some real important event I had in my time planner. And this night contributed to that, making me even more late than I already was by nature. When I arrived in school, most students were already in their classrooms – the hallway was an empty space for once. I went straight to my old, dark grey locker. I was captured by my own reflection in the small mirror inside of it; my mascara was smudged, I hadn't even done my eyebrows, and my hair looked exactly like it did the morning after I had been thrown onto a car. I wanted to scream at my image.

„Hey," I heard someone say and I wanted to smash my hands against the locker. Of course it was him. He was leaning against the one of the other old lockers, that seemed as if they had been there for ages, with a look on his face that I couldn't identify.

"What do you want?", I asked through my clenched teeth and shut my locker, "can we talk?", he replied, while still leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed.

"You have a thing for lockers," I stated the obvious and he raised an eyebrow, "what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, just promise me to do all girls a favor and let that be your thing," I answered, and earned a smirk, while I still had a rather judgmental look on my face. Taylor walked up to me and I saw dark eye bags that laid under his deep eyes. He hadn't slept well either.

"You really think I'd spend that much time with someone if I didn't like them?", he said and by now, his voice was voice full of care, but I didn't want to be fooled again, "and that's why you lied to me the past three months?!", I answered, but it was more like a hiss.

"How are you feeling?", he changed the topic, and "confused?", was the first thing in my mind, so I said it out loud.

"I know I get it. I should've told you earlier," he murmured and looked down for a moment, "why didn't you?"

"I don't know. I think a part of me just hoped that you wouldn't find out," his voice lowered itself, "why?", I questioned, and my voice was filled with a rage of anger again.

"because...," he commenced an answer but gave some more thought in the words he was saying, "because I left you."

For a moment, none of us said a word. "I know I didn't leave you in the usual way. But I did. There was a lot of messed up stuff happening in the past three years and...", Taylor then added, but I interrupted him, "but we always talked."

And that was an understatement. We never just "talked", we discussed: we chatted: we rattled on someone: we babbled: we gossiped: we expressed ourselves through the words we were taught. At a young age, we've had the kind of conversations people were searching for their whole life's.

"Why wouldn't you talk with me back then?" I was genuinely interested in his answer, "because I still left you," he persisted, but that made no sense to me, "Then... why did you?"

I had always asked myself that question, especially when a couple years ago when he was still one of the topics I loved to talk about. Mason had been my light for many years, before he walked out of my life without explaining why. And now, we were three years older – three years and we met again. But I was still there without an answer.

"Because things weren't as easy for me then as they were when we were young, Mel," he explained slowly and I swallowed. What had happened that Derek didn't tell me about? What could possibly hurt him so much that he would stop talking to me? And just like that, I happened to turn soft.

"I never wanted you to suffer alone," I answered quietly. He wasn't just Taylor – he was Mason too. The guy I spend days with trying to figure out puzzles. The one that actually liked going for a walk once in a while. The one that gave the best hugs in the world.

"I got through it," he said, but the tone of his voice changed and somewhat sorrow was underlining the words he was saying. I could tell that he still struggled with it, "What happened?", I therefore asked, but he just shrugged his shoulders, "I'll tell you. Someday."

I looked at him, my arms crossed, "why not now?" Mason had been the one that had always been there for me – until he left me.

"Because past is past," Taylor added and gestured me with the look on his face that he wanted it to stay that way, "then why do you talk about it like it's the present?"

He wasn't saying anything for a few seconds, and just looked at me. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to read a message, "you're pretty harsh sometimes," he smiled slightly, "you want to come with me?"

"You want me to skip school? Wow, you turned into such a bad guy," I said and remembered the boy who would force me to study the next unit as soon as we were introduced to a new one, "we both only have two classes and History is easier to study by yourself anyway. I want to bring my mum some lunch, she hasn't been home the whole night," he explained, but supressed a smile when he heard what I said in beforehand.

"Your mum? Caren? " I leaned my head to one side, "yep. Still my mum."

He pulled out his somehow beautiful grey car keys, and started walking towards the school entrance, that was out exit as well, "are you coming?"

I didn't answer, but still followed him to the car, "Do Sofia, Veronica and Derek know?"

"Derek knew it the whole time. I told Sofia and Veronica last week," he replied. I opened the passenger door and thought about his words for a moment. It made much more sense now. Derek never seemed to be without Taylor - he had always been around. They were too familiar with each other to just have met three months ago. I had assumed they had known each other from some basketball tournament, but seemed as if their history had started long before that.

"I asked them to not say anything until I told you myself," he clarified, got into the car while I still stood in front of the passenger door, "are you coming or not?"

We arrived at the central hospital after a short ride. I had to admit that I did enjoy car rides with Taylor; instead of boring and exhausting, they were entertaining and relaxing. His car had his own specific scent, a scent of new leather - and I seemed to not get enough of it. Just while entering the hospital, I felt like being placed into another world, a world of hectic. Patients were brought in non-stop, the reception was filled with three patients harshly discussing with the staff, and doctors and nurses were running around as if they were for life's. Well, they're at might as well were.

"She's still working here?" I asked, but had to raise my voice because of all the noise around us, "Never stopped."

The three patients at the reception stopped complaining and opened a polished glass door, that probably lead to a waiting room. I saw a nurse approaching the reception, breathing heavily and leaning on the disorganized table while talking to one of the receptionists; it was Caren. The dark brown hair was longer than I remembered, and clipped back into a low ponytail. She looked tired, more than tired, fatigued, but as she turned around and saw us, her eyes filled themselves with that light that I remembered from all those years ago. A bright smile appeared on her face and she approached us directly, "Taylor, you brought me lunch? What did I do to deserve you?"

She opened the box and the smell of spicy Mexican food came out, "Thank you. But you're still not getting that car."

"Mum," Taylor hissed, but his hiss resembled a beg more than a hiss, "not happening. But I take this, thankfully!"

He rolled his eyes. She gave him a wink and put her lunch on the desk, that a receptionist started to organize now. Papers were flooding around as if they hadn't been sorted out for the entire week.

"Melea. It warms my heart to see you again!", Caren said and the happiness behind here words seemed to genuine to be faked, "I've missed you!", I chuckled.

"You know you could've come earlier this year. I would've loved to have your family over for Thanksgiving again!", Caren added, but I shook my head for a no, "My mum would've been really pleased, but unfortunately that wasn't an option."

She frowned, but as she looked at Taylor, who looked like guilt itself, she realized what had happened," you didn't tell her? That's the part where your father's genes reveal themselves," she shook her head, "he's an idiot sometimes, but he has a good heart. If you or your family ever want to come around again, please do. I know Camilla would be really happy to see you. She looked up to you."

I chuckled. Oh, sweet Camilla.

"I will. Still the same address?", I asked and Caren responded with a nod, "okay, I have to get back to work. But thank you so much for stopping by and bringing me lunch," she smiled again, and the next time I blinked she was gone, lost in the crowd.

Taylor turned around, facing me. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by a message coming in. He unlocked his phone and looked down, then smirked when he finished responding, "my father wants something back that I picked up for him, want to come with?"

"As long as he doesn't remember me. He never liked me particularly much," I answered with a sarcastic undertone, but a sense of insecurity combined itself with the sarcasm in my voice.

"He never knew you, Mel," he winked and began walking towards the exit, "come with me."

Taylor parked his car in front of a small café in the middle of nowhere. It had been quite a ride up here – the soil under the café was a bit elevated – there was only a single road that could be driven to arrive at this café. It was fairly small, but in an elegant made-out-of-wood-style. I was surprised that his father was here; Jack Cavanaugh had always been a horrendous, nearly scary and reserved person in my memory. And the fact that Hannah suspected him of being involved in the murder of three men didn't help. But this café seemed personal, with friendly waiters and even friendlier prices.

Taylor noticed my sceptical look, "I know what you expect. That is what people usually expect. He wouldn't usually spend his time here, but his girlfriend's sister works here, so that might explains it."

I wanted to apologize, but before I could do so, Taylor walked into the café. There was a bell ring when he opened the door and a waitress came straight up to us, "welcome to Elizabeth's! Can I do anything for you?"

"No thanks, we are just here to drop something off for my father," he replied, "of course. Enjoy your day!"

We walked further into the café and Taylor turned left after a bend. Taylor headed into a specific direction, and as I followed his feet I noticed Jack, sitting there with an older man, drinking nothing else than Whiskey. We walked towards them and with each step, the fear in my chest intensified. Jack didn't notice us before we stood right before him. The older man laughed at something Jack had said, but stopped when he saw us approaching. He was as I remembered. Business had always been that one hidden secret he never revealed. That much that he'd rather lose his whole family than revealing an element of it.

"Here's the folder. Hope you find what you were searching for," Taylor pulled out a folder and laid it down on the table in front of Jack. The businessman with the reserved personality nodded, without the slightest sense of gratefulness, "this is an elder colleague of mine, he works in Dubai," Taylor shook the man's hand and the colleague smiled slightly, but the fake in his smile was obvious, "maybe one day you'll meet him again. If you're able to make something out of your life."

In Taylor's face was no sign of surprise or the search for pity, he just nodded, "Who did you bring with you?", Jack questioned. His eyes were now focused on me, and I was frightened when I saw the familiar scent of vain and maliciousness in his eyes, "Melea Aldridge?"

"Yes," I raised my voice for the first time since entering the café. Taylor's father looked at me for a moment, "I thought my son and you weren't in touch anymore," he frowned, "we weren't," I answered, "but as he transferred to my school, we are again."

"Huh. So I will see you around again?", he asked, but looked rather bored in the answer, "I believe so."

He didn't say anything for a moment and just looked at me again, "great."

But in his words, the way he spoke them out, I knew he meant the opposite.

"We should leave now," Taylor whispered and I opened my mouth, but with Jack eyes drilling me down I wasn't capable of an answer. They reminded me of pure vengeance. Vengeance for what?

"Of course. Will I see you on the weekend?" Jack asked his son and let go of my eyes, but the vengeance in his eyes weren't good with his averted gaze, "come on, we should go," Taylor whispered. He took my hand, intertwined our fingers with one another and leaded me out of the small Café.

The fresh air was relieving and I breathed in for a couple of times after coming out. The sudden wind made the air even colder, and I began to freeze a bit. Taylor noticed and walked faster towards his car. I know he noticed how tense I was, but he intentionally didn't speak about it. One of the few characteristics that I found relatively rare in people.

"Come on, let's go somewhere," he suddenly broke the silence and I raised an eyebrow, "Where?"

He smirked and I saw the way the gaze on his face changed, "I know you don't like the feeling of not knowing what to expect. And I know it scares you. But that's one of the treasures of life: Surprises. Unexpectedness. You don't appreciate the beauty of nature of life itself enough. Let me show you."

I naturally smiled. I forced it sometimes, just like the way he did. But for now, I didn't have to. He was one of the few people that didn't lose appreciation once he was used to me. In Reality, it felt like the familiarity intrigued him even more.

We got into the car, his engine howled and he just drove, faster and faster. He drove ton rough streets, through small pathways, on overgrown woodland and never stopped. The woodland we drove through near sunset had a gently sloped down ditch filled with bramble: it was overgrown with parsley and nettles, some thick lush dew laden grass. Cowslip enchanted us with its broad yellow flowers, and the music of near ending spring was roared by Dandelions and Ragwort. We've shared a coffee on our way, turned up the radio and just enjoyed nature by itself.

"I don't want you to loose the sparkles of life just because you feel like you don't deserve them," were the only words that were exchanged between us.

He was the type of guy you wanted to lay on grass with. Drive up to the mountains and listen to your favorite bands to. We didn't have to say so much to each other. In Reality, it was the silent moments that felt the most intimidate. I let him shut me up. Then, we spoke in silence.

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Aesthete - someone with deep sensitivity to the art of nature or/and life.